ODDS AND ENDS OF A LEARNED CLERK! BY ARTHUR ECKERSLEY HWKwUMfclB • ODDS AND ENDS OF A LEARNED CLERK ODDS AND ENDS OF A LEARNED CLERK BEING A COLLECTION OF SKETCHES AND PLAYS BY ARTHUR ECKERSLEY WITH AN APPRECIATION BY SIR OWEN SEAMAN AND A FOREWORD BY DESMOND COKE JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD LIMITED, VIGO STREET LONDON. MCMXXII. PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. In this space, where for many years his work has stood at the head of our review columns, we record, with deep sorrow, the death of our friend, Arthur Eckersley, chief of "Mr Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks." Through a long illness, most bravely and patiently borne, his loyal service continued up to the very moment when his strength finally failed. Outside the wide circle of those who knew and loved him he must have made many unknown friends among the readers who followed his wise counsel in these pages ; among the authors, too, whose work he reviewed with a judgment that was kindly and free from malice ; for he had an understanding heart and he was very gentle by nature. The place he held in their regard, as in ours, will not be easy to fill. To his mother — between whom and her son, in the home they shared, there was the closest devotion — we ask leave to offer a true sympathy in the loneliness of her grief. (K^~- Reprinted from Punch, May 25th, 1921. C PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. In this space, where for many years his work has stood at the head of our review columns, we record, with deep sorrow, the death of our friend, Arthur Eckersley, chief of "Mr Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks." Through a long illness, most bravely and patiently borne, his loyal service continued up to the very moment when his strength finally failed. Outside the wide circle of those who knew and loved him he must have made many unknown friends among the readers who followed his wise counsel in these pages ; among the authors, too, whose work he reviewed with a judgment that was kindly and free from malice ; for he had an understanding heart and he was very gentle by nature. The place he held in their regard, as in ours, will not be easy to fill. To his mother — between whom and her son, in the home they shared, there was the closest devotion — we ask leave to offer a true sympathy in the loneliness of her grief. fcju- Reprinted from Punch, May 25th, 1921. FOREWORD Arthur Eckersley, his kind eyes twinkling with a wicked boyish delight in the pomposity of others, would have been the last to desire a formal biographic preface. Modestly content to put the best of his work unsigned into the pages of Punchy which suited so well his own genial humour, he could not have imagined anybody wanting to know that he was born in 1875, or that Rugby gave him both a school and a devoted home, that lasted him till death. That he was at St. John's College, Oxford, 1894 to 1899, he might have liked on record, not only for the sentiment of those all-glorious years, not even for the pride of having been an acting member of the O.U.D.S., but because that twofold training would make clear to new readers much that is found within this slender volume. That he was an actor of true merit, a born comedian whose Andrew Aguecheek won praise from critics who might matter — this would seem a small thing vii viii FOREWORD indeed to him, except just in so far as it lent weight and value to the many stage burlesques that seem to me among the happiest of all his writings. And Arthur Eckersley most certainly was right, for how petty do the triumphs of a man less modest seem to us, when he has passed over to Eternity, to rest from all our strivings and our disappoint- ments ! To be something, not to achieve much, seems in those ampler moments the true end of life. The subject of this little memoir lived a life of beauty, loved it well, got pleasure, passed it liberally to others — here is surely all that matters, except so far as any of his traits explain the writings offered in these pages. He was then — so far as even a best friend can possibly explain one mortal to another — he was above everything the lucky owner of a grown man's alert, original, receptive brain oddly and beautifully combined with the simplicity, the gentleness, the pathos, of a child. It was as though, generously dowered by one fairy of his christening with Intellect, Wit, Appreciation, Sympathy, he had been presented by a late-comer slightly jealous of the first with boy-like Irrever- ence of Authority, Humour, the Sense of Adven- ture, and Eternal Youth. Great gifts strangely mingled : gifts producing a man always ready for FOREWORD ix laughter, but never forgetful of the tears below it ; a man mingling with the great world yet always reserving first place for his mother ; not settling down in London, but carrying his work into many pleasant places ; a wanderer, yet linked always to that dear home at Rugby ; living again the simple rituals of Christmas and the other seasons as in childhood's day ; one who reached the heights of Literature in his apprecia- tion, yet never probably dethroned from their proud early eminence those pirates and romantic seamen of his great hero Robert Louis Stevenson ; possessed of a tongue that knew well how to mould the shattering phrase, but constantly dis- covered doing some kind action for those with whom he came in contact ; a writer and critic who had intimate and equal friendship with many great men of his day, but found his greatest happiness with Youth ; a man who, at forty, without that all-covering parental plea of giving pleasure to em- barrassed children, could lure tremulous coevals to shoulder their boots and paddle whole miles along the coast of Brittany or his beloved Dorset — almost certainly, to the less imaginative among those who read, a tiresome fellow, trying to keep young in face of far more sensible decrees from a maternal Providence. Yet Common Sense has one great tragedy : it cannot understand. Arthur x FOREWORD Eckersley, to those who knew him and could understand, was young ; young in his gaiety, his sadness ; young with the simplicity, the charm, the torturing pathos of Youth ; a figure peculiar and memorable, but no way grotesque by very reason of its individual force ; a perfect com- panion ; a friend whose restful voice will linger wistfully in the ears of many till their spirit passes to that state where, if a man shall find the promised happiness, he must be born again with all the simple wonder of a little child. Such then, it seems to me, was the man of whom you may catch glimpses, now and then, be- neath even his most gay burlesque : the thinker, the philosopher of life, the lover of Motherhood, of Youth, of Make-believe on lit-up stages, of Adventure, of Roman pottery, of good sound English prose, of everything that was both beau- tiful and simple. You may see it, of course, most easily in such delicate reveries as A Forgotten History^ but you will find it more poignantly by contrast in the exuberant humour of The Old Gentleman. Much as he loved the outdoor side of life — tennis, long tramps across the Downs, dashes thrice a day into the sea — no fairy came to offer him eternal health. The last years of his life were full of suffering and illness. But possibly he had been FOREWORD xi offered something bigger : a chance to prove that under all his gentleness there lay a brave un- conquerable spirit. Talk, letters, writing — nothing gave the hint of a surrender anywhere. War came. Patently unfit by now, he hurried to attest, worked as recruiter at Rugby for the R.N.D., overworked in London at the Petrol Control Office. Then, when the body had at last flung him down helplessly for the long final illness, constantly heartening friends with his old cheery inimitable letters, still full of interest in all the things of life as lived outside, he worked to the last on his admirable reviews for Punch, where long since he had won the honourable post of chief of the " Staff of Learned Clerks." " His loyal service," wrote Sir Owen Seaman, " con- tinued up to the very moment when his strength finally failed." And so, a rebel to the last, he added a brave end to a life of beauty, and won for himself the epitaph that I feel he might most have valued : — that on the fifteenth of May, 192 1, in the forty- seventh year of his life, he died young. DESMOND COKE. NOTE These sketches first appeared in the pages of Punch, except A Forgotten History and In Thoughtful Country, which were printed by The Monthly Register. To the Editors of these papers grateful acknowledgment is due, and to Messrs. Samuel French for permission to print plays published in their copyright Acting Edition. Several other plays by Arthur Eckersley, produced at West End theatres, appear in this same Edition, including Susan's Embellishments (Royalty Theatre, 191 2), and the most frequently revived of all, A Boy's Proposal, which brought the curtain up for half a dozen different plays. D. C. CONTENTS A Forgotten History Harlequin and the Heroine . Idiomatic Phrases for Tourists Adapted for Amateurs "If they happened — " In Thoughtful Country Old Friends with New Year Face Immoral Tales Peter .... The Haunted Editor Dram.Bac. . How I Adapted The Old Gentleman Spoop .... The Appro. Week . A Human-Tale . The Book of the Moment Teaching Playwrights to write Plays xv PAGE I 9 3 1 33 39 + 5 49 53 58 63 70 73 79 82 8 9 95 99 102 XVI CONTENTS The Show Place Winter Sports . The Reunion Theatrical Correspondence The Celtic Revue . The Newest Portraiture A New Theatrical Venture The Art of the Theatre To the Wife silent in War An Unrecorded Engagement The Whirligig. Witchcraft Paper Problems Time PAGE I05 I09 III 114 I20 124 128 133 137 138 142 145 I50 PLAYS Edward J 53 A Collection will be made l8 3 A Tabloid 2Zl LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Arthur Eckersley Frontispiece - _ „ , FACING PAOE At Oxford ... 45 An Honorary Uncle .g The "All's Well 1 ' Guide I05 In Summer ....... j». ODDS AND ENDS OF A LEARNED CLERK ODDS AND ENDS OF A LEARNED CLERK A FORGOTTEN HISTORY YESTERDAY, when I was looking over some old books of mine upon an unfrequented shelf, I chanced to find amongst them one with which I read away as interesting an hour as any I have ever spent. It was a Latin Grammar, and if, when I have said this, its interest has yet to be explained, I will add that the book was one which I had used in school-times, and that what I read in its pages was the history of my own boyhood. It is Stevenson, I think, who speaks of the old-memory charm which the Greek and Roman writers always have for those who met them first at school ; and the same thing might be said, with equal truth, of many books which hold no beauty in themselves, either of matter or of manner, to claim our affection. As for example, this old Latin Grammar. * 8 2 A COLLECTION For clearly there was some magic between its battered covers, else how had it so soon bewitched me ? I had opened it scarce a moment, when behold ! all the ordered circumstances of grown- up life melted away, became a thing not yet to be for a full score of years, and instead — what was this ? Oak-panelled walls had strangely risen up about me, bare of ornament save for some large maps, surely the most highly-glazed and un- friendly pictures ever presented of a comfortable world. I knew their shiny faces well ; they hung in my old schoolroom. Through the high windows, open (for it seemed a summer after- noon), I saw the elm-tree tops, and the rooks circling about their nests. How the harsh music of their cawing used to come in to me on the warm air and make the lesson-hour drag longer ! About the room stood the old desks, blotted and stained with the forced labour of many generations, and at one of them I saw a small boy, myself, very weary by reason of verbs, who traced with furtive pen the same picture of his slumbering master which now faces me on yonder page. Indeed, illustration forms a very notable feature of my book. It is of every kind, but chiefly personal, and conceived, I notice, in a A FORGOTTEN HISTORY 3 spirit far removed from flattery. Sometimes an elaborated sketch, then a head unfinished or a mere line or two, and it is a strange mosaic-work to piece together the intentions and fancies which covered these scattered efforts. Not rarely the weapons of art are used for the purpose of offence, and here sometimes the artist joins to himself another hand as co-aggressor. Thus of a portrait whose features are (I must presume) unkindly treated, I read, ' This is Jones," while below is added, " Recognized by Brown." And throughout the book the arid course of learning is watered by a stream of illustration, in which the author's purport is but lightly held in reverence. Facts very long forgotten, slight jests and all the intimate detail of this long-ago time, start out upon me as I turn the pages. Mathews, kindest and most patient of masters, were your features in truth of so grotesque a cast ? I believe it not. Nor when I read, as I do here, " Old Mathews chased by a lion " — his years may have perhaps numbered two score, but he was always old to us — or again, "Old Mathews as a circus clown," shall I believe that your placid life was really troubled by the incidents which are thus depicted. Very often, too, not on one page but on nearly 4 A COLLECTION all, there comes a tangle of half-obliterated lines. A face, always the same, begun and never finished. It needs the eye of my loving memory to know that face for yours, oh friend, most noble and beautiful to me, of all boys. And yet these formless strivings after what proved ever unattainable have moved me strangely. Do I not feel, even now, some pulse of that heartshaking adoration which prompted them r You were the young god of my idolatry, and in your pictures I see many scenes of worship. The day when I first met you. The dark November afternoon (blessed ever afterwards among days, and lit with a more glorious sun than that of summer !) when we swore eternal friendship. The last evening, when we were together in my study, and my heart came nearer breaking, at the pain of losing you, than it has been since. This and much more I see. Perhaps it was all very morbid and sentimental. I do not know. But I think that few people understand, because few remember, the shy first-love, the passion of romance, which a boy will bring to his school friendship. Leigh Hunt speaks of this, in a passage which I must write somewhere in the pages of my book. He is talking about such a friend. " I thought him," he says, " a kind of angel. It A FORGOTTEN HISTORY 5 is no exaggeration to say, that take away the unspiritual part of it — the genius and the know- ledge — and there is no height of conceit indulged in by the most romantic character in Shakespeare, which surpassed what I feel towards the merits I ascribed to him, and the delight which I took in his society. With the other boys I played antics, and rioted in fantastic jests ; but in his society, or whenever I thought of him, I fell into a kind of Sabbath state of bliss, and I am sure I could have died for him." Blessings on the generous thought and the quaint kindly words ! The old hospital was a good place when it made friendship in this earnest kind ; I have a tender feeling for it from this moment. And to think that David has not seen Jonathan for these — how many years ? Saul, I know, died long ago and Jonathan his son reigns in his stead over the paternal counting-house. It may even be that if we encountered now — Well ! Nos et mutamur is one of many lessons which my old book teaches me, and by odd chance there were the very words, examples to some pedant rule, upon this page which, musing thus, I had just turned. There was something else, too, for that same page faced me with a problem of some personal interest. It was a question, written in round 6 A COLLECTION youthful style, by a hand certainly not my own, and it asked straightforwardly enough, " What is the difference between the owner of this book and a fool ?" A matter of some gravity, you will own, to be thrust in this sudden manner upon my notice. A question moreover which I had inclined to ask myself on more than one occasion, but to which I had avoided a final answer, till my old book brought me thus at grips with the matter and would take no putting off. I was bidden to seek the truth upon a distant page, and to this I hurried eagerly, only to be sent again else whither, thence to another page, another yet, and so on throughout half the book. For long I pursued my character about the syntax of the Latin tongue : Sisyphus-like I toiled the rock of vanity up the mountain of elusive reference, till at length, upon the last page of all, I reached my goal. Perhaps, having come so far, I might have been greeted with greater courtesy, though not with greater truth. I can be no impartial judge of this. The answer was short, and very forth- right, gaining its point within the compass of a syllable. There is small need of repeat- ing it. I cannot now recall its author to my memory, but so outspoken a friend was, I suspect, my A FORGOTTEN HISTORY 7 senior. In those days criticism was largely a matter of inches. I fear, too, that he was a judge of character. Certainly he had much to justify his verdict. Though indeed its truth or falsehood should be matter of small concern to me now. Wise or foolish, the subject of it has been dead this great while since, and after him have lived and died as many various fools as years have passed since it was written. I myself to-day am not more a stranger to the man my elbow jostles in the street than to the boy who bore my name and was the owner of this book. Better, perhaps, if I had more of his folly now, but he took it with him when he left me, and that, as I say, was long ago. How many such deaths do we all see before the last one ! Is not the pathway of every man's life bordered by graves of the follies and wisdoms which he has buried ? They stand like mile- stones to mark the progress of his journey. Did I open my book thinking to see it with the eyes that first scanned its pages, to look back through them upon the old life that used to be my own — to see and to understand ? Vanity ! The life and the eyes that saw it are alike no more. On a sudden I was grown old and solitary, and there was a pain at my heart as for a friend new-lost. It was as though when I 8 A COLLECTION expected a playground my old book had led me to a churchyard and bade me look there for my companions. I put the volume down. Plague upon it ! I would read no more, its memories had saddened an evening for me. Let it go back upon the shelf, and get itself re-covered with a decent pall of dust. But all the same, I wish I could remember who it was who wrote that question. I wonder did I also call him fool ? I like to fancy that I did. HARLEQUIN AND THE HEROINE ; or, How the Maiden of Melo- dramia fared in the regions of Pantomimia Part I I AM writing this at the request of nobody in particular, but simply because it is my practice to describe at length the events and emotions — especially the emotions — of my chequered career. My name is Rose ; there has always been a Rose in our family, except when the heroine happened to be called Grace instead. The mention of this brings me to an explanation of who I am ; I am a heroine — more, I am the heroine, since I live in Melodramia, and it is well known that there are no real heroines to be found elsewhere. Our home is called Honeysuckle Cottage, and it stands in the village of Meadowsweet. You will not be able to find it upon the maps, because there are no maps of Melodramia. Nevertheless you probably know our village quite well. It is the sweetest spot. Every 9 io A COLLECTION conceivable kind of fruit and flower flourishes there in abundance, many of them on the same tree. Perhaps this is because of the climate. All the snow and winter in Melodramia is confined to the towns, and they certainly get a lot ; but in all my experience of Meadowsweet I cannot remember a day when the limelight was not shining in our garden, generally from two opposite directions. Ah ! the dear old garden ! How often during my subsequent Acts have I yearned for its tranquil beauty. From it you can see the church tower and a little bit of the village street, up which nobody ever walks. They all come along by the fence and through the little wicket on to our lawn. Long ago, when first I succeeded to the position of heroine (which is hereditary in our family), I used to be astonished at the number and variety of the people who would drop in during the day — soldiers, ad- venturesses, policemen, not to mention casual strangers with soft hats and bundles, who usually stand at