Beauty (with cool candour). "OH YES, INDEED, I FREQUENTLY MAKE BETS; BUT I AM SO UNLUCKY!"
Sporting Youth (trying to be sympathetic). "REALLY? BUT I SUPPOSE YOU NEVER HAVE MUCH ON—THAT IS—I MEAN—"
And so they sat in the boat and looked into one another's eyes, and found much to read in them. They ignored the presence of the houseboats, and scarcely remembered that there were such things as launches propelled by steam or electricity. And they turned deaf ears to the niggers, and did not want their fortunes told by dirty females of a gipsy type.
"This is very pleasant," said EDWIN.
"Isn't it?" replied ANGELINA; "and it's such a good place for seeing all the events."
"Admirable!" and they talked of other things; and the time sped on, and the dark shadows grew, and still they talked, and talked, and talked.
At length the lanterns on the river began to glow, and Henley put on its best appearance, and broke out violently into fireworks, it was then Mrs. GRUNDY spied them out. She had been on the look out for scandal all day long, but could find none. This seemed a pleasant and promising case.
"So you are here?" she exclaimed. "Why, we thought you must have gone long ago! And what do you say of the meeting?"
"A most perfect success," said he.
"And the company?"
"Could not be more charming," was her reply.
"And what did you think of the racing?" Then they looked at one another and smiled. They spoke together, and observed:—
"Oh, we did not think of the racing!"
And Mrs. GRUNDY was not altogether satisfied.
MEM. BY "ONE WHO MARRIED IN HASTE."—"The real 'Battle of Life' begins with a short engagement."
DEAR MR. PUNCH,
My rest at the seaside has done me such a world of good that I feel more lazy than ever! But I fear I am in danger of a relapse into excitement, owing to a letter I received a few days ago from an old military friend of mine, General ELECTION, in which he asks me to lend my invaluable assistance in "canvassing" for his nephew, the Hon. CHARLIE HULLOTHERE, who is standing for Sheepsdoor.—Ah, how little did I think that my reference to "canvas" shoes in my last letter would be so prophetic! The General is very gallant, and fully appreciates the usefulness of women in canvassing; and, in order to be quite "up to date," I have ordered in a large supply of gingerbread-nuts and oyster-shells, which I observe (see daily papers) are distributed as marks of respect among Candidates and their wives!
Having also heard that a Brass Band is indispensable (the more brass it is, the better), I have made friendly overtures (musical, of course) to the Sheepsdoor Purveyors of Brassharmony, with the flattering result that they now conclude every performance with my specially composed "Election War Cry"—the refrain of which is most effective when given by a chorus of trained Constituents!—
HullLo-there!
HullLo-there!
He's the man for us;
We respect him!
We'll elect him!
And we might do wuss!!
In fact, our Candidate is very popular, and is sure to "romp in an easy winner"—which is another puzzling racing expression, as, although I've seen plenty of horses indulge in a game of romps before the start (notably, L'Abbé Morin, in the "City"), they seem to have had more than enough of it before the finish!
I hear from Newmarket, that I missed an extremely pleasant week's racing—and although my selection for the Stud Produce Stakes was rather wide of the mark, I fairly hit the bullseye—(what a painful operation this must be for the bull)—in my one "Song from the Birdcage," which I warbled in the ear of a racing friend whom I met down here; it was à propos of the July Stakes and ran thus:—
The night was dark when "Portland Bill" escaped by Chesil Beach!
And hope beat high within his heart, that he the goal might reach!
For "Milford" Haven lies in sight!—one effort and he's there!
But see!—At last—he's caught!—he's passed!—just by the Judge's Chair!
Which really remarkable prophecy was fully borne out by the race, in fact, so close a description might almost have been written after the race—a great compliment to my powers of divination!
Next week takes us to Bibury and Stockbridge. and if this hot weather continues, the motto of the Club should be, "Dum vivo Bibere"—or, freely translated—"Half the soda, please!" The race to which I propose to give my attention is the Alington Plate, and as I am nothing if not thorough, you will see that my tip is influenced by my being at the Seaside?
The storm was raging through the night,
I tossed upon my pillow,
And pitied any luckless wight
Who tossed upon the "Billow!"
A SLIGHT MUDDLE.—"I hear," said Mrs. R., "that the Cassocks are performing at the Buffalo Bill place—though not knowing the gentleman personally, I would prefer calling him BUFFALO WILLIAM or WILLIAM BUFFELLOW, which would be a less outlandish name—and I confess I was astonished, as I always thought that Cassocks were Clergymen, or had something to do with the Clergy. I suppose I had connected them with Hassocks, which are always in Church, and were, I believe, invented by Mr. HASSOCK, or Squire HASSOCK, who made all his money by keeping a gate on the old Brighton Coach Road. The station is still called Hassock's Gate, in his memory. HER MAJESTY had all the Cassocks sent down to her at Windsor. They must have been quite worn out by the end of the day."
Monday.—Lohengrin. House full to hear Brother JOHN and Madame MELBA. "Please, Sir, Mr. JOHNNIE DE RISKY ain't here," blurts out the pale and trembling call-boy.
Sir AUGUSTUS calm, impassible. Crisis. If no one turned up, he would act the part himself, and, it being Wagnerian music, the orchestra would play what of the part had to be played. At that moment lounged in Monsieur VAN DYCK, just to see how things were going on without him. "I'm a little hoarse to-night," quoth VAN DYCK, pleasantly. "Nonsense!" cries Sir DRURIOLANUS, cheerily, "a 'Van' can never be a little hoarse." Much merriment. "DYCK, my boy," continues Sir D., "you've come in the very nick of time—quite a Devil's Dyke, you are,"—the accomplished vocalist was in ecstasies at his Manager's joke,—"and you shall distinguish yourself to-night as Lohengrin!" Oh, what a surprise! No sooner said than done. Armour for one ordered immediately. ISAAC of York Street goes to work, and—presto!—VAN DYCK is "ready in case." "Now," asks DRURIOLANUS, "what are we waiting for?"
