F. m j. THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE I BBBT Hil HI ■ * Puppets at Large Puppets at Large Scenes and Subjects From Mr. Punch's Show. (frUTHTUE ,THM>ft$ ANST& By v F. Anstey,ps* Author of "Vice Versa," "Voces Populi," &c, &c. With Illustrations by J. Bernard Partridge London Bradbury, Agnew, & Co. Ld., Bouverie St., EX. 1897 ~p]W«af? BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LI)., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE. CONTENTS. PAGE Doing a Cathedral i The Instantaneous Process 13 In the Cause of Charity 27 The Classical Scholar in Reduced Circum = stances 43 Rus in Urbe 51 Catching the Early Boat 61 Society's Next Craze 71 An Ideal Interviewer 83 Saturday Night in the Edgware Road . . 91 The "Model Husband" Contest . . . . 101 The Courier of the Hague 109 Feeling their Way 119 A Testimonial Manque 131 Contents. PAGE The Model Democracy M5 By Parliamentary '59 The Farming of the Future 167 A Dialogue on Art 177 The Old Love and the New 189 A Doll's Diary 201 Elevating the Masses 219 Bookmakers on the Beach 231 Mgher Up! 243 At a Highland Cattle Auction 257 The Country of Cockaigne 265 ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE "What did 'e want to go and git the fair *ump about?" . n " What's she got hold of now?" 21 •"You have lofty ambitions and the artistic temperament" . 37 "They ain't on'y a lot o' sheep! I thought it was reciter?, or somethink o' that" 55 " Mokestrians " 75 "Dear, dear! not a county family!" 125 "Well, he's had a sharp lesson,— there's no denying that" . 135 "None of your humour here, mind!" 155 "I cann't get nothen done to 'en till the weather's a bit more hopen like" >7' "They haven't the patiensh for it" 183 "It must be a sort of animal, I suppose" 193 "I see him standing on the very brink of the precipice" . 209 "To-night is ours!" 225 "Why the blazes don't ye take it?" 239 "Thash where 'tis, yer come on me too late!" . . . . 251 "'Ere, Florrie, you ain't croying, are yer?" .... 271 DOING A CATHEDRAL. P.L. £ * * * DOING A CATHEDRAL. (A Sketch from the Provinxes.) The interior of Dulchester Cathedral. Time — About 12.30. The March sunshine slants in pale shafts through the clerestory windows, leaving the aisles in shadow. From without, the cawing of rooks and shouts of children at flay are faintly audible. By the West Door, a party of Intending Sightseers have collected, and the several groups, feeling that it would be a waste of time to observe anything in the building until officially instructed to do so, are engaged in eyeing one another with all the genial antipathy and suspicion of true-born Britons. A STODGY SIGHTSEER {to his friend). Dis- graceful, keeping us standing about like this! If I'd only known, I'd have told the head- waiter at the " Mitre " to keep back those chops till— [He breaks off abruptly, finding that the chops are reverberating from column to column with disproportionate solemnity ; a white-haired and apple-faced verger rustles dozen from the choir d 2 4 Puppets at Large. and beckons the party forward benignantly, whereupon they advance with a secret satisfac- tion at the prospect of "getting the cathedral 'done' and having the rest of the day to them- selves;" they are conducted to a desk and requested, as a preliminary, to put sixpence apiece in the Restoration Fund box and inscribe their names in a book. Confused Murmurs. Would you put " Portico Lodge, Camden Road, or only London ? " . . . Here, I'd better sign for the lot of you, eh ? . . . They might provide a better pen — in a cathedral, I do think ! . . . He might have given all our names in full instead of just "And party!" . . . Oh, I've been and made a blot— will it matter, should you think ? . . . I never can write my name with people looking on, can you? . . . I'm sure you've done it beautifully, dear ! . . . Just hold my umbrella while I take off my glove, Maria. . . . Oh, why don't they make haste ? &c, &c. [The Stodgy Sightseer fumes, feeling that, while they are fiddling, his chops are burning. The Verger. Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you will please to follow me, the portion of the building where we now are is part of the original hedifice Puppets at Large. 