the gate and soliloquize ; but I soon grew quite used to it. It was by no means dull in our garden, as we often disinherit or make wrongful arrests on the lawn, but I am glad to say that we have never yet had a murder here, which is the more HARLEQUIN AND THE HEROINE n remarkable because (for so quiet a spot) the death- rate of Meadowsweet is unusually high. But the lonely pool and dear papa's library are the most popular places. The path through the wood has also, I regret to say, been the scene of many distressing occurrences, while the rocks by the seashore are almost invariably a fatal rendezvous. One morning I was in the garden as usual picking flowers. I had a lovely nosegay of tulips and chrysanthemums with a few red roses to smell at and hold against the bosom of my gown. I remember I was humming a little tune and prattling aloud to the dear flowers in my natural girlish way, when Mary entered with a letter. " A letter for Miss Rose," exclaimed Mary. " How I wish I knew what was in it ! My young man," she continued, " don't send me no letters — he's a soldier, is my Bill, and such a beautiful man, seven feet high, and that strong " Perceiving that she was about to introduce comic relief, I interrupted her by advancing with a sweet smile. This is only Mary's way, but it becomes a little tiresome at times. " A letter for me r " I said. " Bless your pretty face, Miss Rose," cried Mary, " of course it is." Having observed that the envelope bore the 12 A COLLECTION stamp of Pantomimia, I inferred that it came from a distant cousin of mine called Flo — a name that fills me with repulsion — who occupies the position of heroine, such as it is, at that place. I do not know cousin Flo at all well, therefore I was astonished to find that the note was an invitation to visit her. Anyone of a less ideal character than mine would have called such a proposal impertinent, but as my disposition forces me to do and believe absolutely everything that I am told, I foresaw that I should be obliged to go. Just as I had finished reading it, dear Papa entered the garden, wearing a soft hat, and the light tweed coat that constitutes his invariable costume out of doors. " Out among the flowers so early, little one ? ' he said, drawing me towards him and imprinting a kiss over my left shoulder. " Father," said I, leading him to a garden seat, where I sank at his feet, leaning my cheek against his knee, and looking up at him with wide, trustful eyes (at least I hope so), " Father, I have a surprise for you." Thereupon I gave him the letter, which he read aloud to me with much feeling. At the end he sprang up with a stifled cry, clutching the paper to his waistcoat, and staring HARLEQUIN AND THE HEROINE 13 vacantly at nothing. Next moment, however, he apologized and sat down again. " Force of habit, darling," he explained. I understood. When dear Papa reads a letter he usually clutches it to his breast and says, " At last ! " but in the present instance such a proceeding would have been out of place. Cousin Flo had written : " Dearest Rosie-Posie, — Come over and look us up. Scenery first-class and some ripping music. Come at once and stay for the run. — Yours, Flo. "P.S. — Get some new frocks. That black crape wouldn't be any good here. So long ! " It is impossible to clutch a letter like that. The thing was too trivial, and I said as much. But dear Papa rebuked me gently. "Go, my child," said he, "and remember that to one of your house nothing is too trivial for catastrophe." I wept a little, and then, dashing aside my tears, I kissed Papa with a smile and retired to make my simple preparations. Three minutes later they were completed, and then, wearing my most becoming hat, with a shawl over my shoulders and a small reticule in one hand, I set out through the garden gate upon my long journey, i 4 A COLLECTION Cousin Flo and her parents dwell in a village almost as pretty as beloved Meadowsweet. If I have conveyed the impression that cousin Flo occupied a social position inferior to my own, I have been wrong. The contrary is indeed the case, as my uncle and aunt, though by no means wealthy, are persons of title, and, I believe, of considerable standing in Pantomimia. But between poor dear Papa and his elder brother, Baron Brokeup, there has never existed any great sympathy, and since the Baron's marriage with a lady whom it would be charitable to call eccentric the two families have drifted widely apart. I was received by Cousin Flo with the greatest warmth. We met in the Market Place, a picturesque spot where it is evident that the inhabitants are accustomed to hold their frequent revels. There seemed to be more of these inhabitants than with us, and they appeared considerably more lively ; this, however, I attribute to their comparative freedom from omens and prophecies, from which we in Meadowsweet suffer terriblv at certain seasons. Cousin Flo's appearance was something of a shock to me, the first of many. I thank heaven that, in whatever vicissitudes of an eventful career, such has ever been the modesty HARLEQUIN AND THE HEROINE 15 of my attire that few have so much as detected my boots. Even on the occasions when I have been out of my garret lodging and forced to wander through the streets in a snowstorm, my principles have always obliged me to trail at least three inches. After all, however, Cousin Flo is the best judge of what is proper for herself. She drew me aside at once with every symptom of eagerness and amusement (alas, nothing will ever amuse me !) and proceeded to unfold an idea that had occurred to her. 11 Rosie-Posie," she said, " isn't it rather rough on the old boy your leaving him alone like this ? " " My father's hair," I replied, " has grown white from unmerited adversity " " Precisely," interrupted Flo, " therefore we oughtn't to bleach him any more. That's why I am going to keep him company." 11 You ! ' I exclaimed, unable to repress a slight shudder. " I've settled the whole thing," said Flo ; " you and I will change places. The only bother is about a villain — I must take ours with me, and that leaves a vacancy. But I suppose," she added, " you have got a villain of some sort of your own ? " 1 6 A COLLECTION " Sir Rupert Rutherford," I replied, " perse- cutes me with his loathsome addresses." " H'm," said Flo, " that sounds all right. Can he ask riddles ? " " Riddles ! " I repeated aghast. " Why did the fly fly ? and all that, you know. Our own villain is awfully good at them. But hullo ! " she exclaimed suddenly, " what on earth is this ? " Turning at her words, I saw beside me the dreaded figure of Sir Rupert Rutherford himself. He was in evening dress, and carried a small case for cigarettes, which appeared to have constituted his sole luggage. Horror ! the unscrupulous aristocrat had followed me to Pantomimia ! " Is it," said Flo, glancing at his attire, " a conjurer ? " " Sir Rupert," I exclaimed, " cease this unmannerly persecution. Leave me, I entreat you." He smiled cynically, and lighting a cigarette flung away the match with an air of insolent opulence. " Adorable creature," he hissed, " why seek to avoid me ? Why aggravate my passion with delay ? Why ? " " Evidently," said Flo, " it can ask riddles. See here," she continued, turning to Sir Rupert, HARLEQUIN AND THE HEROINE 17 " you come with me and meet our own villain before he quits ; Rosie had better stay here to greet the Prince on his return from hunting." The Prince ! How my little heart bounded at her words ! Baronets I knew and dreaded ; towards elderly Earls I entertained an emotion of almost filial respect ; but never hitherto had I encountered an actual Royal Highness. In the tumult caused by her announcement I permitted Flo to depart without comment. She was leading Sir Rupert, who looked a trifle bewildered, by the hand. Part II But I was not allowed time for soliloquy, for already the distant strains of a band proclaimed the advent of the royal party, and in an access of maidenly confusion I drew aside to observe the entrance of my princely lover. Then, as the music grew louder, there entered the Market Place a procession of sports- men, some with bugles, some with spears, others bearing animals of every known and almost every unknown variety, the trophies of their skill, already rigid in death. These gentlemen grouped themselves natu- rally into two lines, and it was through the c 1 8 A COLLECTION lane thus formed that I beheld for the first time H.R.H. Prince Prettyman of Pantomimia. How noble he looked, as with delicate and haughty step he advanced to meet me ! He was clad, as were his comrades, in a costume which, while of suitably rich and even resplendent material, was yet designed to permit of that freedom of limb which is so essential to the pursuit of the chase. His demeanour was at once arch and engaging, and I immediately felt that I was in the presence of no ordinary being. " Well, boys," said the Prince, addressing his followers in a voice whose singular quality would alone have commanded attention, even apart from his practice of speaking, as is, I understand, the habit of royalty, entirely in rhymed couplets — 11 Well, boys, once more we're here at last, With all our dangers and our perils past ; Once more we gaze upon our homes and see Each well-known cottage and each family tree. But who comes here, what vision meets my eyes ? The Baron's daughter ! what a sweet surprise." His words were indeed a little gratifying, though I was at first a little at a loss for the proper method of receiving such lyrical blandish- ments. Remembering, however, that a safe rule HARLEQUIN AND THE HEROINE 19 for heroines under any circumstances says, " When in doubt, droop," I drooped accordingly. I also blushed. But I will not recall our conversation verbatim ; indeed, my memory has retained rather the Prince's reasons than his rhymes. Enough that we plighted our troth in the midst of a chorus, several choruses, of approval ; a certain publicity of the emotions is one of the penalties of exalted station. That His Royal Highness had mistaken me for my cousin was a detail with which I hesitated at such a moment to embarrass him. So soon as I was alone I sought out Sir Rupert, whom I discovered in the Baron's kitchen. I could not but notice that his manner seemed to lack something of its wonted assurance. " I don't understand the ways of these people," he said, giving a dejected twirl to his moustache. " They don't appear to have the remotest idea of a plot." "While," I returned, "your whole existence is one of deception and intrigue. Go, Sir Rupert, your presence here is hateful to me, but doubtless there are those by whom such a gentleman as you would be appreciated ! ' I emphasized the word " gentleman " sarcastically, and we both waited for the A COLLECTION customary response. As none came, I was forced to add, " I mean the villain of whom my cousin spoke. Surely he ' Sir Rupert closed his eves with a shudder. " If you had seen him," he said, ' you would understand that the subject is a painful one. He was dressed like a pirate — I am endeavouring to forget his boots."' It was impossible not to pity the miscreant. He looked so forlorn and lonely. " I'm engaged to the Prince," I said, thinking to cheer him with the prospect of action. " Of course you are," said Sir Rupert, " and I'm waiting here to kill your uncle and then say that the Prince did it. I at least can do my duty, although," he added bitterly, " there isn't a pistol or an ounce of poison in the house ; and they call that management ! " " Cowardly traitor ! " I exclaimed, " your treachery shall avail you nothing. I at least will always believe him innocent." " Miow-wow," said a voice. " Confound that cat," muttered Sir Rupert, " it's all over the place ; " and as he spoke I perceived the creature, one of unusual size, regarding us with an expression of almost human intelligence. Old comrade," I said, employing my it HARLEQUIN AND THE HEROINE 21 habitual address to domestic pets, " you are mv only friend now. You alone have not forsaken me, you alone can pity and understand my sorrow." Evidently comprehending my words, the faithful animal dried its eyes with its tail, and danced round the room hurling vegetables at Sir Rupert ; it was not exactly what I had expected, but I was nevertheless touched by this exhibition of dumb sympathy. At this moment the kitchen door opened and my uncle entered the room backwards, tripping over the cat as he did so. Considering the circumstances of his arrival, I thought its method showed some lack of delicacy. In a murder scene dear papa would never have dreamed of entering without slow music. Arguing from the analog}' of those members of the aristocracy whom I already knew, I had perhaps formed a conception of Lord Brokeup somewhat alien from the actual figure which I now beheld. The Baron is a little gentleman, dressed in a costume of an old-fashioned stvle ; he still, for instance, retains a curled wig of the period of William the Third. His garments also betray some signs of an honourable poverty, and are worn, moreover, with a certain air of the eccentric not unbecoming in one of his years and 22 A COLLECTION position. It is to this also that I attribute his habit of blowing upon a football whistle and exclaiming " Half-time," in circumstances which do not appear to call for such an observation. On the whole, his should be, I fancy, a most lovable nature. Before, however, I had time for more than an expression of horror, Sir Rupert drew forth an enormous sword, and with a muttered male- diction aimed a blow at the old gentleman's heart. The weapon crumpled uselessly in his hand. " Half-time ! " said my uncle pleasantly, as he brushed the dust from his coat. " It always does that, you know, because of the joke about the War Office and Government contracts." I confess that I felt sorry for Sir Rupert. He scowled bravely, but it was evident that the failure had unnerved him. Turning on his heel he was about to quit the apartment, when he was prevented by the sudden entrance of my aunt, who, clasping him round the waist, constrained him to the execution of what is, I believe, known as a double shuffle. Uncle Brokeup and the cat then commenced to fling the kitchen furniture in every direction, an occupation in which my aunt, having released Sir Rupert, joined heartily. I hasten to draw a HARLEQUIN AND THE HEROINE 23 veil over the conclusion of the scene. Both Sir Rupert and I did our best, but it is indeed difficult to be emotional in an atmosphere opaque with crockery. Even my own dignified and heartbroken reserve must have suffered from the frequent necessity of bending before the storm of hardware. When it had abated, and the air was again clear, I ventured to reproach my uncle very gently for its introduction, but without effect. " My dear," he answered, arranging the mat for his habitual and most indecorous mode of exit, " you must get used to that sort of thing before we go to the Halls," and ere I could inquire the meaning of this expression, he dis- appeared, head, as usual, foremost. It was in scenes like this that I first learnt to doubt the wisdom of my choice and to pine for the simpler and less chaotic atmosphere of home. Nevertheless, a Prince, however unworthy, is still a Prince, and I was determined to go through with it. Even after the hideous moment when I beheld him in a straw hat, garments (which I will not particularize) of blue and white cotton, with a banjo in his hand and castanets upon his heels, repeating some scurrilous libel in which I was addressed as an Ethiopian, even then, when my idol of heroic dignity was shattered, I 24 A COLLECTION had yet one source of courage. I looked forward to an existence of stately and even tragic splendour as a Queen Consort. It was for this that I endured the abandoned levity of my suitor, the vulgarity of my relations, and the thousand agonies that can be suffered by a soul like mine from surroundings so uncongenial. How was I destined to be undeceived ! Part III Preparations for the nuptials were well advanced, and it wanted little of the appointed time, when finding myself alone with the Baron in the narrow trysting-place known locally as Near the Castle, I entreated an explanation of the words that had perplexed me at our last interview. " Tell me," said I, speaking rather loudly to drown the noise of hammering which was distinctly audible behind us, " tell me, I beg of you, what did you mean by going to the Halls ? " " Don't you know ? " replied the Baron. " The Halls are where we live when it isn't Christmas time. Turns, you know, and all that." "Turns?' I repeated vaguely. Yes, of course," said my uncle. " What HARLEQUIN AND THE HEROINE 25 else ? We all do 'em. Your aunt and I are refined knock-abouts, and the Prince does patriotism and cake-walks." " But," I stammered, a suspicion of the awful truth breaking upon me, " surely I ? " " Of course, now you are one of us, you'll do the same," said the Baron. " I fancy your line will be something in the serio-comic. You wear short skirts and a sun-bonnet. It's quite easy." To say that I was aghast would be to under- state the truth. " Alas ! " I exclaimed. " You know not what you are saying. You forget that I am the one figure in dramatic literature that never changes, whose misfortunes and whose sorrows are invariably the same. Uncle," I pleaded, " I am almost a formula ; do not, pray do not, ask me to become a marionette ! " " I'm afraid," said he, " that it cannot be helped now, and really I think the change would be an improvement. Anyhow," he added, " it will be a beautiful wedding." I made no response. " You shall wear three large ostrich plumes and a necklace of electric lights," continued the kind old gentleman. " Afterwards, there will be a ballet entitled The Triumph of Cupid^ also acrobats, a tramp cyclist, and a man who does 26 A COLLECTION lightning cartoons. No one shall say that we denied you these simple comforts. I have also," he added, smiling, " a little personal surprise in store ; you shall see what it is at the ceremony. Half-time ! " Inwardly I reflected that to see myself there would be all the surprise I should need, but unwilling to pain him, I said nothing more, and soon afterwards he bustled away upon his preparations. What a position was I now in ! Fated (unless I could even yet escape) to an existence of silk stockings and a perpetual smile, the prospect caused the very blood to freeze in my veins. Lacking strength even to swoon, I looked round wildly for Sir Rupert. I longed for one of his familiar curses to prove to me that I was not utterly alone. How bitterly I regretted having left dear Papa and my old lover Jack, whose lofty sentiments and simple attire I contrasted mentally with the masquerade of yonder princely buffoon. But alas ! even Sir Rupert had vanished since the failure in the banqueting hall, and I had perforce to wait till the actual moment of the wedding, at which (being in the concluding act) he would be bound to be present. The ceremony was arranged to take place in the Hall of Dazzling Light, as my uncle had, HARLEQUIN AND THE HEROINE 27 somewhat ostentatiously, named his principal reception-room. Concealed behind a pillar in this apartment, I watched the magnificent crowd of guests as it trooped glittering down the marble staircase to appropriate music. Very unwillingly, I had permitted myself to be attired in a costume consisting principally of spangles and incandescent lamps, quite unsuitable to my severe and classic type of beauty. So habited, it had been arranged by my uncle (whose conception of a beautiful wedding was somewhat transatlantic) that I should conclude the procession by appearing hand-in-hand with the Prince beneath a floral canopy upheld by members of the flying ballet. But how different were my emotions from those which I had anticipated. Terror had now taken the place of pride, the shadow of some half-comprehended doom seemed to brood over the festive scene. Dimly I wondered what was happening at dear old Meadowsweet, and what would be my parent's anguish could he but behold the position of his only daughter. Suddenly, even as I thought thus, I saw something which caused the very blood to freeze within my veins. (It will be noticed that I am liable to this species of chill.) Close to me, mingling with the crowd, I perceived Cousin 2 8 A COLLECTION Flo, Papa, the pantomime villain, and my old lover Jack. But with what unspeakable shame did I behold them ? What horrid enchantment had so altered the familiar reverence of my relative's demeanour ? In a flash I understood. The pantomime atmosphere imported by Cousin Flo and her companion had proved too strong for the purer air of Melodramia, and the fusion of the two elements had produced that hybrid known