"Please, Sir, Madame MELBA isn't here!"
"MELBA not here to play Elsa!" exclaims Sir DRURIOLANUS, immediately adding, with that wit which is always, like the British Tar, 'Ready, aye ready!'—"then we must get somebody Else Sir!" and scarcely had the words escaped his lips, than Madame NORDICA, who happened to be passing by, sang out in an extempore recitative, "Me voici!" "Bravissima!" cried Sir DRURIOLANUS. "Saved! Saved!" General dance of joy.
So the Curtain was rung up, and the Opera, with Madame NORDICA (vice MELBA) as Elsa, and VAN DYCK (vice Little JOHNNIE THE RISKY) as Lohengrin, made a big success. House crowded. All's well that ends as well as this.
Tuesday with Mozart.—What a good starting idea for a Comic Opera would be the notion of making those two types of knaves, Leporello and Figaro, meet as counter-plotters. Monsieur MAUREL suggests a step in this direction, when one night he impersonates the gay Spanish Don, and on another he appears as the roguish Italian barber, no longer an intriguing bachelor but a jealous bridegroom. Merry Melodious MOZART! Old-fashioned he may be, like not a few of the best melodies and the best stories. Elegant Countess is Madame EMMA EAMES. Can she possibly ever have been Rosina, Dr. Bartolo's tricky ward! What a change matrimony makes in some folks! Old Dr. Bartolo bears not much resemblance to the other Dr. Bartolo, and Don Basilio, a kind of Ecclesiastical lawyer, is quite a rollicking wag as compared with the Basilio of the Barber of Seville. Nothing could be better than the Susanna of Mlle. TELEKI, or sweeter than the duet, heartily encored, between her and the Countess. EDOUARD DE RESZKÉ is a magnificent representative of the gloomily-jealous Count, who, having once been the gayest of the gay, still retains something of his old sly-boots character in private. He is always going wrong, and always being in the wrong when found out: a Count quite at a discount, for whom there will perhaps be no rest until he is "par." with a family. Needless to say, the part was well acted and sung by Brother NED, whom a gentleman near me, who "knew all about it," mistook for his brother JOHN, and criticised accordingly. As Cherubino, Mlle. SIGRID ARNOLDSON is a delightfully boyish scapegrace, giving us just that soupçon of natural awkwardness which a spoilt sunny Southern lad of sixteen, brought up in such mixed society as is represented by Count Almaviva's household, would occasionally show when more than usually "spoony." Mlle. ARNOLDSON sings MOZART pure and simple, without interpolating cadenzas, roulades, nourishes, or exercises of musical fireworks, and the audience rewarded her artistically simple rendering of "Voi che sapete" with an encore, which was as hearty as it was well-deserved. Capital House. Parliamentary musicians conspicuous by their absence. Ex-M.P.'s represented in a body by Sir H-NRY EDW-RDS the evergreen.
It was reported in the House—the Opera House—that Sir DRURIOLANUS was standing; but for what Constituency, was not mentioned. The rumour was justified by his appearing at the Stall entrance, where he stood for some time, but as he finely observed, "I am not in search of a seat—in Parliament. No! Let who will make the people's laws, give me the bringing out for them of their Operas and Pantomimes." So saying, he bowed gracefully to nobody in particular (who happened to be talking to him), and, with a refreshing wave of the hand, Sir DRURIOLANUS was wafted away into the offing, and "lost to sight," while still "to memory dear."
Trumpet Note in advance.—The Trompeter of Sakkingen is announced as "in active preparation." Needless to say more, as, of course, he blows his own trumpet for himself. The question is, will it be a big trump in the hand of Sir DRURIOLANUS?
Saturday.—Elaine changed her mind, and wouldn't come out to-night.
NEW RENDERING OF "CONSULE PLANCO"—"CONSULT PLANCHETTE."—If "Planchette" can give such accurate information as it appears to have done at Mr. CHARLES WYNDHAM's supper-party, and elsewhere, as recounted in the Daily Telegraph, why is it not at once put into general requisition? Why is there any Parliamentary debating? Why not use "Planchette?" Why run any chance of losing on a race, but simply "ask Planchette?" Only, by the way, if this were universal, and if everyone is to win, who is to lose? Thus Planchette would put an end to nearly all speculation. Planchette would inaugurate a new era of complete and unqualified success. No doubt Mr. CHARLES WYNDHAM consulted Planchette before producing The Fringe of Society, and is in consequence being amply rewarded for placing his trust in Planchette. Failure would be impossible except to the obstinate few who should persistently refuse to pin their faith on the utterances of "Planchette." But, suppose after doing enough to establish her reputation, "Planchette," being feminine and therefore "varium et mutabile semper," should suddenly deceive her followers, as did Zamiel's seventh charmed bullet (which ought always to have been kept up Caspar's sleeve—but Caspar was an idiot), and the Weird but Larky Sisters who captivated Macbeth?
"Trust her not, she's fooling thee, Beware! Beware!" and Planchette, the little plank, will make more of her followers "plank down" than pick up gold and silver.
'Twas all very well to dissemble your love,
But why chuck the nut in my eye?
[Mr. G. is aware that the Divine WILLIAMS has spoken of ginger as "hot in the mouth," but Mr. G. says "he got it uncommonly hot in the eye."]
"THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL."—Lord RANDOLPH in again for South Paddington. The First to arrive.
NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no ease be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.