5 founded by Ealfrytha, wife of Earl Baldric, in the year height 'undred heighty-height, though we 'ave reason to believe that an even headier church was in existence 'ere so far back as the Roman occupation, as is proved by a hancient stone receptacle recently discovered under the crypt and hevidently used for baptismal purposes. A Spectacled S. (who feels it due to herself to put an intelligent question at intervals.) What was the method of baptism among the Early Christians ? The Verger. We believe it to 'ave been by total immersion, Ma'am. The Spect. S. Oh? Baptists! [She sets down the Early Christians as Dissenters, and takes no further interest in them. The Verger. At the back of the choir, and imme- diately in front of you, is the shrine, formerly containing the bones of St. Chasuble, with relics of St. Alb. (An Evangelical Sightseer snorts in dis- approval.) The 'ollow depressions in the steps leading up to the shrine, which are still visible, were worn away, as you see, by the pilgrims ascending on their knees. (The party verify the depressions conscientiously, and click their tongues to express indulgent contempt.) The spaces between the harches of the shrine were originally enriched by valuable gems and mosaics, 6 Puppets at Large. all of which 'ave now long since disappeared, 'aving been removed by the more devout parties who came 'ere on pilgrimages. In the chapel to your left a monument with recumbent hemgies of Bishop Buttress and Dean Gurgoyle, represented laying side by side with clasped 'ands, in token of the lifelong affection between them. The late Bishop used to make a rather facetious remark about this tomb. He was in the 'abit of observing that it was the honly instance in his experience of a Bishop being on friendly terms with his Dean. (He glances round for appreciation of this instance of episcopal humour, but is pained to find that it has produced a general gloom; the Evangelical Sightseer, indeed, conveys by another and a louder snort, his sense that a Bishop ought to set a better example.) In the harched recess to your right, a monument in painted halibarster to Sir Ralph Ringdove and his lady, erected immediately after her decease by the disconsolate widower, with a touching inscription in Latin, stating that their ashes would shortly be commingled in the tomb. (He pauses, to allow the ladies of the party to express a becoming sympathy — which they do, by clicks.) Sir Ralph him- self, however, is interred in Ficklebury Parish Church, forty mile from this spot, along with his third wife, who survived him. [The ladies regard the image of Sir Ralph with Puppets at Large. 7 indignation, and pass on ; the Verger chuckles faintly at having produced his effect. The Evangelical S. (snuffing the air suspiciously). I'm sorry to perceive that you are in the habit of burning incense here ! [He looks sternly at the Verger, as though to imply that it is useless to impose upon him. The Verger. No, Sir, what you smell ain't incense— on'y the vaults after the damp weather we've bin 'aving. [The Evangelical Sightseer drops behind, divided between relief and disappointment. A Plastic S. (to the Verger). What a perfectly exquisite rose- window that is ! For all the world like a kaleidoscope. I suppose it dates from the Norman period, at least ? The Verger (coldly). No, Ma'am, it was only put up about thirty year ago. We consider it the poorest glass we 'ave. The Plast. S. Oh, the glass, yes ; that's hideous, certainly. I meant the — the other part. The Verger. The tracery, Ma'am ? That was restored at the same time by a local man — and a shocking job he made of it, too ! The Plast. S. Yes, it quite spoils the Cathedral, doesn't it ? Couldn't it be taken down ? 8 Puppets at Large. The Verger (in answer to another Inquirer). Crow- borough Cathedral finer than this, Sir ? Oh, dear me, no. I went over a-purpose to 'ave a look at it the last 'oliday I took, and I was quite surprised to find 'ow very inferior it was. The spire ? I don't say that mayn't be 'igher as a mere matter of feet, but our lantern-tower is so 'appily proportioned as to give the effect of being by far the 'ighest in existence. A Travelled S. Ah, you should see the continental cathedrals. Why, our towers would hardly come up to the top of the naves of some of them ! The Verger (loftily). I don't take no notice of foreign cathedrals, Ma'am. If foreigners like to build so ostentatious, all I can say is, I'm sorry for them. A Lady (who has provided herself with a "Manual of Architecture" and an unsympathetic Companion). Do notice the excessive use of the ball-flower as a decoration, dear. Parker says it is especially charac- teristic of this cathedral. Unsympathetic Companion. I don't see any flowers myself. And if they like to decorate for festivals and that, where's the harm ? [The Lady with the Manual perceives that it is hopeless to explain. The Verger. The dog-tooth mouldings round the Puppets at Large. 