as Musical Comedy. There could be no doubt about it. My father and my ex-lover, once so serenely calm, were now pronounced specimens of this un- speakable type. It needed not poor Papa's trilby hat, his curly whiskers, or his loud check suit to convince me ; their entrance in line, each with a hand upon his neighbour's shoulder, and one leg held out at right angles, would alone have betrayed the shameful truth. Then this was the surprise which my uncle had predicted ; it was one indeed ! Pale with horror, I turned to behold Sir Rupert Rutherford standing beside me. He looked older and more careworn than when I had last seen him, and his face wore the haggard expression of one engaged in a hopeless struggle with fate. In his hands was a cigarette case — empty. HARLEQUIN AND THE HEROINE 29 " Aha 1" he hissed, making, I could observe, a violent effort to keep his teeth clenched. " Aha, my dainty Rose ! " Then a spasm appeared to seize him. " Why," he asked suddenly, " is Lord Kitchener like a potato ? " From these awful words I realized that the fatal influence of the place had even spread to him. " I don't know what made me say that," he added despondently. " I've been trying not to for days." In a moment I had made up my mind. There was little time to lose, for already reminiscences of Wagner were heralding the appearance of the bridal pair. I could see the Prince, in a garment of glittering silver with white ostrich plumes in his hat, searching distractedly for me. Obviously the end was close at hand. " Rupe," I whispered hastily (and the con- traction was significant), " Rupe, let us fly from here ere it be too late ! Let us join hands and seek some distant spot to which this curse of Humour cannot penetrate. You have still your dress clothes, and I have my moral influence ; with these let us give Shakespearean recitals at local temperance halls — there at least there will be no amusement." Silently I held out my hands, he clasped them, and without a word we stole from the 30 A COLLECTION spot, while behind us the music swelled to a climax. What happened when our flight was dis- covered, whether the wedding was stopped, or whether cousin Flo resumed her old place, and in due course entered those mysterious Halls for which she was so obviously suited, I may never know. Sir Rupert and I dwell in a world far removed from such frivolity. Lately, however, strange rumours have reached us of " incidents " and " sketches," which by their extension may yet render these places fit even for a lady of such unblemished boredom as my own. In that case — dear Rupert has been looking over my shoulder, so I will end with his own words, words that he is never weary of repeating : " Mark me, a time will come ' IDIOMATIC PHRASES FOR TOURISTS a T this period of the year, when the /% Alpine season may be said to be / — ^ in full swing, we have pleasure in -*- ■"■ offering to our readers a few examples of conversational phrases in common use at foreign hotels ; not German, French, or Italian phrases — for these tongues may safely be disregarded — but English as employed by travelling English people. (i) We so much prefer a rest in some quiet spot. Means : We are too badly hit over Kaffirs for the expensive places this year. (ii) We have been fortunate in meeting most charming people. Means : You see, we are so charming ourselves. (iii) I find my few words of German quite a help. Means : My accent is remarkably pure. (iv) One has always heard that Means : I saw it in Baedeker. N.B.— The substitution of " one " for " I," as in above instance, has the double force of 31 32 A COLLECTION (a) an indefinite pronoun, (b) an indication of culture. (v) I suppose you have been doing a lot of climbing ? Means : I want an opening to talk about my own. (vi) No use making a toil of pleasure. Means : My waist is not what it was. (vii) We were most comfortable everywhere. Means : We only go to the best hotels. (viii) You must look us up on your return to England. Means : Nothing. ADAPTED FOR AMATEURS DEAR MR. PUNCH, — I am a I dramatic author to whom an ' untoward combination of cir- cumstances has so far denied a West-End appearance. Not that I am one of the great unacted ; far from it. Amateurs cry for me ! As, however, I have found from experience that the conditions of amateur pro- ductions seldom admit of a perfect interpretation of the writer's meaning, I am preparing a version of my work in which all such contingencies shall be foreseen. I append a brief example of my method. It will be observed that it contains nothing which even the most amateur company cannot present in exact accord with the instructions of the author. It is, in short, a play that nobody can spoil. Yours faithfully, Arthur Pinero Robinson. Title (which can be changed to anything else in order to avoid payment of royalties) : " Suited at Last ! " The interest of the piece commences, before 33 D 34 A COLLECTION the rising of the curtain, with a sustained pianoforte recital, comprising the Overture to Zampa, Three Dances from Henry VIII., and The Eton Boat Song (twice repeated). Through the music a confused hammering should be heard at intervals. Finally the curtain rises quite suddenly in the middle of a bar, and reveals : The Great Hall of Bilton Castle. The room measures 13 feet by 9, and is furnished with a table c. and chairs r. and l. At one side is a door opening into a narrow passage. On the opposite side another door into the same passage. At back a window, with view of distant mountains. The light is that of four oil foot-lamps, one smoking. Enter Angelina, a beautiful young girl with a pronounced complexion. She trips over the cross-bar at the foot of the door, Angelina {murmurs in audibly for five minutes, then louder). And if he did but suspect his true intentions, I tremble for the result. (N.B. — About halfway through this soliloquy the lights in the auditorium, previously full on, should be lowered abruptly.) But hark ! Who comes here ? ADAPTED FOR AMATEURS 25 {Listening at door l.) Yes, it is the Duke's footstep. Confusion ! (A pause. Then enter r. the Duke of Bilton, an elderly aristocrat with flowing white-upon-black hair. He trips over the cross-bar?) Duke. Yes, Angelina, your ear has not deceived you, albeit the acoustic properties of the castle led you to expect me by a door opposite to that by which I actually entered. But stay ! I have that to speak which brooks no delay. Angelina {seating herself). Can it be the mystery of my birth ? I am all attention. Duke. Then hearken. Never shall I cease to remember — (a significant pause ; they look at one another anxiously) — I say, never shall I forget — {another pause). But hold ! {Producing small buff-coloured volume?) I will recite the fatal particulars as printed. {Proceeds to do so — from the edition of the play published by Sam. French & Co.) Nothing therefore remains but to sign our contract. Have you pens and ink ? Angelina. No. Duke. Paper ? Angelina. No. Duke. A pencil ? Angelina. Alas, no ! All the hand properties have been forgotten. 36 A COLLECTION Duke. No matter ! I will write it with my forefinger on the tablecloth. (Does so.) Come. Your signature. Angelina. Never ! Duke. Perdition ! But I will be revenged. (Exit r. He trips over the cross-bar.) Angelina. What can I do ? I am deserted by all. (Enter Edwin, l. He comes in gaily, tripping over the cross-bar.) Edwin. Not so. I am here. At last, dearest, we are alone. But wait, I have left the door open. Angelina. Heed it not, beloved. The Mysterious Hand will close it. (The door shuts.) Said I not so ? Edwin. At last, dearest, we are alone. (Crossing r.) Angelina. Enchanting prospect ! (Cross- ing L.) Edwin. You are mine. (Placing two fingers on her waist.) Mine, body and soul. Angelina (apprehensively). The thought is heaven. Edwin (slightly inclining head towards her). My heaven is on your lips ! Angelina (averting hers by an equal distance). I faint with rapture ! ADAPTED FOR AMATEURS 37 Edwin (with obvious relief, crossing briskly, l). But a truce to such happiness, I have a secret to reveal. Angelina. What is that ? Edwin. Er {He hesitates?) Angelina. Why do you not speak ? {He is silent?) Ah ! I see it all. You no longer love me ! Is that your secret ? {He is still silent ; she stands watching him, her lips moving convulsively.) Edwin. I cannot say. I feel as though some one at the left-hand bottom corner of the stage were trying to suggest something to me. Angelina. Ah ! Do not reject it. It is the Mysterious Voice. Edwin. I am not rejecting it. It is too faint. {Half turning l.) What ? What do you say ? You must speak louder. Louder yet. I am not able to hear what you say. (N.B. — This is a truly Maeterlinckian touch, the convenience of which will be obvious to every amateur?) Angelina {at the conclusion of a lengthy dialogue). It cannot be. I am betrothed to the Duke. Edwin. Betrothed ! Then there is no hope ? Angelina. None. Hark ! {She starts violently.) What noise was that ? 38 A COLLECTION Edwin. It sounded like a shot. Angelina. Something has happened. {A paper bag is heard to explode, off.) Edwin (repeating himself). It sounded like a shot. (Enter an aged retainer. He trips over the cross-bar.) Aged Retainer (amusedly). Alas ! My master is no more. Edwin. No more ? Angelina, then you are free to become my bride. (He takes her hand, at the same time nodding towards the corner of the stage.) Angelina. Yes, Edwin. We are " Suited at Last ! " (Tentative embrace by Edwin. Tableau. Edwin (in a hoarse whisper). Curtain ! ( The curtain descends about two feet and then sticks.) Angelina (same tone). Curtain ! ! Aged Retainer. Curtain ! ! ! The Mysterious Voice. — ! — ! — ! — ! For heaven's sake play something. (National Anthem heard. Exeunt Edwin, Angelina, and Aged Retainer hurriedly. The stage is empty. The curtain falls .) "IF THEY HAPPENED- >> Or, The Land of Short Story THERE were several persons in the railway carriage, the atmosphere of which was, by consequence, some- what heavy. Mr. Peagam, who sat in the corner, laid down his magazine and yawned, glancing with vague contempt at the faces of his fellow-travellers as they bent them over the sixpenny, fourpence-halfpenny, or even cheaper periodicals that they were reading. The covers of these publications were tediously familiar to Mr. Peagam. The Fleet Street Magazine, the Piccadilly ', the Imperial — he knew them all and their probable contents by heart. " They don't happen," said Mr. Peagam to himself, re- ferring to the contents ; " all lies, every one." He stared discontentedly at the spring land- scape. " If they did happen," thought Mr. Peagam, " if life was only arranged as the short stories make out ! " 39 40 A COLLECTION This was his last conscious reflection before, from sheer boredom, he fell asleep. He came to himself as the train was entering the terminus, and even in the moment of stepping out on the platform he was conscious of something unusual and yet oddly familiar in the aspect of the station and the crowd that thronged it. In some curious way the whole scene looked (as Mr. Peagam expressed it to himself) out of drawing. He had stared about him for several minutes before he realized the suggestion that it conveyed. " Bless my soul ! " he said at last, " it's just like a rather bad illustration in a magazine." He observed also that the passengers seemed divided into two totally distinct streams : one setting towards the expresses, and comprising soldiers in uniform, fur-coated diplomatists, and obvious representatives of the criminal and detective classes, while, on the other hand, the suburban trains were sought only by persons of a broadly humorous, not to say farcical appearance. " Curious," thought Mr. Peagam as he watched them ; " but where have I noticed such a tendency before ? " At this moment a young man and a girl stopped immediately in front of him. "IF THEY HAPPENED -" 41 11 And so," said the former, speaking in a voice that Mr. Peagam could not choose but overhear, " we part now — for ever." " Nay," answered the girl, " not for ever. When in that distant land to which you go you have worked out the redemption of the past, then — will you not turn again — home ? " " Home ! " echoed the young man bitterly. " Where is my home ? " For a moment the girl hesitated ; then, with a wonderful smile, she opened her arms to him. " Here," she cried, " in my heart ! " Mr. Peagam was reflecting upon the unusual character of such behaviour in a public railway- station, when he suddenly perceived that with the utterance of the last words both the speakers had vanished. Greatly startled, he asked the explanation of a bystander. The man, who presented somewhat the appearance of a cheap process-block, did not seem to have been at all astonished. " They'd got to the end," he said. " The end ! " repeated Mr. Peagam per- plexed ; " end of what ? " " The end of the story," said the man. Mr. Peagam was more mystified than ever, but before he could inquire further a fresh surprise arrested his attention. 42 A COLLECTION " Hullo ! " he cried, staring eagerly after a distinguished-looking youth who had just passed them, wearing a military uniform partially con- cealed by the coat and badge of a cab-driver, from beneath which his sword and spurs protruded with a slightly incongruous effect. " Surely — is not that his Royal Highness Prince " " Hush ! " exclaimed his companion, " of course it is. He's wearing those clothes so that his destined bride, who arrives by the next train, may love him for himself alone. All Royal betrothals are managed in that way now." " Dear me ! " said Mr. Peagam. " I had imagined that such things only happened in fiction." " So they do," answered the other. " That's why." Then the explanation dawned upon Mr. Peagam. " Why," he exclaimed breathlessly, " I believe my wish has become true. You're all short stories ! " " Of course we are," said the man. " So are you." " Me ? " cried Mr. Peagam, startled. " Naturally," said the man, " or you wouldn't be here. It's like Alice and the Red King's Dream " he explained. " The only question is, "IF THEY HAPPENED " 43 whose story are you ? What's your name ? " he added, suddenly. " Peagam," answered that gentleman. " Ah ! " said the man, " that settles it. I thought as much from your appearance, but the name decides me. Generally spoken of as 1 Mister ' Peagam, aren't you ? I know. Little sketches of middle-class humour ; very amusin' but getting a bit overdone." " But," cried Mr. Peagam, his mind vainly striving to grapple with such a discovery, " do you mean to say that all those horrors in the popular magazines might happen to me ? I might be killed at any moment ! " " Not you," said the man contemptuously. " With that name you're safe enough. You're one of the comic sort ; lose your return ticket, or sit on your hat — nothing dangerous. And here we have another popular type." He indicated a third-class compartment in which Mr. Peagam perceived several working- men poking fun at an anaemic-looking curate, who seemed strangely apprehensive of the dangers of travelling. " Foolish of them," said his companion. " They should know by now such behaviour always results in an accident, in which the curate saves their lives and is cheered by the passengers. 44 A COLLECTION It might come off at any moment. Let us move further off." But it was too late. Even as he spoke there was a cry of terror from the bystanders. Mr. Peagam had just time to realize that a collision was imminent and to catch that inevitable gleam of resolution on the pale face of the curate, when with a sickening jar — he awoke. " And Heaven be thanked," said Mr. Peagam to himself, as he stooped to pick up his magazine which had fallen to the floor, " that they don't happen, after all ! " The other passengers, perhaps for this very reason, continued to read placidly. A I OX IN THOUGHTFUL COUNTRY FAR from here, at the heart of England, there is a certain fair city that I love. She has been loved of many before me, and will be loved of many who to-day are yet unborn ; for her divinity is in this, that they who have once been hers, who have lived with her, and learned of her mystery, have evermore at their hearts her worship. In a green garden-valley, set beside the shining river like a rich gem upon a silver girdle, she stands now as she has stood throughout the ages ; changeless amid change, piteous of our unrest, smiling with weary lips a smile of tender- ness because of her beauty which is great wisdom. So untouched is she by the passing of the years, that sometimes, when in my lonely rambles I have paused to look down through break in wood or hedge upon the same picture which has greeted her wandering scholars for so many generations, an odd fancy has come upon me. How (I have thought) if I had but dreamt these latter days, and if, down there, the old life 45 46 A COLLECTION of sword and doublet were yet living on un- changed ; or, with a sudden pang half-real, half-fanciful, how if I should return to find another age slipped by unnoticed, and her familiar ways thronged with strange faces and men to whom I myself should be a ghost. Long is the list of them, her children, who have striven to speak the praise of this city ; led by the greatest of them all, the friend of Thyrsis, they have woven garlands of words to hang upon her altars, and strewn her pavements with their roses. And longer still were the unwritten scroll of them who, loving all as much, might bring no gift to prove it, but could only kneel unnoticed at her shrine, " dumb poets labouring with unuttered songs." Who shall tell the secret of her magic ? Who, indeed, when from so many it has been withheld, or given but as a seal of silence ? And yet, in that quiet hour when the dead yesterday and the unborn to-morrow are not, and only the Eternal Night is living, have I not caught some distant echo of that voice the poet heard " Whispering from her towers the last enchantments of the Middle Age " ? For it is by night alone, that they who would know her best should see this city. Changeless as she is, and all untouched at heart, yet has the IN THOUGHTFUL COUNTRY 47 scythe of the Time-god wounded her, here and there, in passing, and by the light of day the scars look cruel to the eyes of them that love her. But the pale hands of Night are soft and full of pity ; with her grey robe she gently covers all that is not fair, and while Night stays the city is herself. Then, with tired ears free from the tumult of our hurried life, her eyes grow bright again, and she lifts her head, once more a queen, as in the old beautiful days. Then, too, her cloisters echo other footsteps than those which have sounded there all day, and through each crumbling gateway pours a company of ghosts, shy souls, too timid for the sunlight and the gaze of living men. Then, as I pace the silent street, a sudden shadow passes in the moonlight. Hush ! Draw back a little ! Was it only a cloud and the night-wind sighing from the river, or did I see Shelley's face, with the sad passionate eyes, and hear his voice that weeps for exile ? And not of them alone who once breathed and lived about her walls, is my city haunted, but of others also. Of them in whom was never breath of life save that which creators gave them, when they wrote their history on some immortal page. Look from her ramparts where you will, on 48 A COLLECTION dale and stream and meadowland ; no part of it but is the home of some undying thought, the birthplace of some great memory. See yonder mid the trees ! That distant gleam marks where Thames, but young as yet, winds lazily to Bablockhithe. There, where the lane dips to its reed-fringed margin, stands the old ferry-house with the jangling bell. And there on summer evenings, comes the broad punt, creasing the still water to an arrow-head of silver light, and brings, perchance, that traveller whose gentle sunburnt face and wealth of country flowers I know so well. Along the southward road a solitary figure moves towards the town. Who knows but it is Wessex Jude journeying to Christminster ? And on yonder hilltop, lined sharp against the sky, stands Cumnor Hurst, which Thyrsis loved. Yes, it is this, more than all else besides, that makes my city wonderful. To feel that through so long a space of time so much of noble thought has had its being here, to feel that what I know and love to-day was all as dearly held in such a company of minds — that it is that wraps her about with a cloud of reverence, through which, like those of a city seen through the mist, her every stone gleams magical. And this it is, perchance, that is her secret. OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW YEAR FACES {How certain of the classics appeared to a very youthful playgoer) I. — Aladdin ONCE upon a time, in the Market