9 triforium harches is considered to belong to the best period of Norman work ■ The Lady with the Manual. Surely not Nor- man ? Dog-tooth is Saxon, / always understood. The Verger (indulgently). You'll excuse me, Ma'am, but I fancy it's 'erringbone as is running in your 'ed. The Lady with the M. (after consulting" Parker" for corroboration, in vain). Well, I'm sure dog-tooth is quite Early English, anyway. (To her Companion.) Did you know it was the interlacing of the round arches that gave the first idea of the pointed arch, dear ? Her Comp. No. But I shouldn't have thought there was so Yery much in the idea. The Lady with the M. I do wish you took more intercut, dear. Look at those two young men who haYe just come in. They don't look as if they'd care for carving ; but they've been studying every one of the Miserere seats in the choir-stalls. That's what / like to see ! The Verger. That concludes my dooties, ladies and gentlemen. You can go out by the South Transept door, and that'll take you through the Cloisters. (The Party go out, xcitli the exception oj the two 'ARRIES, who linger, expectantly, and cough in io Puppets at Large. embarrassment.) Was there anything you wished to know ? First 'Arry. Well, Mister, it's on'y— er— 'aven't you got some old carving or other 'ere of a rather —well, funny kind — sorter thing you on'y show to gentlemen, if you know what I mean ? The Verger {austerely). There's nothing in this Cathedral for gentlemen o' your sort, and I'm sur- prised at your expecting of it. [He turns on his heel. First 'Arry (to Second). I spoke civil enough to 'im, didn't I ? What did 'e want to go and git the fair 'ump about ? Second 'Arry. Oh, I dunno. But you don't ketch me comin' over to no more cathedrils, and wastin' time and money all for nuthink — that's all. [They tramp out, feeling that their confidence has been imposed upon. i./--yyty: mxk'Ji • \ ■■•■ &«W3*5«^< • • Ave' '^ ■*■'■■ ■■■ ' mmmm "What did 'e want to go and git the fair 'ump about?" THE INSTANTANEOUS PROCESS. + + + THE INSTANTANEOUS PROCESS; Ok, Fluff Sits for his Photograph. A Photographer's Studio on the Seventh Floor. It is a warm afternoon. Mr. STIPPLER, Photographic Artist, is discovered alone. MR. STIPPLER (to himself). No appointments while this weather lasts, thank goodness ! I shall be able to get ahead with those negatives now. (Sharp whistle from speaking-tube, to which he goes.) Well ? Voice of Lady Assistant (in shop below). Lady just brought her dog in ; wants to know if she can have it taken now. Mr. Stip. (to himself). Oh, dash the dog and the lady too ! The Voice. No, only the dog, the lady says. Mr. Stip. (confused). Eh ? Oh, exactly. Ask the lady to have the goodness to — ah — step up. (He opens the studio door, and awaits the arrival of his client ; interval, at the end of which sounds as of a female in 1 6 Puppets at Large. distress about halfway down are distinctly audible.) She's stepping up. (Another interval. The head of a breathless Elderly Lady emerges from the gloom.) This way, Madam. Elderly Lady (entering and sinking into the first plush chair). Oh, dear me, I thought I should never get to the top ! Now why can't you photographers have your studios on the ground floor ? So much more convenient ! Mr. Stip. No doubt, Madam, no doubt. But there is — ah — a prejudice in the profession in favah of the roof; possibly the light is considered some- what superiah. I thought I understood there was — ah — a dog ? The E. L. Oh, he'll be here presently. I think he saw something in one of the rooms on the way up that took his fancy, or very likely he's resting on one of the landing mats, — such an intelligent dog ! I'll call him. Fluffy, Fluffy, come along, my pet, nearly up now ! Mustn't keep his missis waiting for him. (A very long pause : presently a small rougli-haired terrier lounges into the studio with an air of proprietorship.) That's the dog ; he's so small, he can't take very long to do, can he ? Mr. Stip. The — ah — precise size of the animal Puppets at Large. 17 does not signify, Madam ; we do it by an instan- taneous process. The only question is the precise pose you would prefer. I presume the dog is a good — ah — rattah ? The E. L. Really, I've no idea. But he's very clever at killing bluebottles ; he will smash them on the window-panes. Mr. Stip. {without interest). I see, Madam. We have a speciality for our combination backgrounds, and you might like to have him represented on a country common, in the act of watching a hole in a bank. The E. L. (impressed). For bluebottles ? Mr. Stip. For — ah — rats. (By way of concession.) Or bluebottles, of course, if you prefer it. The E. L. I think I would rather have some- thing more characteristic. He has such a pretty way of lying on his back with all his paws sticking straight up in the air. I never saw any other dog do it. Mr. Stip. Precisely. But I doubt whether that particulah pose would be effective — in a photograph. The E. L. You think not ? Where has he got to, now ? Oh, do just look at him going round, examining everything! He quite understands what he's wanted to do ; you've no idea what a clever dog he is 1 1 8 Puppets at Large. Mr. Stip. Ray-ally? How would it do to have him on a rock in the middle of a salmon stream ? The E. L. It would make me so uncomfortable to see it ; he has a perfect horror of wetting his little feet ! Mr. Stip. In that case, no doubt Then what do you say to posing him on an ornamental pedestal ? We could introduce a Yorkshire moor, or a view of Canterbury Cathedral, as a background. The E. L. A pedestal seems so suggestive of a cemetery, doesn't it ? Mr. Stip. Then we must try some other posi- tion. (He resigns himself to the commonplace.) Can the dog — ah — sit up ? The E. L. Bec-yutifully ! Fluffy, come and show how nicely you can sit up ! Fluff {to himself). Show off for this fellow? Who pretends he's got rats — and hasn't ! Not if / know it ! [He rolls over on his back with a well-assumed air of idiotcy. The E. L. (delighted). There, that's the attitude I told you of. But perhaps it would come out rather too leggy ? Mr. Stip. It is — ah — open to that objection, certainly, Madam. Perhaps we had better take him Puppets at Large. 19 on a chair sitting up. (Fluff is, with infinite trouble, prevailed upon to mount an arm-chair, from which he growls savagely whenever Mr. Stippler approaches.) You will probably be more successful with him than I, Madam. The E. L. I could make him sit up in a moment, if I had any of his biscuits with me. But I forgot to bring them. Mr. Stip. There is a confectionah next door. We could send out a lad for some biscuits. About how much would you requiah — a quartan of a pound ? [He goes to the speaking tube. The E. L. He won't eat all those ; he's a most abstemious dog. But they must be sweet, tell them. (Delay. Arrival of the biscuits. The Elderly Lady holds one up, and Fluff leaps, barking frantically , until he succeeds in snatching it ; a manoeuvre which he repeats with each successive biscuit.) Do you know, I'm afraid he really mustn't have any more — biscuits always excite him so. Suppose you take him lying on the chair, much as he is now ? (Mr. Stippler attempts to place the dog's paws, and is snapped at.) Oh, do be careful ! Mr. Stip. (heroically). Oh, it's of no consequence, Madam. I am — ah — accustomed to it. The E. L. Oh, yes ; but he isn't, you know ; P.L. C 20 Puppets at Large. so please be very gentle with him ! And could you get him a little water first ? I'm sure he's thirsty. (Mr. Stippler brings water in a developing dish, which Fluff empties promptly.) Now he'll be as good / Mr. Stip. (after wiping Fluff's chin and arranging his legs). If we can only keep him like that for one second. The E. L. But he ought to have his ears pricked. (Mr. Stippler makes weird noises behind the camera, resembling demon cats in torture ; Fluff regards him with calm contempt.) Oh, and his hair is all in his eyes, and they're his best feature ! [Mr. Stippler attempts to part Fluff's fringe ; snarls. Mr. Stip. I have not discovered his eyes at present, Madam ; but he appears to have excellent — ah — teeth . The E. L. Hasn't he ! Now, couldn't you catch him like that ? Mr. Stip. (to himself). He's more likely to catch me like that! (Aloud, as he retreats under a hanging canopy.) I think we shall get a good one of him as he is. (Focussing.) Yes, that will do very nicely. (He puts in the plate, and prepares to release the shutter, whereupon FLUFF deliberately rises and presents his tail "What's she got hold of now." Puppets at Large. 