Place at Pekin, there lived a poor widow named Twankey, with one little boy called Aladdin. Though Aladdin's mother was so poor she was very cheerful, and kept on saying funny things that made people laugh. Also she was able to give him some nice suits. But perhaps she saved on the knicker- bockers. One day the Princess of that country was coming by with a procession, and when she saw Aladdin she stopped the procession and fell in love with him. But the Grand Vizier was very angry, and told him he would be put in prison, at which Aladdin's mother wanted to go too, so that women might have votes. However, they didn't go, because a magician took Aladdin to the mouth of a cave, which he 49 50 A COLLECTION had to enter all alone. But when he got inside, instead of being alone he found crowds of lady- like young gentlemen in glittering clothes who walked about to music. And his mother came in as well and said, " Excuse me, but is this the Poplar Union ? " Then they brought the treasures to the palace of the Empress, the Princess's mother, who used to live in the Commercial Road, London, and let lodgings. And when she saw them she was overjoyed, and allowed Aladdin to marry the Princess, and Aladdin's mother married the magician, and at the wedding everybody sang songs, and some very large fairies flew about in the air, and every- thing was all over coloured lights. II. — Cinderella Cinderella was the daughter of a Baron ; she had two grown-up sisters who spited her, and they all lived in the kitchen with a big cat and some very rude servants. But it chanced chat a certain Prince with a squeaky voice wanted to marry Cinderella, so he told his page Dandini to disguise himself by carrying a little cloak on his left arm, which would somehow make people think he was the Prince. Then the real Prince gave a party and all the Baron's family went OLD FRIENDS WITH NEW YEAR FACES 51 except Cinderella, who was left at home. But afterwards she started too, in a glass coach drawn by live ponies, and although she was so late the coach kept going round and round in a circle instead of straight on. Which was silly. After all, though, it wasn't much of a party, only processions ; and as soon as the Prince met Cinderella all the lights went out, except a wobbly kind of moon, and the Prince put on a big hat and sang " Honey, kiss your -piccaninny boy." But the others never got to the party at all, because their flying-machine broke down near the Zoo- logical Gardens, at which the Baroness was very angry and said, " We've lost the Daily Mail prize." However, they saw some performing animals, and the Baron pretended to do thought- reading ; and after that I suppose they must have got home somehow, because when the Prince brought round Cinderella's slipper next day the old sisters wanted to buy it in Class D at a reduction on the net price ; but he would only give it to Cinderella, so they were married. III. — Robinson Crusoe Robinson Crusoe started from the Port of Hull, where his aged mother lived, and a pretty lady in short skirts whom he was engaged to. 52 A COLLECTION So Crusoe said, " Au revoir^ my little Hyacinth " — though her real name was Polly Hopkins — and went away on a ship with a lot of good-looking sailors, and it was wrecked, but Crusoe himself got to the Desert Island without even wetting his clothes. But the island wasn't nearly so desert as you'd think from the book, because, besides Crusoe and Friday and the cannibals, Mrs. Crusoe had come too, and Polly Hopkins, and a gentleman with a red nose called Education Bill. However, the King of the Cannibals was quite nice and friendly, and instead of eating them he told them about his adventures by the Zuyder Zee, and showed them some processions and a dance of monkeys. Shortly afterwards they found out that the cannibals were only black because there was a soap-trust on the Desert Island, so they all sailed away to Port Sunlight on a steamer with L.C.C. on the paddle and lived happy ever after. IMMORAL TALES I. — The Yellow Vase ONE day Mamma said to Thomas and Henry, " My dears, a Wild Beast Show has come to the town, and if you are both very good boys you shall go with your Papa and me this afternoon to see it." But as ill luck would have it, while the two boys and their constant companion Fido were playing in the parlour that morning, what should little Henry do but throw down a beautiful yellow vase with puce-coloured spots, that stood on the mantel-shelf, and break it into bits ! At this the poor lad was sadly frightened. 11 For," said he, "I fear Mamma may be vexed, and perhaps not take me to the Wild Beast Show after all." 11 Not a doubt of it," replied his brother, 11 since I know that the yellow vase was a present from our Uncle James. But," continued sly Tom, " why should we not lay the blame upon Fido here ? Then he will be punished and not we." 53 54 A COLLECTION To this, however, Henry would not agree, for he was a good little boy, and knew moreover that the Fido excuse was wearing a bit thin. " No," said he firmly, " I shall say that I alone did it, because I have found that Truth always pays best in the long run." " Quite right," said his Papa, who had entered the room unobserved, and who was heartily glad to see the last of the yellow vase, " and now put on your things and we will set out at once for the show. But as for Tom, he must remain at home and go supperless to bed." So naughty Tom was left to meditate upon the Reward of Dishonesty, while Papa and Mamma and Henry went to the show, where a wild beast got into the sixpenny seats and ate them entirely up. Moral. Look before you leap. II. — The Cakes Rupert and Alfred were two little boys at school, whose birthdays came on the same day, though they were not twins. The reason they were not twins was because they had different papas and mammas, and indeed were no relation to each other at all. However, on this day they each received a IMMORAL TALES 5$ beautiful large cake, full of raisins and candied peel, and covered all over with the most delicious plaster of Paris that can be imagined. Now Alfred, who was a very unselfish little boy, took his cake at once to the master, and having obtained permission, he cut it into forty slices, so small as to be worth practically nothing at all, and gave one to each of his school-fellows at tea- time. In this way every boy got just sufficient cake to make him angry that there was no more, while Alfred himself was content with the but- tered paper and the approval of the master, who, having countermanded the eggs previously ordered for tea, warmly praised his conduct. How different was that of Rupert ! This greedy lad, satisfied as to the excellence of Alfred's cake, withdrew with his into a lonely spot, where, I blush to say, he consumed it all himself. The result of this was that he was enabled to pursue his studies with such increased energy that all his friends complimented him upon the change ; moreover, having now ac- quired a distaste for the inferior cake sold at enor- mous profit in the school tuckshop, he saved his weekly pennies for the benighted heathen, and in short became a pattern for all who knew him. Mora/. Never leave to others what you can do yourself. $6 A COLLECTION III. — Jane Jane was a little girl who had one grave fault ; she was sadly fond of her own way. Her Papa, willing to read her a lesson in this, once said to her, " To-morrow, my dear Jane, is your birthday, and on it you shall, if you please, do exactly whatever you like, without hindrance from Mamma or myself." " Thank you, dear Papa," replied Jane, 11 that will be very pleasant." So she set to work to decide what she should do, while Papa went out to purchase a bottle of noisome but reformatory medicine, of which he foresaw that there would shortly be considerable need. On the following morning as soon as it was light Jane rang her bell violently, and having by this means disturbed the entire household, she ordered a substantial breakfast in her room at 10.30, and composed herself for the enjoyment of several additional hours of refreshing slumber. When she came downstairs Papa asked if she intended to visit the forbidden pond, " in which case," said he, " we should save time by putting blankets to the fire at once." To this, however, Jane replied that nothing should induce her to risk her birthday upon so dangerous a pastime, adding that she had instead IMMORAL TALES 57 engaged an electric coupe for a round of the principal toyshops in company with her friend Clementine, a child of low manners with whom her parents had strictly forbidden her to associate. Accordingly the little girls, having spent the morning, and much else, in this agreeable fashion, lunched together at an expensive restaurant, and were afterwards so fortunate as to secure by telephone two returned stalls for the matinee at Drury Lane. They reached home, however, in excellent time for dinner (personally ordered by Jane from a reliable caterer's) and concluded the evening with a surprise party, of which, though the party was Jane's, the surprise unquestionably belonged to Papa. Altogether the day, which, including purchases and motor hire, stood Papa in a matter of one hundred and fifty pounds, passed off without the slightest hitch, while for Jane it provided an object lesson, which she never afterwards forgot, of the admirable results which, with ordinary prudence, may be attained by little girls who are allowed to have their own way in everything. Moral. Don't make generous offers unless you're sure they'll be declined. PETER I WAS nervous, exceedingly. But " any mother of any Peter ... is always a charming personality " ; this was the phrase, taken from the pages of Mr. Punch of a few weeks back, with which I had primed myself in anticipation. If the worst came to the worst (I thought) it might serve to propitiate Them while I beat a tactful retreat. What Thev were, and the worst, and the occasion on which it might befall, I will explain. But first I must premise that, incredible as it may seem, the Peter of this history is a real Peter, not a nickname or a character out of a book. This, in an age of make-believe Peters, King Peters, Peters with Households, or those others whom we have loved on the stage of Wyndham's or the Duke of York's Theatre, is, I am aware, to test your belief in him to the utmost. My Peter, however, was no mere literary fiction, but a remarkably solid fact, so christened by grown-up and responsible god- parents in a real church, nay, a cathedral ; a 58 AS HONORARY UNCLE " \[ I s WELL " PETER 59 Peter moreover who, at goodness knows how many or how few weeks old, already weighs a wholly preposterous number of — whatever units they employ for baby-weight. And it happens that Peter's father is my oldest and best friend in the world, and Peter's mother is already one of my dearest ; and — / had never yet seen Peter. I wasted my italics there. They should have been kept for this reflection, which is infinitely more important and more charged with alarming possibilities : Peter had never yet seen me ! Now you understand, and (I hope) appreciate the position. Is it strange that I was nervous at the prospect of this interview ? So much depended upon its result. I had an uncle once who would estimate character solely by the behaviour of his dogs, a peculiarity to which (having always a certain fellowship with the four- footed) I was indebted for many tips. " There can't be much harm in a lad," he would say, " if the dogs take to him," and there followed a sovereign. This of a terrier. Conversely, then, and how much more, if Peter should howl, or discover any symptoms of antipathy towards me ? Where then would be the honourable record of a bachelor friendship, the tradition of a blameless career at Oxford and elsewhere ? In two pairs 60 A COLLECTION of eyes I felt that I should have been exposed for ever. Probably I should be forbidden the house, or (at best) tolerated as a trickster whose worth- lessness had been laid bare. This was the thought that was unnerving me as I approached the place of inquisition. Peter's parents live in a flat. It is a very small flat, at the head of a long and most un- interesting staircase, and in it they have dwelc since their marriage like two charmingly self- satisfied turtle-doves on the topmost branches of a tall tree. Physically, of course, they are not in the very least like turtle doves, but the simile is an obvious one for the contentment of their nest. That, however, was W.P. — Without Peter. How his arrival might have affected this, and other things, I was now to discover. Peter's father greeted me in the hall, walking delicately like Agag. " Hush ! " he said by way of welcome, and added, " Asleep." I followed him in obedient silence ; before, however, we had done more than seat ourselves, a cry, thin, tremulous and strange — infinitely strange in that familiar room — shattered the stillness. The face of Peter's father instantly assumed an expression of alert and proprie- tary interest. " He's awake," he explained. « That's Peter." PETER 6 i " Ah," I said, " indeed ! " I had to raise my voice slightly to say it, but I was conscious the while of only one thought, that I had suddenly grown unutterably old. It was the knell of a generation that was sounding in this insistent voice ; all at once I saw myself and my own concerns as things that were past. " He'll be in soon now," said Peter's father. He spoke nervously, much as might the host at a theatrical entertainment that had been imperfectly rehearsed. Clearly he, too, was apprehensive of this meeting. I shuffled my feet in assent, and we waited. And then, before I had expected it, he entered, on the arm of a transfigured likeness to the hostess I remembered, and I saw him, the arbiter of my destiny, clad in some traily covering that may have been clouds of glory or a mere earthly garment of silk and laces. I shall attempt no more detailed description, and as a matter of fact he was wholly unlike anything except a very pink and crumply baby. He was quite silent and terribly alert. The moment had come. " Peter," said she who held him (and even her voice was not wholly free from anxiety), " look, who's this ? " I stood up, and on the instant various ingratiating modes of address, commencing with 62 A COLLECTION the word " Didums," fled incontinent, leaving me naked and defenceless before the scorching scrutiny of the eyes that met my own. Blue eyes they were, and hugely, dispro- portionately round. They seemed to grow larger and rounder as they looked. For a long moment he regarded me without comment, and I fancy that three faces were a little pale with the strain of that suspense. And then, slowly, deliberately, comprehendingly, Peter smiled. So that was all right. Instinctively we all breathed sighs of relief. The momentous question of " Who's this ? " had been decided in my favour, and Peter had taken me under his protection. Soon he was clasping one of my fingers in an absurdly tiny fist, with the apparent intention of cramming it down his own throat. And quite suddenly he began to sing, a song formless and weird, such as a German goblin might croon upon the summit of Brocken, all rolling gutturals and unexpected turns. The words of it no mere man might comprehend, but fortunately without this the meaning was sufficiently clear. " Pass, friend," said Peter. " All's well." THE HAUNTED EDITOR IT was August ; August, and a heat wave at that ! Exhausted in mind and body with the completion of the most arduous labour of the journalistic year, the pro- duction of a Christmas Number that should take time not by the forelock but by the entire scalp, the Editor of The Snappy Album had flung himself back in his chair. " Out before any of the others ! " he murmured triumphantly. The clock, which, in accordance with the stern spirit of competition pervading that dread abode, indicated an hour somewhat in advance of the actual time, was approaching midnight before the Editor realized that the usual weekly budget of illustration had still to be made up. Fortunately, however, this was not a matter of difficulty. " After all," he reflected, with weary gratitude, " there is always Seymour Hicks, and our old friends of the Gaiety, and somebody must have opened a new golf links somewhere." He was just thinking of rousing himself when the door of his sanctum was flung suddenly 63 64 A COLLECTION open. " Inspector to see you, sir," said a liveried menial, and before he could reply that he was out of town and not expected back for a month, the Editor saw with annoyance that his unbidden visitor stood already within the room. The gaunt figure towered threateningly above the editorial chair : hollv and mistletoe were wreathed about its frosted locks, and its presence seemed to be accompanied by a subtle aroma of glazed paper and printer's ink. The Editor gasped. " What Inspector is this ? " he cried. " Nuisances ? " " An error on the part of your informant," replied the visitor calmly, " for which we decline responsibility. I said a Spectre, not Inspector. The mistake was perhaps natural." " Your voice," ventured the Editor in a more conciliatory tone, " is a trifle husky. Did you — er — happen to mention whose spectre you were ? " " I do it now," replied the Phantom. " I am the embodiment of that burden which has lain heavy on your soul for weeks, that burden which you have but now transferred to a for- giving public. Tremble, rash Mortal ! I am the Ghost of Christmas Numbers Past ! ' The Editor trembled as directed. " Just so he said politely. i > THE HAUNTED EDITOR 6$ 11 And these," continued the Spectre, " are my children ; " whereupon, following a gesture of its bony hand, the Editor observed at the far end of the room a shadowy company whose appearances struck him as unpleasantly familiar. " Come," said the Phantom, " look on them more closely ; they should be friends of yours. Yonder stately maiden, for example. See you naught to recognize in her ? " At this a young girl of haughty yet benevolent appearance glided forward. " Speak ! " com- manded the Phantom, and the shadow spoke. 11 I," she said wearily, " am called Lady Bountiful. Clad in becoming furs I visit the homes of needy cottagers, upon whom I bestow that vague variety of provender known as Christmas Cheer. The glow of a robust if somewhat aniline colour in my cheeks contrasts effectively with that of the pale recipients of my bounty. I am known also under various aliases, such as ' The Errand of Charity ' or ' A Friend in Need.' I have been doing this sort of thing uninterruptedly for years. I wish now to retire on a small pension as a public servant." " It is well," said the Phantom gloomily. " Next, please." The next was a rubicund and choleric old gentleman with white hair. " My name," he F 66 A COLLECTION began, in an aggrieved voice, " is Squire Jollyboys of Jollyboys Hall, Blankshire, where I occupy myself with country dances and fox-hunting, the latter preferably after a heavy fall of snow. I live exclusively upon turkeys " 11 Turkeys, ha ! " ejaculated the Spectre. " And plum puddings," continued the old gentleman hotly, " a diet which fills me with repulsion. After such a meal it is my inevitable custom to embrace all my female guests beneath a convenient mistletoe. I am sick of it. The mere sight of a wassail-bowl makes me shudder. I demand to be placed on sick-leave owing to chronic dyspepsia." " You have heard his plea," said the Ghost ; " do you admit its justice ? " The Editor fidgeted uneasily. " How the dickens " he began, but the Ghost interrupted him. " You touch the spot," it rejoined, " for it is the Dickens who is responsible. But see 1 Who follows now ? " He pointed as he spoke to the forms of three young men, who had silently taken the place of Squire Jollyboys. One was very tall and thin, another very short and fat, and the third, by way of distinguishing characteristic, had red hair. THE HAUNTED EDITOR 67 " We," answered the tall member of the trio immediately, " are of many names and periods, but of one generic title. We are The Three ! " He paused. " You know them ? " asked the Phantom sternly. The Editor groaned. " I know them well," he said. " You should," continued the tall young man. " For our career under your auspices has been long and varied. Clad in powder and brocade we have led Them through the mazes of the stately dance, or, in the costume of a later age, have hunted in Their company, broken the ice at skating parties with Them " " Them ? " queried the inexorable Phantom, but the Editor checked him, almost with a sob. " Yes, yes," he cried. " The Three Maidens. I admit them also. Have mercy ! " But the young man went on, " And later still, have rescued them from bicycle or motor accidents. Presently it will be aeroplanes ! The result, however, is unalterable." " The result ? " began the inquisitor, but again his victim broke in with piteous haste. " I know," he said quickly ; " a triple wedding at the village church, and the departure of three couples " M By pillion, motor, or flying-machine as the 68 A COLLECTION case may be," concluded the young man. " The separable accidents may differ slightly, but we ourselves remain always and inevitably the same. It was the everlasting monotony of it," resumed the young man, " that drove us to come out with the others." M To come out ? " repeated the Editor, mystified. " I should have warned you," said the Spectre sternly. " This is a deputation. The employees whom year by year you have so grossly overworked have risen at last. Henceforward the comic carol singers and the old gentleman in the nightcap who throws things out of windows will go through their dreary performance no longer ; the yule-log will remain ungarnered ; and the Christmas coach will discontinue its annual adventure with the snow-drift. Even the salmon-coloured children and the impossibly curly dog, whose proud motto ' Suitable for Framing ' boasts your encouragement of the Arts, even they have joined us. In a word, your 800 per cent, profits are at an end. We have Struck ! " " Struck ! " screamed the Editor, sitting bolt- upright in his chair. " Yes, sir, the clock has struck, sir," answered the liveried menial politely, "just gone twelve." So it was only a dream after all ! With a THE HAUNTED EDITOR 69 sigh of relief the Editor realized that his trusted and familiar assistants were still to be depended on, and next morning the summer sunlight gleamed upon a thousand bookstalls, where, unchanged from any of its predecessors save in date, reposed " The Earliest Christmas Number." DRAM.BAC. A SUGGESTION has been put forward, with the support of the British Drama League, and others, for the establishment at our Universities of a " Faculty of the Theatre and Dramatic Degree." Heartily applauding the proposal, we append a typical examination paper for the final school : — (i) Sketch briefly the progress of amateur acting in this country, from the impersonation of a Danish minstrel by Alfred the Great, to the Victory Varieties Matinee arranged by Lady Eve Tatlery. (2) Arrange, in order of probability, the first fifty authors of Shakespeare. (3) " The Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing-fields of Eton." Estimate the rival claims of the Windsor Strollers. (4) Indicate your make-up for Romulus, Henry the Eighth, Abraham Lincoln. (5) What is a point, and how made ? A " straight " line lies evenly between any good points ; give instances. 70 DRAM.BAC. 71 (6) Under what dramatic conditions can a part be greater than the whole ? Cite the authority of any two actor-managers for this theory. (7) Explain, with diagrams, (a) The Eternal Triangle ; (J?) Squaring the Upper Circle. (8) Illustrate the axiom that the length of a run varies with the breadth of the dialogue. (9) What proportion of the music-hall comedians of Great Britain is supplied by (a) Lancashire ; (F) Scotland ? (10) Which European drama requires most doors for its honeymoon farces ? (11) "What Manchester thinks to-day England will think next Sunday evening." Analyse this statement in its bearing upon the play-producing societies. (12) " Let who will make a nation's laws so that I make its songs." Discuss the ethical and sociological significance of this with regard to (a) " Where do flies go in the winter-time ? ' (J?) " I do like an egg with my tea." In the viva voce portion of the examination, candidates for Honours will be required to satisfy the examiners (to the point of actual tears) by their recital of selected passages from prepared books. They may offer any two of the following : " Buckingham's Farewell " ; " The 72 A COLLECTION Signalman's Daughter " ; " The Death of Little Nell " {with voices). For candidates not seeking Honours a passable imitation of Mr. George Robey will entitle to one group. HOW I ADAPTED I HAVE been a good deal worried lately over my play. To speak candidly, so have some other people, but these were chiefly managers, strong men, who could endure in silence — and usually did. The trouble appeared to be that, though my central idea was excellent and dramatic enough (Adolphus in love with Angelina, who is betrothed to Edwin) the treatment was not so satisfactory. Or so I gathered from the advice of the only friend I could persuade to read it. What he said was briefly, "Adapt ! Look about you, select your management, and adapt accordingly. Don't be discouraged by one failure. Adapt again ! ' So I adapted — with what result the following extracts from my notebook will show. Version A Adolphus, a rugged colonial, uncultivated but enormously wealthy, loves silently the Lady Angelina, a society butterfly betrothed de conve- nance to Lord Edwin, bloated roue. Act I. — 73 74 A COLLECTION Ball-room scene," heartless epigrams interrupted by Adolphus, who enters in a ready-made suit and exposes the corruption of the Smart Set. Act II. — Adolphus 1 s City office. Lord Edwin proposes to exchange Angelina for the straight tip on Australian mines. Adolphus consents to deal, and inadvertently posts the contract note to Angelina. Act III. — Adolphus' s flat. Hero packing to return to Colonies, having received snub. Enter Angelina. Strong scene a deux. Finally, Angelina : " You are going to cross the sea alone ? " Adolphus (quietly) : " Alone, Lady Angelina." Angelina: "So, then, there is one process, Adolphus, that your business training has not taught you " (turns aside and thumps cushions). Adolphus (a great light coming into his eyes) : " What is that ? " Angelina (with a wonderful smile) : " The carry over ! ' He catches her in his strong arms. Curtain. Declined by Mr. Arth-r B-rch-r. Version B Angelina, a frivolous, fluffy-minded lady, is engaged to Edwin, but fancies she might prefer Adolphus. Act I. — Drawing-room at Badinage Towers. Enter Edwin, Adolphus, Angelina, and witty house-party. They talk. Act II. — Con- HOW I ADAPTED 75 servatory at Badinage Towers. Enter Edwin, etc., as before. They talk. Engagement broken off. Act III. — Royal Courts of Justice. Breach of promise action. Enter everybody. Angelina talks. Curtain. Declined by Miss M-ry M-re. Version C For the purposes of this version Edwin and Angelina are already married, and are staying as guests at the country house of Adolphus, who loves Angelina silently but less strenuously than in A. Act I. — Hall of Adolphus's house. Host announces that his gold trouser-press has mysteriously disappeared, and that all the foot- men are really detectives. Sensation among guests. Act II. (The Great Scene). — Angelina's bedroom. Discovery by Edwin of pawn-ticket for the missing property in Angelina's jewel-case. Enter Adolpkus, guests, and detectives. First detective : "I arrest you, Adolpkus, on the charge of pawning your own trouser-press, and forgetting it." Angelina is silent. Adolphus glances at her, shrugs shoulders, and smiles wanly. " It is true." Act III. — Adolphus, still smiling wanly, about to be led out to prison. Angelina : " Stop ! I stole the trouser-press ! " J 6 A COLLECTION Edwin : " You ! Why ? " Angelina : " Be- cause " (falters). Adolphus : " Because, ah, do you not see ? Because, Edwin, she could not bear that your trousers should be less creased than mine. Because — she loves you ! ' Joins their hands, and exit, smiling wanly. Curtain. Declined by Mr. G-rge Al-x-nd-r. Version D In this version also Angelina is already married to Edwin, but is carrying on a flirtation (just not too far for the Censor) with Adolphus, who is now younger and more romantic than Edwin. Act I. — Departure of Edwin, vaguely suspicious, on supposed tropical tour. Arrival of extra character, inserted for this version only, " Charles, his friend," loquacious, elderly philo- sopher. Situation explained to newcomer, who grunts eloquently. Act II. — Restaurant Palais- Royal. Adolphus and Angelina dining together in private room. Unexpected return of Edwin. " What does this mean ? " Philosopher (entering providentially) : " Mean — why, that we are both late for Adolphus' s party ! " Tableau. Act III. — Chambers of philosophical friend. Enter Adolphus and Angelina, en route for Paris. Friend : "Go by all means, but not till you have first HOW I ADAPTED 77 heard my monologue on the Social Fabric." Gives it at length. Enter Edwin. Hurried reconciliation of everybody. Curtain. Declined by Sir Ch-rl-s W-ndh-m. Version E Suburban atmosphere. Act I. — Scene, a villa residence. Angelina, a typical English girl, has betrothed herself to Edwin (who teaches her roller-skating) rather than to Adolphus, an ex-Baden-Powell scout. The happy home ; Adolphus's warnings unheeded. Sudden noise without. Enter the invading army of the Princess of Monaco. Sensation. Act 1 1. — Same scene as Act I., only less of it. Continued noise without. Edwin shot. Act III. — Hardly any of Scene I. Alarums and excursions. Death of Adolphus. Angelina : " Can roller-skating save England now ? " She goes mad. Curtain. Declined by Mr. Fr-nk C-rz-n (and when I wrote again, offering to put on a happy ending' he didn't answer). Version F Most of dialogue omitted in this version. Act I, — Drawing-room at Buckingham Palace. 78 A COLLECTION Presentation of Angelina and gorgeously attired supers. Adolphus steals the Crown jewels, and falsely accuses Edzvin, who is forced to escape with Angelina in a motor, pursued by Adolphus, Act II. — Still escaping. The motors cross the St. Gothard in realistic earthquake. Motors blow up. Rescue of Edwin and Angelina by air- ship. The seismic wave ; entire arena converted into a gigantic sea, and Adolphus submerged beneath two million gallons of actual water. Curtain. Declined by Mr. Fr-nk P-rk-r for the Hippodrome. What on earth to do with it now ? THE OLD GENTLEMAN CAN hardly describe to you the queer shock of surprise it gave me to meet him — after all these years. Of course, in a vague way I had always expected it, as a thing that was pretty well certain to take place some time or other. I had even gone so far as to form an idle picture of what he would probably be like ; a flattering picture, I see now, wherein a venerable and almost patriarchal benevolence was choicely blended with the good-humoured sagacity of the philosopher. As I say, the idea of our meeting was one for which I was not altogether un- prepared. But to find myself at last actually in the same room with him — I think I could have encountered the Pope of Rome with less emotion ! The manner of it was thus. I was calling that afternoon upon Marjorie's Aunt. Not that the fact of her being Marjorie's Aunt had any- thing to do with my visit. So far from it, indeed, that until about halfway through the call I was even unaware of her very existence in that capacity. There were, however, a thousand 79 80 A COLLECTION reasons why I should call upon her which (in view of what happened later) need not now detain us. Anyway, at one point in the conversation, she said, smiling, " I don't think you've met my little niece, Marjorie ? " I admitted the misfortune. II She's the funniest little person ! " said my hostess, smiling again (I am obliged to mention this ; in my place you would understand why), " and keeps us all in fits. She's staying here at present." " Indeed ! " I said, thinking about something else. " Yes, I hope she'll come in before you go. She's so delightfully quaint about the people she sees in the street. She's only seven, you know." " Of course," I said heartily. " Only yesterday," continued Marjorie's Aunt, " she convulsed the household with a really wonderful piece of acting. You know how windy it was ? Well, if you'd seen her imitation of an old gentleman running after his hat ! I do hope she'll get back in time to do it for you." I said at once and fervently that nothing could give me greater pleasure. It was a lie, but I said it. Honestly speaking, the prospect bored me. Even then, before I had any suspicion that the subject of the promised performance was the Old THE OLD GENTLEMAN 81 Gentleman himself. (Perhaps, to avoid mis- apprehension, I ought rather to have called him my Old Gentleman.) However " I know it will appeal to you," said Marjorie's Aunt. " You have such a keen sense of humour." And then, before we could discuss this really interesting topic for more than a few precious minutes " Why, here is Marjorie ! " exclaimed her Aunt, to my extreme disappointment, as the door opened. I am prepared to accept Marjorie's age at seven years, as stated. She gave me further the impression of consisting largely of white fluff, balanced upon a pair of black silk legs slightly too long for her. But I may be prejudiced. "Well, darling," she said (not Marjorie, of course). " Had a nice walk ? Come and say 1 How-do-you-do ? ' to Mr. Smith." Marjorie came forward at once. She may be an obedient child, but her smile is not a patch on her aunt's. She did not say, " How do you do ? " She said, speaking very distinctly, " I saw you in the street yesterday. Y.ou didn't see me. You did look funny running after your hat ! " So that is how I first met the Old Gentleman. G SPOOP A Repertory Drama in One Act (" A repertory play is one that is unlikely to be repeated." — Old Saying.) Characters John Bullyum, J. P. (Member of the Town Council of Mudslush). Mrs. Bullyum (his wife). Janet (their daughter). David (their son). Scene. — The living-room of a smallish house in the dullest street of a provincial suburb. (TV. B. — This merely means that practically any scenery will do, provided the wallpaper is sufficiently hideous. Furnish with the scourings of the property-room — a great conveni- ence for Sunday evening productions.) The room contains rather less than the usual allowance of doors and windows, thus demonstrating a fine contempt for 82 SPOOP 83 stage traditions. An electric light, dis- guised within a mid-Victorian gas- globe, occupies a conspicuous position on the wall. Tou will see why presently. When the curtain rises, Janet, an awkward girl of any age over thirty {and made up to look it), is seated before the fire knitting. Her mother, also knitting, faces her. The appearance of the elder woman con- tains a very careful suggestion of the nearest this kind of play ever gets to low comedy. Janet {glancing at clock on mantelpiece). It's close on nine. David is late again. Mrs. B. He's aye late these nights. 'Tis the lectures at the Institute that keeps him. (N.B. — Naturally both women speak with a pronounced accent, South Lancashire if possible. Failing that, anything suf- ficiently unlike ordinary English will serve.) Janet. He's that anxious to get on, is David. Mrs. B. Ay, he's fair set on being a town councillor one day, like thy feyther. Janet {quietly). That 'ud be fine. .84 A COLLECTION Mrs. B. You'd a rare long meeting at the Women's Guild to-night. Janet (without emotion). Ay. They've elected me to go to Manchester on the deputation. Mrs. B. You'll like that. Janet (suppressing a secret pride so that it is •wholly imperceptible by the audience). It'll be well enough. I'm to go first-class. {A pause.) Young Mr. Inkslinger is going too. Mrs. B. (with interest). Can they spare him from the boot shop ? Janet. He's left them. He's writing a play. Mrs. B. (concerned). Dear, dear ! And he used to be such a steady young fellow. (All that matters in their conversation is now finished, but as the play has got to be filled up they continue to talk for some ten -minutes longer. At the end of that time — ) Janet (glancing at the clock again). It's half- past nine, and neither of they men back yet. (Which means that, while the attention of the audience was diverted, the stage- manager must have twiddled the clock- hands round from behind. This is called realism.) Mrs. B. Listen ! Yer leyther's comin' now. SPOOP 85 (A door in the far distance is heard to bang. At the same instant John Bullyum enters quickly. He is the typical British parent of repertory ; that is to say, he has iron-grey hair, a chin beard, a lie-down collar, and the rest of his appearance is a cross between a gamekeeper and an undertaker.) Bullyum (he is evidently in a state of some excitement, speaks scornfully). Well, here's a fine thing happened. Mrs. B. What is it, feyther ? Bully, (showing letter). That young puppy, Inkslinger, had the impudence to write me asking for our Janet. But I've told him off to rights. He's nobbut a boot-builder. Janet (in a level voice). Ye're wrong there, feyther. Bob Inkslinger's a dramatist now. Bully, (thunderstruck). What ? Janet (as before). He's had a play taken by the Sad Sundays Society. Bully. Great Powers, a repertory drama- tist ! And I've insulted him ! — me, a town councillor ! (He has grown white to the lips ; this is not easy, but can be managed?) There'll be a play about me — about us, this house — everything. But (^passionately) I'll thwart him yet. Janet, my girl, do thee write at once 86 A COLLECTION and say that I withdraw my opposition to the engagement. Janet {dully). But I don't want the man. Bully, {hectoring). Am I your feyther or am I not ? I tell you you shall marry him. And what's more, he shan't find us what he looks for. No, no {with rising agitation), he thinks that because I'm a town councillor, I'm to be made game of, does he ? Well, I'll learn him different. {Glaring round.) This room — it's got to be changed. And you {to Janet) put on a short frock, something lively and up-to-date — d'ye hear ? At once ! Mrs. B. {as Janet only stares without moving). Well, I never. Bully. And let's have some books about the place — Bernard Shaw. Janet {icily). He's a back number now, feyther. Bully. Well, whoever's the latest. Then you must go to plays and dances, lots of dances. {Struck with an idea.) Where's David ? {As he speaks David enters, a tall ungainly youth with spectacles and a projecting brow.) David. Here I yam, feyther. Bully. It's close on ten. {Hopefully.) Have ye been at a night-club ? SPOOP 87 David. I were kept late at evenin' class. Bully. Brr ! {In an ecstasy of fury.) See ye belong to a night-club before the week's out. {He does his glare again.) I'll establish frivolity and a spirit of modernism in this household, if I have to take the stick to every member of it. Janet {springing up suddenly). Feyther ! {A pause ; she collects herself for her big effort.) Feyther, I'm one o' they dour silent girls to whom expression comes hardly, but {with veiled menace) when it does come it means fifteen minutes' unrelieved monologue. So tak' heed. We're not wanting these changes, and to be up-to-date and all that. I'm happy as I am, and so's David. He has his hope of the council, and the bribes and them things. And I've my guild and my friends, with their odd clothes and variable accents. That's the life I want, and I won't change it. I won't. {Quite suddenly she breaks from them and rushes out of the room, slamming the door after her. The others remain silent, apparently from emotion, but really to see if there will be any applause. When this is settled in the negative old Bullyum speaks again. Bully, {slowly and as if with an immense effort). Why couldn't she wait ? . . . She might 88 A COLLECTION have known we wouldn't decide anything — that we never do decide anything — because it would be too much like a rounded climax. Well (rousing himself), let's put out the gas. (He moves heavily towards the conspicuous bracket.) David {protesting). But, feyther, 'tisn't near time for bed yet. Bully, {grimly). Maybe ; but 'tis more than time play was finished. And this is how. (He turns the tap. A fezv moments later the light is switched off with a faintly audible click, and upon a stage in total darkness the curtain falls.) THE APPRO. WEEK THIS is what it said in the advertisement : " On appro., one week willingly." As Ursula observed, " They simply must be honest to put that in." So I answered the advertisement ; and on the next day he arrived. He came by railway delivery, attached to the railway deliverer by a rusty chain and a friendship that seemed to have been established on the journey from the station. He had a white coat of the variety known as wire-haired ; a tousled black-and-tan head, from which looked out the most pathetically melting eyes imaginable ; and his name recalled the finest traditions of literature and art. It was Toby. He appeared to take to the place at once ; and indeed to be most cheerful, so long as one or other of us was at hand with a supply of soothing conversation. But you would hardly credit the extent to which the wistful pathos in his eyes deepened at the smallest suggestion of being left alone. His passion for sitting upon laps seemed s 9 90 A COLLECTION also extraordinary