23 to the camera.) I presume you do not desiah a back view of the dog, Madam ! The E. L. Certainly not ! Oh, Fluffy, naughty — naughty ! Now lie down again, like a good dog. Oh, I'm afraid he's going to sleep ! Mr. Stip. If you would kindly take this— ah — toy in your hand, Madam, it might rouse him a little. The E. L. {exhibiting a gutta-percha rat). Here, Fluffy, Fluffy, here's a pitty sing ! What is it, eh ! Fluff (after opening one eye). The old fool fancies she's got a rat ! Well, she may keep it ! [He curls himself up again. Mr. Stip. We must try to obtain more — ah — animation than that. He hands the Elderly Lady a jingling toy. The E. L. {shaking it vigorously). Fluffy, see what Missis has got ! Fluff (by a yawn of much eloquence). At her age, too ! Wonderful how she can do it ! [He closes his eyes wearily. Mr. Stip. Perhaps you may produce a better effect with this. [He hands her a stuffed stoat. Fluff (to himself). What's she got hold of now ? Hul-lo ! (He rises, and inspects the stoat with interest.) I'd no idea the old girl was so " varmint " ! Mr. Stip. Capital ! Now, if he'll stay like that c 2 24 Puppets at Large. another (Fluff jumps down, and wags his tail with conscious merit.) Oh, dear me. I never saw such a dog ! The E. L. He's tired out, poor doggie, and no wonder. But he'll be all the quieter for it, won't he ? (After restoring Fluff to the chair.) Now, couldn't you take him panting, like that ? Mr. Stip. I must wait till he's got a little less tongue out, Madam. The E. L. Must you ? Why ? I should have thought it was a capital opportunity. Mr. Stip. For a physician, Madam, not a pho- tographer. If I were to take him now the result would be an — ah — enormous tongue, with a dog in the remote distance. The E. L. And he's putting out more and more of it ! Perhaps he's thirsty again. Here, Fluffy, water — water ! [She produces the developing dish. Fluff (in barks of unmistakable significance). Look here, I've had about enough of this tomfoolery. Let's go. Come on ! Mr. Stip. (seconding the motion with relief). I'm afraid we're not likely to do better with him to-day. Perhaps if you could look in some othah afternoon ? The E. L. Why, we've only been an hour and Puppets at Large. 25 twenty minutes as yet ! But what would be the best time to bring him ? Mr. Stip. I should say the light and the tempera- tuah would probably be more favourable by the week aftah next — (to himself) when I shall be taking my holiday ! The E. L. Very well, I'll come then. Oh, Fluffy, Fluffy, what a silly little dog you are to give all this trouble ! Fluff (to himself, as he makes a triumphant exit). Not half so silly as some people think ! I must tell the cat about this ; she'll go into fits ! I will say she has a considerable sense of humour — for a cat. IN THE CAUSE OF CHARITY. * * * IN THE CAUSE OF CHARITY. Mona House, the Town Mansion of the Marquis of Manx, which has been lent for a Sale of Work in aid of the "Fund for Super- annuated Skirt-dancers," under the patronage of Royalty and other distinguished personages. In the Entrance Hall. MRS. WYLIE DEDHEAD {attempting to insinuate herself between the barriers). Excuse me ; I only wanted to pop in for a moment, just to see if a lady friend of mine is in there, that's all ! The Lady Money-taker (blandly). If you will let me know your friend's name — ? Mrs. W. D. (splcndide mendax). She's assisting the dear Duchess. Now, perhaps, you will allow me to pass ! The L. M. Afraid I can't, really. But if you mean Lady Honor Hyndlegges— she is the only lady at the Duchess's stall — I could send in for her. Or of course, if you like to pay half-a-crown 30 Puppets at Large. MRS. W. D. (hastily). Thank you, I— I won't dis- turb her ladyship. I had no idea there was any charge for admission, and — (bristling) — allow me to say I consider such regulations most absurd. The L. M. (sweetly, with a half glance at the bowl of coins on the table). Quite too ridiculous, ain't they? Good afternoon ! Mrs. W. D. (audibly, as she flounces out). If they suppose I'm going to pay half- a- crown for the privilege of being fleeced ! Footman (on steps, sotto voce, to confrere). " Fleeced " ! that's a good 'un, eh ? She ain't brought much wool in with her ! His Confrere. On'y what's stuffed inside of her ear. [They resume their former impassive dignity. In the Venetian Gallery — where the Bazaar is being held. A Loyal Old Lady (at the top of her voice— to Stall-keeper). Which of 'em's the Princess, my dear, eh ? It's her I paid my money to see. The Stall-keeper (in a dismayed ichispcr). Ssh ! Not quite so loud ! There— just opposite— petunia bow in her bonnet — selling kittens. The L. O. L. (planting herself on a chair). So that's her ! Well, she is dressed plain — for a Royalty— but looks pleasant enough. I wouldn't mind taking one Puppets at Large. 