in one whose short life had been spent wholly (so I understood) in the monastic society of a stable. There was no dislodging him. Did his supporter for the moment rise, in two seconds Toby would impose himself upon the other, give an exploratory turn or so, and with a little contented sigh compose his countenance to sleep. It was flattering, of course, but it had its drawbacks. When one day of the week had gone we were still undecided. To appro, or not to appro. Both Ursula and I were already more than a little in love with Toby, but his profound melancholy militated undeniably against his success as a boon companion. Neither sticks, bones nor the sug- gestion of mythical cats could raise him from this apparent depression. " Don't you suppose he knows any games ? " asked Ursula. One active interest in life he had, and only one ; but this was constant. " Did they say anything about — them in the letter ? " asked Ursula. " The person who wrote it said that he had never seen him scratch," I replied. " He must," said Ursula thoughtfully, " have been a singularly unobservant man." Still we hesitated. A point on the credit THE APPRO. WEEK 9 1 side was that there was no difficulty in making him follow ; rather the other way. On the fourth afternoon of his visit Ursula and I were both engaged to tea with the new Rectoress. We thought to have solved the problem of Toby by locking him in the potting- shed. The rectory stands at the remote end of the village, about half a mile distant from our home. One recalled afterwards, of course, that the window of the potting-shed had incautiously been left ajar ; but how the faithful animal traced us to the rectory and actually forced an entrance to the drawing-room was another matter. Somewhere on the journey he must have en- countered a pond of green slime. . . . The Rector himself was exceedingly nice about it, and related several appropriate anecdotes from the Spectator ; but it cannot be pretended that Toby added to the success of the visit. We returned home with the balance of popular opinion in favour of rejection. And that night Toby sickened. Whether it was that green slime had been inimical to his constitution, or for whatever reason, the fact remains that our probationer became manifestly unwell. His eyes grew dull, his nose hot, and the little tousled head clearlv ached, with such reluctance was it lifted from the human arm 92 A COLLECTION (Ursula's) into which it had trustfully nestled. His host and hostess regarded him and each other with some anxiety, mingled perhaps, on my part, with a little irritation. " That settles it," I said. " We've had the dog four days, and he's been one perpetual bother. Directly he's able to travel, he goes." " Ye-es," said Ursula. We made up an emergency bed with a basket and some rugs before the kitchen fire ; and Toby lay in it, more pathetic than ever, with a last fond farewell in his one uncovered eve for the members of the household gathered round. Our official vet. is away Bosche hunting at present, but on the next morning the locum, summoned by telegram, called for our visitor in a dog-cart, and bore him away wrapped in a blanket. All that day the house seemed oddly quiet— oddly, because Toby had never been what you could call a vehement inmate — and Ursula and I told each other at intervals how fortunate it was that we had discovered things in time. 11 I hope," she added, " that you will write pretty sharply about it to the advertisement people." Two more days went by, while we heard nothing of the invalid. The week was now in its last hours. Something had to be done, and THE APPRO. WEEK 93 immediately. In the unlikely event of its being possible, there was Toby's return journey to be arranged. " I shall drive in to-morrow," I said, " and settle the matter." 11 I might as well come too," said Ursula. So in the morning we started — I with the rusty chain in my coat pocket. I had already looked up times, and decided that Toby was to catch the noon express from the junction. " Of course," said Ursula timidly, " one wouldn't want him to run any risks or be unhappy on the journey." " Ursula," I reproved her, " I have no intention of being brutal, but that dog would be unhappy anywhere. He revels in it." At the locum V, however, a surprise awaited us. " Of course he's able to travel," declared Toby's medical adviser briskly. " He's as fit as a fiddle ! Only had a touch of liver-chill. I'll go and fetch him for you. I expect," he added over his shoulder, " it may have been coming on for some days." This was eminently satisfactory. There was now no possible reason why Toby should not be returned at once. I produced the rusty chain. Ursula had seated herself and was now gazing sternly out of the window. And then, before we 94 A COLLECTION expected him, Toby entered. There came a sound of scrabbling and snuffling at the door ; it opened, and an agitated mass of black, white, and tan dashed into the room, and precipitated itself upon us, quivering from head to all four feet in an ecstasy of welcome. " Oh, my long- lost master! Oh, my beloved mistress!" cried Toby, beaming with wags. " At length we are united again ! What a moment ! " He was upon Ursula's knee already, pounding her with tumultuous paws, licking her face, and then turning to loll his tongue delightedly at me. " Seems a bit more lively now," commented the locum. " Shall you want a label ? " Ursula looked up, and our eyes met. " No," I said firmly, with the air of one who clings to an unalterable resolution. I replaced the chain in my pocket. " He will not be travelling to- day." The question had, I felt, been taken out of our hands. The answer was Appro. A HUMAN-TALE IT was a dark, damp, uncomfortable January afternoon, no weather for outdoor revel- ling, and the young fairies began to feel time hang rather heavy on their hands. Finally, when the smallest of all fell into a dew- drop and had to be hauled out by the heels and wrapped in dandelion fluff to dry before a glow- worm, the atmosphere of the palace nursery became so ominous that the Big Fairy had no alternative but to suggest reading aloud as the only way of keeping them all quiet. " But what shall it be ? " she asked, to which they instantly replied in chorus, " Oh, a Human- tale, please ! " because, you know, there is nothing that the young fairies love half so well, especially at Christmas-time, as a story about Humans, with, if possible, motors and telegrams and all sorts of magics like that in it. So the Big Fairy produced from somewhere a wonderful human newspaper, that she pretended she had found lying in the grass outside the palace, and prepared to read. 95 96 A COLLECTION " What first ? " she asked ; and the young fairies, who were all of them Princesses in their own right, chorused again, " The Court News, of course ! " so she cleared her throat and began : " Court, of Bankruptcy " "Is he a very powerful king ? " interposed the smallest fairy. " Very," said the Big Fairy decidedly ; " there's lots about him here." " Do get on ! " cried the others. "'An examination was held yesterday into the affairs of Josiah Bunting, retail tobacconist and stationer, of 52, Ladysmith Road, Balham, who filed his own petition. Liabilities were estimated at £462 ; assets, nil ! ' " It's awfully exciting ! " said the smallest fairy. " ' Debtor ascribed his position mainly to the recent slump in Kaffirs, in which he had been induced to dabble beyond his means ' " What are Kaffirs ? " demanded the smallest fairy but one. 11 Kaffirs," answered the Big Fairy, who was exceedingly well informed, " are a kind of purplish humans, with spears. Something like thistles." " Go on," said the smallest fairy ecstatically. " Did they slump him on purpose ? ' A HUMAN-TALE 97 "I'm afraid so — ' and to the fact that he himself had been in failing health.' " 11 What's fai ? " began the smallest fairy, but the reader intercepted her. " Failing health," she said quickly and firmly, " is a thing humans are in just before a failure. Don't interrupt. ' No settlement having been proposed, after some severe comments by the Receiver, discharge was suspended indefinitely.' That's the end of that story." " It's rather sad," said the smallest fairy. 11 Fancy if it was all true ! " exclaimed the smallest but one. " Don't be silly," said the eldest with superiority. " There's no such things as Humans really. They're only nonsense." " I wouldn't be too sure of that ! " interposed the Big Fairy indulgently (such a playful manner she had with children). " There is certainly a place called Balham. I've been there." 11 Have you ! " cried the chorus, awe-stricken. " Oh, kind, dear Big Fairy, do take us there, too ! " " Why ? " asked the Big Fairy. " It's a quite ordinary place, really, just enchanted woods and an ogre's castle or two ; nothing out of the way." " But perhaps," said the smallest solemnly, H 98 A COLLECTION "if we went there, and were dreadfully good, and shut our eyes, and imagined hard, we might see them ourselves. The Humans, I mean, and Ladysmith Road, and the Kaffirs, and the Assets and everything ! " " Well, well," answered the Big Fairy, " I was young myself once, and, anyhow, if you can't see that sort of thing in the Christmas Holidays, you never can, that's certain. We'll try this very night." But the smallest fairy still looked thoughtful. " I don't think," she remarked gravely, " that it was quite kind of the Kaffirs to slump. If we found any, could we ask them not to ? " " You darling ! " cried the Big Fairy, kissing her. " Of course we could, and we will." What is more, they did. And if this is not the correct explanation of the sensational boom in the South African Market which floated an astonished Mr. Bunting to his feet again, it is at least as true as many of the reports in circulation about that abode of myths. THE BOOK OF THE MOMENT I FOUND it, on my return from holiday- making, amongst a score of others, review copies mostly, that awaited me upon my study table. If, then, I select this modest and slender little volume from among its com- panions for detailed notice, it is a proof that its appeal, to me certainly, was more direct and immediate than theirs. And this very quality is surely one of the primary tests of literature. In format it was, as I have hinted, unpre- tentious. Small octavo would, I believe, be the technical description, simply yet tastefully bound in cream parchment (or is it buckram ?) without lettering. These, however, after all, are mere externals. It was that within which claimed my attention, and of which I wish to speak now. The record of little more than a year (though this in itself is nothing, since an entire novel can be written about Three Weeks), in a style restrained and austere to the verge of curtness, it unfolds a history of contemporary life such as I have seldom known to be equalled, either for its firm grasp of essential facts or corresponding disregard of 99 ioo A COLLECTION mere accessories. Not a line of description is to be found from beginning to end of the book ; weather and scenery are alike ignored ; yet by a single touch — a mere word, perhaps, or a name, even the title of a commercial firm — the anony- mous writer can bring before me the seasons and their changing attributes with a vivid realism for which Hardy or Meredith might strive in vain. One is tempted to quote. That fine passage, for example, beginning — " March 12th. Motor Co., £25° " — there is all the spring in this, cleansing winds, and the call of the open road. And then, almost immediately below, comes a name that I recall as that of the chairman of a bench of rustic Shallows, and attached to it the significant figures £5 6s. %d. A whole tragedy in two lines. What reticence, yet what superb mastery of medium ! And these are only two instances out of many. Of the ethical value of the book it would be almost impossible to speak too highly. Though, in common with other genre studies of a similar type, it contains little actual plot, the motive of the whole I take to be expressed, clearly enough, in the form of a tremendous contrast or parallel between the two great attributes of human existence — receptivity and distributiveness, the capacities, inherent in every one of us, of taking THE BOOK OF THE MOMENT 101 in and giving out. It is in this contrast that the great interest of the work lies. Thus, on the one side we have the radiant opening, due in part to the influence of heredity, by which a man may start with all the possibilities of future greatness already, so to speak, in hand ; on the other, the corroding influences of everyday life, the output of energy wastefully exhausted in the combat with the crowd. Nor is this the only message of the book. Not even in Ibsen's Peer Gynt does the idea of Self assume greater prominence. It is indeed this theme, again and again repeated, that forms the burden of one side — the least pleasant — of the parallel, and is responsible in great measure for the final want of balance that brings about the tragic denouement. This last, however un- expected (and, for my own part, up to within a few lines of it I had been confident of a happy ending), is indicated with a pitiless logic that constrains the reader's unwilling belief. Some might call the climax overdrawn ; it is at least seen, on retrospection, to have been inevitable. In short, a powerful and undeniably interesting little book, a copy of which would form an ideal Christmas or wedding present. I should mention that it came to me enclosed in a blue envelope, with my banker's compliments. TEACHING PLAYWRIGHTS TO WRITE PLAYS WE learn that, following American example, a school has lately been started in London for the en- couragement, or extinction, of would-be dramatists. Classes are held, suitable to beginners or more advanced students. With an eye to the correct placing of aspirants, we beg to offer to the authorities some suggestions for an " Entrance Paper " on the approved lines of those employed at similar institutions. A. Stage Domestic Architecture, and Use of the Telephone (i) Why should the bedroom of a domestic- comedy flat invariably open out of the drawing- room ? (2) In farce, the riskiness increases in the direct ratio of the number of doors. Discuss this statement. (3) Estimate the comparative delay in getting 102 TEACHING PLAYWRIGHTS TO WRITE 103 a telephone call put through (a) in real life ; (b) in emotional drama. (4) Under what circumstances may a char- acter on the stage repeat aloud all that the person at the other end of the wire is supposed to be saying ? (5) " The stage-telephone is the child of Soliloquy by Science." What does this mean — if anything ? B. Plot (1) Having laid your first Act in Belgravia, bring all your characters, male and female, into a second Act, of which the scene is (a) a Mercury Mine ; (F) a South Sea Island ; (c) a Dug-out in Russian Poland. (2) Dare you introduce a Bank into a play and allow it to remain solvent throughout ? Why not ? (3) Explain why burglars on the stage are so often mentally deficient. (4) Construct a curtain-raiser, the plot of which shall be so obvious that it can be grasped by an over-fed occupant of the stalls entering when seven-ninths of it have been performed. 104 A COLLECTION C. Dialogue (i) " Let me tell you a little story." Write a speech for the actor-manager, by which he shall reconcile the young lovers, in the form of an anecdote about (a) a French Cook ; (b) a Tiger Shoot. (2) What would happen to any one in real life who talked like this ? D. Flexibility (1) Adapt the Third Act of Hamlet so as to render it a suitable medium for the personalities of— Mr. Weedon Grossmith. Mr. Thesiger. Miss Vesta Tilley. (2) Re- write Macbeth^ giving the fat to Baft quo. E. General Utility (1) Compose a covering note of not more than twelve lines, to go with a five-act comedy submitted to a manager. (2) Why do you consider the failures of the past season failed ? (N.B. — All answers treated as strictly confidential.) (3) What is your private income ? I III 1,1 1 1 >1- THE SHOW PLACE " "^" 7"OU do really want to see the house, ^^/ honestly ?" asked the guide. The anxiety in his tone showed me that my role of sightseer must have been suffered to lapse somewhat. I hastened to make amends. " Of course," I said. " I was only wondering whether we oughtn't to wait till there was a sufficient party, or anything like that." He considered me, in the reflective way that guides have, when they happen to be rather less than six years old. " You do say funny things, don't you ? " he observed. " I laugh ever so, sometimes." Then we proceeded. The mansion, over which I was to be conducted, occupied a com- manding situation on one corner of the nursery table — what auctioneers would call a well-built family residence, brick faced, standing in its own grounds of bright green, which must have extended fully two inches beyond the walls on every side. 105 106 A COLLECTION " By Jove ! " I exclaimed rapturously as we came in sight of it. " That's — that's something like a house, isn't it ? " It was ; it was also much more like a large box. Considering, however, that this was not my first view of the property (I had, indeed, in my capacity of honorary uncle, arranged the present lease, through the agency of the Army and Navy Stores, only last birthday), I flatter myself that the surprise and enthusiasm were fairly creditable. Peter, at least, seemed satisfied. " There ! " he said. " Now we go inside." As a matter of fact it was less our going in than the house coming out, by means of a detachable front arrangement that permitted us a generous and comprehensive view of the interior. The guide — or Peter, as you like — was watching me closely for appreciation. " They won't mind us ? " I whispered, indicating the family, who were obviously in residence at the moment ; the noble owner in the dining-room (stretched, I regret to add, under the dining-room table) ; his lady in the salon above stairs ; the infant heir enjoying a bath, to which he appeared permanently attached, in the bed- room ; and a very large domestic (who pre- sumably slept out) dominating the kitchen. They seemed an unsociable lot. " What I THE SHOW PLACE 107 mean is," I added, " it must be such a nuisance having tourists going all over one's place when one's there oneself." " They won't mind," said Peter — which, to do them justice, they didn't appear to ; their high-bred indifference to our proceedings could hardly have been surpassed in the most aristo- cratic circles. Peter restored the master of the establishment (who was dressed in a sailor suit and looked young for his responsibilities) to an upright position. " He's got 'digestion," he explained charitably, " like you." 11 I can well believe it," I said with an involuntary shudder. I was looking at the kitchen, on the table of which stood a made dish of repellent aspect and at least twice the size of the unhappy sufferer. Something else in the kitchen also struck me. I sniffed once or twice ; in a more complex establishment one would have said that the drains wanted looking to. Peter explained. 11 It used to be such a dear little crab when it ran about on the sands," he said reminiscently, " and I brought it home all the way in the train in my pocket, and now it isn't well." Peter has (I think) the softest and most wonderful eyes in the world. They were regard- ing me now so wistfully that I hastened to replace 108 A COLLECTION my handkerchief with what was almost an air of guilt. Not for so small a matter must the popularity of an uncle be jeopardized ; and some- body in authority was bound to find out about it before long, anyhow. " But it is a nice house, isn't it ? " demanded Peter, suddenly forgetting (to my relief) the deceased crustacean and clasping one of my hands in the ecstatic manner peculiar to him at emotional moments. 11 It's perfect," I said, and meant it. " One doesn't know which is the nicest, the kitchen, or the dining-room, or the drawing-room, or the bedroom. Which do you like best ? " Peter considered. " I know which they like best," he said decisively, indicating sailor-suit and his spouse. " Which ? " I asked. " The nursery," he answered with entire confidence. He was already arranging the couple, still to all outward appearance apathetic, about the tin bath. " They must do," he explained, " 'cos their little boy lives there." I apologized. In my quiet house, Peter, there is no such dear reason for preference. WINTER SPORTS Some Additional Aspects of the Fashionable Topic that seem to have escaped the Writers of Similar Articles in our Con- temporaries I. — Buying the Hotel FOR this game several players are required, who form themselves into one or more parties according to numbers. A player, preferably a woman, is selected as leader, and should possess nerve, coolness, and an authoritative voice. The object of the game is to secure (a) the best rooms ; (/;) tables with a view ; (c) the controlling interest in all projects of entertainment. It is an important advantage for the leader to have stayed in the hotel at least once previously. If she is able to announce on arrival, " Here we are as usual ! " and to greet the proprietor and staff by name, this often gives an initial blow exceedingly hard to parry. English visitors have been proving very adept at the sport this season, with Americans a good second. The German game, on the contrary, is slower and less subtle. 109 no A COLLECTION II. — Spotting the Parson An amusing game that has been very popular at many Swiss resorts lately, and one that calls for the qualifications of a quick brain and a keen eye. The universal adoption of sweaters and woollen caps makes the task of the players one of considerable difficulty. Envelope-reading should be forbidden by the rules, and some codes even debar the offering of a Church Times to a suspected stranger. The Athenaum and Spectator may, however, be freely employed as bait. A simpler version of the same sport, called " How Many Schoolmasters ? " is often indulged in between December 20 and January 15, after which latter date it loses its point. Other games, seldom chronicled but requiring at least as much skill from their votaries as the better known varieties, are Early Morning Ski- Bagging — at which the Germans frequently carry all before them — and Pressing the Press- Photographers, where the object of all the players is to appear recognizably in a snap-shot for the illustrated journals. At this the record score of three weekly and five daily papers has been held for two successive seasons by the same player, a gentleman whose dexterity is the subject of universal admiration. THE REUNION SUPPOSE it is because we have been parted so long that we met again to-day with — on my part — such sincere and hearty delight. Never, I think, do I remember so long a break in our companionship. Other years, even at times when we were not living in actual daily association, there were sure to be odd occasions (evenings mostly) when he would turn up unexpectedly, and we would enjoy a quiet hour or so together. But this year it has been different. I had almost forgotten what he was like. Judge, then, of my emotion this evening when I entered my study, all unprepared, and found him there in his old place, as though the interminable months since we parted had never been. I protest the whole room looked different. With a cry of welcome I ran forward and held out both my hands to him. On his side, too, the greeting was as warm as ever ; his cheery face positively glowed in a way that did one good to witness. in 112 A COLLECTION " This is glorious ! " I said. I pulled my chair forward close beside him, quite in the old intimate fashion, and prepared the first really enjoyable pipe for many months. He gave me a light, though it is but seldom that he smokes himself, and we settled down together for a jolly evening. It was so restful having him there, hearing now and again that quiet, appreciative chuckle of his, which is for me infinitely preferable to the epigrams of the most brilliant talker that ever silenced a dinner-table, that, little by little, I fancy I must have slipped into a reverie, not far removed from slumber. I was thinking drowsily of all the scenes in my life that this friend has shared with me, when I roused myself with a start and a chill of desolation. He had gone out while I slept. So great a while is it since we were together that I had forgotten his little fancies, the occasional caress, the offer of refreshment, failing which he will often, as now, steal from one unobserved. It is possible, however, that even yet he is not wholly gone. He may be hiding in some obscure corner, and in that case fortunately I shall know what to do. A little coaxing and the proffer of the morning newspaper make an unfailing lure. I thought so ; he is creeping THE REUNION 113 back. Already behind the outstretched paper I can hear welcome sounds of his return. I must be more careful in future. Not willingly, after a whole summer spent in contemplating an empty hearth, will I forgo the companionship of My Study Fire. THEATRICAL CORRESPONDENCE Supplying one Answer to the Question, " Why does a dramatist grow old sooner than anyone else ?" From G. Sheridan Smith, author, to Sir James Benfield, actor-manager, DEAR SIR, — Herewith I am forwarding a copy of an original three-act comedy, entitled Men and Munitions. As the interest is largely topical, I should be much obliged if you could let me have your verdict upon it with as little delay as possible. Faithfully yours, G. Sheridan Smith. From the same to his friend, Buskin Browne, actor. Dear B.B., — By this post I am sending my new comedy, Men and Munitions, to your manager, whom I believe it should suit. If an occasion served for you to put in a word about it without too much trouble, I should be eternally grateful. Yours ever, (_T. b. b. 114 THEATRICAL CORRESPONDENCE 115 From Buskin Browne, in answer. My dear Man, — With all the pleasure in life. I fancy we're changing our bill shortly, and, as farce is all the rage just now, I'll boom your Munition Mad directly I get a chance. Best of luck. Yours, Bee-Bee. From G. Sheridan Smith, in reply. A telegram. Thousand thanks play called Men and Munitions comedy not farce. From the Same to the Same, six weeks later. Dear B. B. — I hate to trouble you, but as I've heard nothing yet from the management about my comedy, I am writing to ask if you can give me any idea of Sir J. B.'s intentions regarding it. Did he say anything that you dare repeat ? Yours, Cr. b. o. From Buskin Browne, in answer, a fortnight later. Dear Old Boy, — No chance as yet, as the chief has been away ill. But he comes back on Il6 A COLLECTION Saturday, when I will mention the farce to him without fail. Yours, " while this machine is to him," Bee-Bee. From G. Sheridan Smith to Sir James Benfield, a month later. Dear Sir, — I was profoundly grieved to learn from a mutual friend that you had been so long on the sick list. Now, however, that you are at work again, and (I trust) fully restored to health, may I hope for a verdict upon my comedy, Men and Munitions, at your earliest convenience. With warmest congratulations, I am, faithfully yours, G. Sheridan Smith. From Sir James Benfield's secretary, in answer, a week later. Dear Sir, — Sir James Benfield desires me to acknowledge your letter, and to inform you that he has been away ill, and unable to attend to any correspondence. Faithfully yours, Basil Vyne-Petherington, Secretary. THEATRICAL CORRESPONDENCE I 1 7 From Buskin Browne to G. Sheridan Smith. Dear Old Man, — I heard unofficially last night that your farce has had a quite top-hole report from the reader, and might be put on almost at once. Ca marche ! Anything for me in it ? B.B. From Basil Vyne-P etherington to G. Sheridan Smithy by same -post as above. Dear Sir, — In answer to your inquiry we can trace no record of the receipt of any MS. from you. If you will kindly let me have particulars, name of play, date when forwarded, etc., the matter shall receive further attention. Faithfully yours, Basil Vyne-Petherington, Secretary. From G. Sheridan Smith, in answer. A telegram. Men and Munitions comedy fourteen weeks ago kindly wire reply paid. Reply to above. A telegram. No trace comedy entitled fourteen weeks, suggest inquire post office. 1 1 8 A COLLECTION Reply to above. Name of comedy Men and Munitions reply paid urgent. Reply to above. Your play returned last week. Reply to above. Nothing arrived here please look again. From Basil Vyne-Petherington to G. Sheridan Smith. Dear Sir — In returning herewith your blank verse, Hadrian, I am desired by Sir James Benfield to thank you for kindly allowing him the oppor- tunity of reading it. Faithfully yours, Basil Wne-Pfi herington, Secretary. From Buskin Browne to G. Sheridan Smith. Dear Old Boy, — The A.S.M. told me to- day that our backers won't look at farce, though the chief simply loves yours. So I'm afraid we c.\n only say better luck next time. Yours disappointed, B.B. THEATRICAL CORRESPONDENCE 119 From Basil Vyne-Petherington to G. Sheridan Smith, five weeks later. Dear Sir, — Sir James Benfield has been interested to learn that you have written a comedy of topical interest called (he understands) The Munitioneer. Should you care to forward it for his consideration he would be pleased to read it, and, if suitable, to arrange for its production at his theatre. Faithfully yours, Basil Vyne-Petherington, Secretary. From G. Sheridan Smith, in reply. A telegram. Where did you get a name like that ? From Basil Vyne-P etherington, in final answer, a month later. Sir, — I am requested by Sir James Benfield to state that he has been compelled to make a rule never to send his autograph to strangers. Yours faithfully, Basil Vyne-Petherington, Secretary. THE CELTIC REVUE THE movement towards the literary revue makes progress. Sir James Barrie has long been a convert. The statement that Mr. W. B. Yeats has been approached by the management of a West-End hall should, however, be received with caution, in spite of the following sketch of an opening scene, which reaches us from a reliable quarter : Scene. — Behind the stage at some theatre. A large dim space. At the back one sees, perhaps, a door leading to no- where in particular, with a light burning above it; or it may be the corner of a passage, or any old thing. Shemus, a worn pale ?nan in the black-and-white garb of a business manager, sits staring before him into vacancy. Shawn, a producer, is por- ing over a book of figures. Shemus {speaking as though with a great effort). There is no money in the house to- night. 1 20 THE CELTIC REVUE 121 Shawn {absently). Will you be saying that ? Shemus. A while ago Came two with passes in their hands, who sat Some little space, then groaned and passed away, As the wind passes o'er a cairn of stones ; But made more noise, for you could hear them go. Shawn. I did not see them. Shemus {bitterly). You did not miss much. Pot-bellied fools that lacked the wit to smile, Dead-heads, with hearts already moribund. Shawn {looking up). There is that here I do not understand ; In this great book is written all the tale Of what's been spent upon the present show (Red gold enough to buy a thousand souls) ; And all the ancient names of the old Stars We pinned our faith to, yet they help us not. Shemus {as before). There is no money in the house to-night. Nothing to speak of. Shawn. Then why speak it twice When once was almost more than I could bear ? {A distant noise as of owls hooting.) Did you not hear them ? That's the curtain down ; He should be here by now. Shemus. I hear a step. It is himself. 122 A COLLECTION (The door at the back opens to admit the figure of Braudgrin, the leading man. His j ace is very white. About his shoulders there is for the moment a suggestion as of geese fluttering.) Shawn (awed). And he has got the Bird. Braudgrin. I am full weary of this foolish piece And all the scenes that come, yet never go, And all the hours when, like a fisherman, I drop my lines into a yawning pit And have no good of them. It makes me sick, So sick I feel I could throw up my part. Shemus (as though quoting). " Artists will please remember that their speech Must stand as free from all vulgarity." That was the contract when you were engaged. Shawn (whispers). It is the Bird that worketh on him thus, Ruffling his temper with its evil wings. Let us not heed him. Braudgrin. Never one can say But I did everything within my power With gags and quips to wake the piece to life, And yet it hangs, like a provincial sketch Or blasted palm-tree — things that get no dates. Shawn. They oft will swear when they have had the Bird. THE CELTIC REVUE 123 Shemus (as before). There is no money in the house to-night. Braudgrin (suddenly). I have a vision of a crock of gold That's ours for lifting. Let us change the bill (Word of ill sound) and put on a revue ; Celtic, not French, and full of shadowy girls, Colleens, they call them, clad in shamrock green, And on their lips and feet attractive brogues. Then let us have a scene with lots of pigs And call it Bally-something. Shawn (doubtfully). Bally rot It sounds to me. But we might try the thing. Shemus. There's money in a ballet — always was. Braudgrin (ecstatic). Already in my ears there is a sound, A lowing murmur as of crowded stalls And the deep thunder of approving gods That frights away the Bird. Come, let us go. (They go out. The scene closes.) THE NEWEST PORTRAITURE PHOTOGRAPHY having led the way with the recent movement in favour of Spot-on-the-landscape pictures (wherein the figure of the sitter is treated only as a detail in the composition), it is rumoured that portrait-painting is now to go one better. We gather that the forthcoming exhibition of the First-past-the-post impressionists will con- tain several examples of the new method, whose object is said to be to suggest the personality rather than present the actual person of the subject. Thus, in No. 46, Miss Daisy Dentifrice of the Frivolity Theatre, though the features of this popular and talented young actress do not them- selves appear upon the canvas, her presence is conveyed to the spectator with remarkable subtlety and force in the aspect of the first three rows of the Frivolity stalls, and it has been caught by the artist. The ecstatic gaze of the occupants, their fixed smiles and eager hands, all combine to produce an effect of actuality far greater than 124 THE NEWEST PORTRAITURE 125 anything that could be attained by mere con- ventional portraiture. The spectator is left with the impression that if he has not actually seen Miss Dentifrice herself, he has at least had a very narrow escape of doing so. No. 47, a companion work to this, by the same artist, is an equally striking study of The Rev. Longwind Spalding — a presentation work, which has, we understand, been subscribed for by the congregation and churchwardens of St. Somnolent's, Chelsea. Here the rather cold treatment of the architectural setting is finely contrasted with the pewful of semi-recumbent figures in the foreground. The whole effect is realization of the rev. gentleman's tireless and impressive personality such as for once deserves the often misplaced epithet of a " speaking like- ness." By a regrettable blunder the picture was originally catalogued as " Tired Nature's Sweet Restorer " ; but we are glad to see that the error has been timely perceived, and that this very striking example of the New Portraiture is now given its correct title, as above. Yet another exceedingly happy achievement is No. hi, Sir Jacob Bumpus, Bart. The sensation of a just-finished interview with the distinguished City magnate and financier could indeed hardly be better conveyed than it is here, 126 A COLLECTION by what is at first sight a simple study in still life. Gradually, however, the subtle treatment of the closed door, marked " Private " and obviously still quivering from its recent banging behind the master, produces its effect upon the observer. Silence, the palpable silence that follows the last word of authority, is in every line of the picture. So masterly is the handling of this that the eye scarcely needs such contributory details as the torn ledger — some error in which has obviously but a moment before raised Sir Jacob's justly- famous indignation — or the enlarged tail of the office cat protruding from beneath an over- turned desk in the foreground. The man, one feels, has been there — and of what ordinary portrait could the same be truthfully said ? As a remarkable study of a forceful and impetuous personality, No. 1 1 1 well deserves the attention that it will certainly receive. Perhaps, however, the gem of the whole collection is to be found in No. 396, Henrietta^ wife of John Smallweed^ Esq. By an interesting converse of the method followed in the previous example, the artist has found his conception of his subject in the opening door that heralds her arrival. The movement of this, shown through a heavily tobacco-laden atmosphere, together with the hypnotized stare of the male figure engaged THE NEWEST PORTRAITURE 127 in hurriedly extinguishing a half-smoked cigar, convey an impression of the lady and her domestic regime that is hardly short of a work of genius. Here is no yielding to the impulse of flattery ; the whole subject is treated with a frankness which verges on the brutal, but is none the less fascinating for this. It is an interesting task to compare this presentment of Mrs. Smallweed with her full-length portrait by Mr. Pink Glow, R.A., at Burlington House ; though it can hardly be doubted which of the two comes nearer to that absolute truth which is the ultimate aim of art. No visitor to the Academy could have the faintest idea that she objected to tobacco. A NEW THEATRICAL VENTURE A FRIEND of mine has started as manager of his first theatre these holidays. It may seem to you an unpropitious moment for such a be- ginning, but in many ways this special theatre is exceptionally well guaranteed against failure. The proprietor was kind enough to invite my presence at his opening performance. As a matter of fact I had myself put up the money for it. Naturally I was anxious for the thing to be a success. The theatre stands on what you could truthfully call a commanding situation at one end of the schoolroom table. It is an elegant Renaissance edifice of wood and cardboard, with a seating accommodation only limited by the dimensions of the schoolroom itself, and varying with the age of the audience. The lighting effects are provided in theory by a row of oil foot-lamps, so powerful as to be certain, if kindled, to consume the entire building ; in practice, therefore, by a number of candle-ends, 128 A NEW THEATRICAL VENTURE 129 stuck in the wings on their own grease. These not only furnish illumination, but, when extin- guished (as they constantly are by falling scenery), produce a penetrating aroma which is specially dear to the managerial nostrils. The manager, to whom I have already had the pleasure of introducing you, is Peter. I have been impatiently waiting for the moment of Peter's first theatre, these nine years. Like marbles or Treasure Island, it is at once a land- mark and a milestone in the present-giving career of an uncle. So I had devoted some considerable care to its selection. In one respect Peter's theatre reminds me of the old Court in the days of the Vedrenne- Barker repertory. You recall how one used to see the same people at every performance, a permanent nucleus of spectators that never varied ? The difference is that Peter's per- manent nucleus are neither so individually agree- able nor in any true sense enthusiasts of the drama. Indeed, being painted on the pro- scenium, with their backs to the stage, the effect they produce is one of studied indifference. Nay more, a horrible suspicion about them refused to be banished from my thoughts ; it was based partly upon the costumes of the ladies, partly on the undeniably Teutonic suggestion in the K 130 A COLLECTION gentlemen's uniforms. However, I said nothing about this to Peter. Despite the presence of these unpleasing persons, the opening performance must be pronounced a real success. Perhaps more as a spectacle than anything else. Scenically the show was a triumph ; the memory of the Forest Glade especially will remain with me for weeks by reason of the stiff neck I got from contorting myself under Peter's guidance to the proper angle for its appreciation. But histrionically it must be confessed that things dragged a little. Perhaps this was due to a certain severity, not to say baldness, in the dialogue as spoken. Not having read the script, I have a feeling that it might be unfair to judge the unknown author by the lines as rendered by Peter, who was often preoccupied with other anxieties. As, for example, the scene in the Baronial Castle between its noble but unscrupulous proprietor and a character introduced by Peter with the simple notice : " This is a murderer coming on now." Baron. Oh, are you a murderer ? Murderer. Yes. Baron. Oh, well, you've got to murder the Princess. Murderer. All right. Baron. That's all of that scene. A NEW THEATRICAL VENTURE 131 Crisp, of course, and to the point ; but I feel sure that there must have been more in the interview as originally written. Perhaps, again, the cast was to blame for whatever may have been disappointing in the performance. Individually they were a fine company, passionate and wiry of gesture, and full of energy. Indeed their chief fault sprang from an incapacity to remain motionless in repose. This led to a notable lack of balance. However sensational it may be for the exit of every character to bring down the house, its effect is unfortunately to retard the action of the piece. Personally I consider that the women were the worst offenders. Take the heroine, for example. Lovely she may have been, though in a style more appreciated by the late George Cruikshank than by myself ; but looks are not everything. Art simply didn't exist for her. Revue might have been her real line ; or, better still, a strong-woman turn on the Halls. There was the episode, for instance, where, having to prostrate herself before the Baron, she insisted upon a backward exit (with the usual result) and then made an acrobatic re-entrance on her knees. Tolerant as he was, even Peter began at last to grow impatient at the vagaries of his company. Finally, when the executioner (a mere walker-on 1 32 A COLLECTION of no importance whatever) had twice brought ridicule upon the ultimate solemnities of the law bv his introduction of comic dives off the scaffold, the manager rang down the curtain. Not before it was time. " They're lovely to look at," he observed, surveying the supine cast, " but awfully difficult to do anything with." " Peter," I answered gratefully, ' as an estimate of the theatrical profession your last remark could hardly be improved upon." Of course, he didn't understand ; but, being a dramatist as well as uncle, I enjoyed saying it. THE ART OF THE THEATRE {With apologies to Mr. Gordon Craig) THE Expert. Come, let us sit down here, on the first page, and talk a while of the Theatre and its art. Or rather I will talk, and you will supply leading and, if possible, intelligent interjections. Tell me, do you know what is the art of the Theatre ? The Playgoer. Yes. The Expert. That is wrong ; you should have said No. I will therefore tell you about it. First, then, it is necessary that we should get out of our minds all our preconceived notions on this subject. You may, for example, have heard of the art of the poet or dramatist, or of the actor's art, or even (in certain circles) of the great " art of the British Public." Now the art of the Theatre is none of these things. The Playgoer. What is it, then ? The Expert. That is better ; I perceive that we shall make something of you yet. First 133 134 A COLLECTION and chiefly, the art of the Theatre is the art of Pantomime — an art that is unfortunately almost extinct among us, save in the exhibitions of Punchy or those more delicate shows of fantoccini which you have enjoyed in Italian villages. The Playgoer. Pardon me, I found them tiresome in the extr The Expert. And why was the pleasure you derived from them so much keener than anything you would have experienced in an ordinary theatre ? I will tell you. It was because, for the first time, you were seeing the creation of a single intelligence. The puppet playhouse is as yet the only establishment in the world where there can be efficient stage direction, because only there does the same master-hand inform not only the decor, the music, and the dialogue, but even the gestures of the mimes. The great aim of modern theatrical reform therefore should be to get rid of the bondage of independence. The Playgoer. I like that ! The Expert. And correctly, of course. Though all progress towards this ideal must be gradual, one is glad to acknowledge that in many places a certain beginning has been made already. For example, the performances at the new municipal theatre in Lollopopski (which is, as THE ART OF THE THEATRE 135 you know, one of the most artistic towns in central Poland) are of a significance for the drama which should not be overlooked. One of their greatest recent successes had for its interpreters a cast consisting of seven shadows, a run-down clock, and a smell of orange-peel. The effect, I remember, was quite extraordinary. Perhaps the wonderful dramatic values in the smell of an orange have never been studied by vou ? The Playgoer. I confess that is so. The Expert. Intelligent people who have really studied the subject know, of course, that the future development of the drama will lie very largely in its appeal to senses other than the aural sense, and especially to that of smell. Perfume is always actual and arresting, whereas dialogue, as you may have noticed, is often tedious. The Playgoer. I am noticing it now. The Expert. Then, again, you will doubt- less expect that I should say something about the very helpful work of Prof. Pappenschlaft, whose treatment of Shakespearean tragedy (given in dumb-show on an absolutely dark stage) has been adopted with such success by the directorate of the Arts Theatre at Cape Shackleton. So much, therefore, for what has actually been done. 136 A COLLECTION And now shall I tell you what must be our first consideration for the future ? The Playgoer. No. The Expert. Then you have spoilt the whole thing. I am very much disappointed with you. {Exit Expert.) TO THE WIFE SILENT IN WAR TIME FAR as the Empire's bounds are flung, She shall be honoured, she be sung, Who keeps safe locked within her breast, Unboasted, unbetrayed, unguessed, Bound as with triple chains of gold, What things her soldier-lord hath told. O woman, in our hours of ease, Careless in chatter as the seas ; When pain and anguish wring the brow (In point of fact, precisely now), Accept the homage of a bard Who knows it more than common hard To bear, unmoved, from age and youth, Rumours, where you must know the truth ; To hear them ever asking why And smiling put the question by. But when the Dawn shall break at last And the long vigilance be past, Be yours this recompense sublime To say, " I knew it all the time ! " And stand confessed by old and young The heroine who held her tongue. 137 AN UNRECORDED ENGAGE- MENT THE following interesting letter has been forwarded to us by the relatives of one of our wounded heroes. It gives a vivid idea of his impressions during a severe engagement, particulars of which have not so far appeared in the Press. " Red Cross Hospital, " Somewhere in England. "... And now I must tell you of a very hot time that our lot here had recently. The attack was due to open at 5.30 in the afternoon. We had been warned to expect it, and the appointed hour found us ready in our positions. We were five deep, strongly posted on deck chairs ; moreover, the warning had given us opportunity to construct a defensive rampart of evergreens and pot-plants before the front line. " The engagement opened fairly punctually 138 AN UNRECORDED ENGAGEMENT 139 with a furious pianoforte bombardment, accom- panied by asphyxiating footlights. Owing to the closeness of the range and the weight of metal employed, our first rank gave way a little, but subsequently rallied smartly. The attack now became general, the enemy advancing first in detached units, subsequently in column or quartette formation. A stubborn resistance was put up, but we were nearly forced to recoil before a desperate charge by The Men of Harlech. " Hardly had we contrived to withstand these, when, with blood-curdling cries, the Funny Men dashed forward and fell upon us. The engagement was at this point so fierce that it was impossible to obtain more than a confused impression of it. I saw several of my brave comrades doubled up. Puns and lachrymatory wheezes darkened the air. At last, after a specially violent offensive, in which he was supported by the full strength of his piano, the enemy retired, followed by salvoes from our ranks, and left us, at least temporarily, masters of the situation. " A lull ensued, during which, however, in spite of the curtain behind which the enemy endeavoured to mask his preparations, we were convinced, from certain unmistakable signs, that 140 A COLLECTION a fresh and possibly more violent attack was shortly to develop. Nor was this view wrong ; for, when the curtain lifted, we at once saw that our worst fears were justified. Confronting us were the ist Amateur Thespians, the most dreaded battalion in the enemy's Volunteer forces, and one reputed to have decimated more British classics than any two professional regiments. " The methods of this body have changed very little during the last half-century. They still employ for choice the old Box-and-Cox attack, which has proved so effective in the past, followed frequently by A Case for Eviction or else Gentlemen Boarders. Bold to the point of rash- ness, no difficulties are found to daunt them ; and the stoutest hearts might well quail at being exposed to the fury of their onslaught. Indeed how any of us survived the half-hour that followed I hardly know. It was a nightmare of smashed china, dropped cups, shouts of ' Bouncer, Bouncer ! ' and general confusion. " But time was on our side ; and when, towards seven o'clock, the curtain fell again, we knew that, holding as we did our original positions, we were victorious. Our exact casualties I have not yet heard, but they are certain to have been heavy. The ground lately AN UNRECORDED ENGAGEMENT 141 held by the enemy presented a spectacle of appalling confusion, and everything pointed to the struggle having been most determined. Restoratives were administered to our men, and we turned in, exhausted but happy." THE WHIRLIGIG 1MAY warn you at once that there is nothing at all in this little episode save as illustrating an experience that is, I suppose, common to many of the middle- ageing in these tumultuous days. " John is home on short leave," his mother wrote, " and we both want you to dine here on Tuesday, to meet some friends of his, Major and Mrs. Packenham." This, of course, was very pleasant. John's mother is one of the most charming hostesses in the world ; and I have known John himself since he was in sailor-suits. I accepted, as they say, with alacrity. All the way to the house I kept on telling myself to be sure and remember that John was now a grown man. It is indeed obviously impossible to regard as anything else a war-worn veteran who has already collected two gold stripes and as many stars. But one had to be careful. Only that morning, with secret blushes, I had emptied my pocket-book of a little collection 142 THE WHIRLIGIG 143 of foreign stamps which, following an ancient custom, I had continued to set aside for him. . . . Of course, all this clearly ought to have prepared me for the Packenhams ; but somehow it didn't. Since the name was unfamiliar to me, I had been wondering (perhaps with a touch of jealousy) how long they had been intimates of the household, and forming, as one does at such times, a mental picture of the pair. I am afraid indeed that I detested them both cordially beforehand. And then — the disillusion. I say nothing about John, because he is another story, and (to those of us who care) a very proud and thrilling one. But those Packenhams. ... At first I thought they hadn't come, and that the pair of attractive children who smiled shyly over our introduction must be last-minute substitutes. Then I caught the words ' Major and Mrs." and began to realize. . . . It certainly was the queerest shock. Possibly both uniform and knee-skirts have a tendency to rejuvenate ; but, so far as appearance went, if either of the couple had seen twenty, that was the limit of it. I took Mrs. Packenham in, and in the pauses of a conversation chiefly devoted to rabbits (as pets, not provender) occupied myself with sensational speculations as to how long her hair had been up. i 4 4 A COLLECTION But it was the gallant Major who furnished my chief problem. Where were you," I asked him suddenly, " before the War ? ' He blushed (I had already noticed this habit of his when addressed). " In the fifth — with John," he said. " Fifth — division ? " (You see how slowly my mind was working.) " No — form. School, you know. We were there together." I apologized, but not before his natural embarrassment had deepened the blush per- ceptibly. All at once the sight roused in me a sympathy almost paternal ; and to feel paternal to a Major was an experience so bewildering as to hold me silent for a long while. . " You're very quiet," said John's mother at last in a concerned undertone. " Is anything the matter ? " " Nothing," I assured her. " Only I'm trying to see life." " And can you ? " I contrived a wistful smile. " At this moment, no," I confessed. " It seems to be going rather too quickly for me." II For me, too," said John's mother. But she of course was looking at John. WITCHCRAFT A Mediaeval Tragedy WANT," said the maiden, glancing round her with tremulous distaste at the stuffed crocodile, the black cat, and the cauldron simmering on the hearth, " to see some of your complexion specialities." " You want nothing of the kind," retorted the witch. " Why prevaricate ? A maid with your colour hath small need even of my triple extract of toads' livers. What you have really come for is either a love-potion " — she paused and glanced keenly at her visitor — " or the means to avenge love unrequited." The maiden had flushed crimson. " I wish he were dead," she whispered. 11 Now you are talking. That wish is, of course, the simplest thing in the world to gratify, if only you are prepared to pay for it. I presume Moddam would not desire anything too easy ? " " He had promised," broke out the maiden uncontrollably, " to take me to the chanty bear- baiting matinee in aid of unemployed ex-Crusaders. 145 l 146 A COLLECTION The whole thing was arranged. And then at the last moment " " Precisely as I had supposed. A case for one of our superior wax images, made to model, with pins complete. Melted before a slow fire ensures the gradual wasting of the original with pangs corresponding to the insertion of each pin." The customer's fine eyes gleamed. " Give me one." " I will sell you one," corrected the witch. " But I should warn you. They are not cheap." " No matter." " Good. I was about to observe that since our sovereign liege King Richard granted peace to the Saracen the cost both of material and labour hath so parlously risen that I am unable to supply a really reliable article under fifty golden angels." " I have them here." " With special pins, of course, extra." Take what you will." The maiden flung down a leathern wallet that chinked pleasingly. The witch, having transferred the contents of this to her own pocket, proceeded to fashion the required charm, watched by her client with half-repelled eagerness. " Hawk's eye, falcon's nose, raven's lock, WITCHCRAFT 147 peacock's clothes," chanted the crone, following the words with her cunning fingers. " How — how know you him ? ' Panic was in the voice. The other laughed unpleasantly. ' Doth not the whole district know the Lord CEil-de- Veau by reputation ? " She held out the image. " Handle him carefully and use a fresh pin for each record." The maid snatched it from her hands and was turning towards the door of the hut when a low tap on its outer surface caused her to shrink back alarmed. The witch had again been watching her with an ambiguous smile. ' Should Moddam wish to avoid observation," she suggested, " the side exit behind yonder curtain ' In an instant she was alone. Flinging the empty wallet into the darkest corner the witch (not without sundry chuckles) slowly unbarred the entrance. On the threshold stood a slim female figure enveloped in a cloak. " The love potion I had here last week," began a timid voice, " seems hardly satisfactory. If you stock a stronger quality, no matter how expensive ' " Step inside," said the witch. 148 A COLLECTION Some couple of months later the ladies of the house-party assembled at Sangazure Castle for the Victory jousts were gathered in the great hall, exchanging gossip and serf-stories in the fire- light, while awaiting the return of their menkind. " Hath any heard," lisped one fair young thing, " how fareth the Lord CEil-de-Veau ? They tell me that some mysterious ailment hath him in thrall." At the words the Lady Yolande Sangazure (whom we have met before) was aware ot a crimson flood mounting swiftly to her exquisite temples. Strange to add, the same phenomenon might have been observed in a score ot damsels belonging to the best families in the district. The hall seemed suffused in a ruddy glow that was certainly not reflected from the exiguous pile of post-Crusading fuel smouldering on the great hearth. " Tush ! " broke in the cracked voice ot a withered old dame, " your news is old. Not only hath the so-called fever vanished but my lord himself hath followed it." " Gone ! " The cry was echoed by twenty voices ; twenty embroidery-frames fell from forty arrested hands, while nine-and-thirty dis- mayed eyes fixed themselves upon the maliciously- amused countenance of the speaker. Only one, WITCHCRAFT 149 belonging to the Lady Beauregarde, who squinted slightly, remained as though unmoved by the general commotion. " Moreover," continued the old dame, " report saith that with him went his leman, who, having some art in necromancy, transformed her beauty to the semblance of a witch and provided her own dowry by the sale, to certain addlepated wenches, of charms for which her lover himself prepared the market." " But — his fever ? ' an impetuous voice broke in. " Cozening, no doubt. Of course the tale may be but idle babble ; still, if true, one would admit that such credulous fools got no more than they deserved." She ceased, well satisfied. ' I fancy,'' observed the Lady Yolande coldly, " that I hear our lords returning." And in the eloquent silence a score of fair young minds slowly assimilated the. profound truth (as fresh to-day as eight hundred years ago) that Satan finds some mischief still for the impecunious demobilized. PAPER PROBLEMS IT'S very odd to lie and think that when my mother chose The paper for my nursery wall, of lavender and rose, She never found the funny things that I can see to-day, Now I am ill and lie abed and watch them at their play. The person in the paper-shop, who sold it her as " neat," Had no idea he'd sold a bear with fingers on his feet ; And even Nurse, who sees so much — her eyesight beats belief — Has never seen the elephant on every other leaf. It really is remarkable, when grown-up people call, To hear them say how pretty are the flowers upon my wall, And watch them stare right through the things that most appeal to me, The Other Pictures everywhere that only I can see. 150 PLAYS I\ si MMER EDWARD Produced by Miss Hornlman at the Gaiety Theatre, Manchester, May, 19 15. Persons Represented : Alan Mortimer A Follower of the Arts. His Father. Mrs. Mortimer His Mother. Irene His Sister. Young Gibbs His Friend. Trixie His Fiancee. Mrs. Hemmingway His Neighbour. Amy A Servant. Scene. — The dining-room of a small house in a Provincial Suburb. Time. — Early evening. A simply furnished room, Window c. in back. Door r.u.e. Fireplace with fire burning l. Easy chairs in front of and below it, sofa above it. Table r.c. at right angles to footlights^ with cloth partly laid. Sideboard r. 153 154 A COLLECTION {As curtain rises Irene, a bright capable girl of about 2 I , is laying the table for supper , assisted by Amy. Alan Mortimer, an elderly bearded man, is seated at the head of the table absorbed in a copy of the Evening Register, with a number of others at his elbow. That end of the table has been left unlaid for his convenience. Mortimer wears a velvet jacket, no collar, and gives a vague impression of Bohemia?) Irene [directing Amy). Let me see. Mother and father, that's two, me — three, Mr. Gibbs four, Miss Trixie five, and Mr. Edward six. We shall be just six places, Amy. Amy. Very well, Miss. Irene. And for to-night, as it's his party, you must lay Mr. Edward at the end. Where father is. Amy. Yes, Miss Irene. I didn't like to disturb the master. Irene. No ! All right. I'll do that. {Calls) Father ! (Mortimer grunts without looking up.) Father dear, I don't want to worrit you, but you really are quite dreadfully in the way there. EDWARD 155 Mortimer. Eh ? I'm sorry, my dear. I didn't notice. Irene. Nobody's going to be cross, so don't look miserable. Here, come over here tor a bit. {Indicates chair l.c by fire?) Mortimer (q :). Anything for a quiet life. Irene (settling him). There, now you're all right. And there are the rest of your papers. [Bringing them?) Though why you should want to read five at once beats me. Mortimer (rouse if). My dear, I told you yesterday. It's this wonderful new series that's been coming out in the Evening Register. Irene (laying cloth). I believe you did mention something of the kind. Nice, are they ? Mortimer. Nice, child ? What a word ! I tell you they're wonderful. There are to be six altogether, ending to-night. That's why I've been running through the first five again before the boy comes along with the last. He's about due now. Irene (