31 o' them kittens off her Renal 'Ighness myself, if they was going at all reasonable. But there, I expect, the cats 'ere is meat for my masters, so to speak ; and you see, my dear, 'aving the promise of a tortoise- shell Tom from the lady as keeps the Dairy next door, whenever [She finds, with surprise, that her confidences are nut encouraged. Miss St. Leger de Mayne {persuasively to Mrs. Nibbler). Do let me show you some of this exquisite work, all embroidered entirely by hand, you see ! Mrs. Nibbler (edging away). Lovely — quite lovely ; but I think — a — I'll just take a look round before I Miss de M. If there is any particular thing you were looking for, perhaps I could Mrs. N. (becoming confidential) . Well, I did think if I could come across a nice sideboard-cloth Miss de M. {to herself). What on earth's a side- board-cloth ? (Aloud.) Why, I've the very thing! See — all worked in Russian stitch ! Mrs. N. (dubiously). I thought the)- were always quite plain. And what's that queer sort of flap-thing for? Miss de M. Oh, that? That's — a — to cover up the 32 Puppets at Large. spoons, and forks, and things ; quite the latest fashion, now, you know. Mrs. N. (with self-assertion). I have noticed it at several dinner parties I've been to in society lately, certainly. Still I am not sure that Miss de M. I always have them on my own side- board now — my husband won't hear of any others. . . . Then, I may put this one in paper for you ? fifteen-and-sixpence — thanks so much! (To her colleague, as Mrs. N. departs). Connie, I've got rid of that awful nightgown case at last ! Mrs. Maycup. A — you don't happen to have a small bag to hold a powder-puff, and so on, you know ? Miss de M. I had some very pretty ones ; but I'm afraid they're all — oh, no, there's just one left — crimson velvet and real passementerie. (She produces a bag). Too trotty for words, isn't it ? Mrs. Maycup (tacitly admitting its trottiness). But then — that sort of purse shape Could I get a small pair of folding curling-irons into it, should you think, at a pinch ? Miss de M. You could get anything into it — at a pinch. I've one myself which will hold — well, I can't tell you what it wont hold ! Half-a-guinea — so many thanks ! (To herself, as Mrs. Maycup carries off her Puppets at Large. 33 bag.) What would the vicar's wife say if she knew I'd sold her church collection bag for that ! But it's all in a good cause ! (A n Elderly Lady comes up.) May I show you some of these ? The Elderly Lady. Well, I was wondering if you had such a thing as a good warm pair of sleeping socks : because, these bitter nights, I do find I suffer so from cold in my feet. Miss de M. (with effusion). Ah, then I can feel for y OU — so do / / At least, I used to before I tried — (To herself.) Where is that pair of thick woollen driving-gloves? Ah, / know. (Aloud.) — these. I've found them such a comfort ! The E. L. (suspiciously). They have rather a queer And then they are divided at the ends, too. Miss de M. Oh, haven't you seen those before ? Doctors consider them so much healthier, don't you know. The E. L. I daresay they are, my dear. But aren't the — (with delicate embarrassment) — the sepa- rated parts rather long ? Miss de M . Do you think so ? They allow so much more freedom, you see ; and then, of course, they'll shrink. The E. L. That's true, my dear. Well, I'll take a pair, as you recommend them so strongly. 34 Puppets at Large. Miss de M. I'm quite sure you'll never regret it ! (To hcnclf, as the E. L. retires, charmed.) I'd give anything to see the poor old thing trying to put them on ! Miss Mimosa Tendrill (to herself). I do so hate hawking this horrid old thing about ! (Forlornly, to Mrs. Allbutt-Innett.) I — I beg your pardon ; but will you give me ten-and-sixpence for this lovely work-basket ? Mrs. Allbutt-Innett. My good girl, let me tell you I've been pestered to buy that identical basket at every bazaar I've set foot in for the last twelve- month, and how you can have the face to ask ten- and-six for it — you must think I've more money thnn wit ! Miss Tendr. (abashed). Well— cightcenpence then ? (To herself as Mrs. A. -I. closes promptly.) There, I've sold something, anyhow ! The Hon. Diana D'Autenbas (to herself). It's rather fun selling at a Bazaar ; one can let oneself go so much more ! (To the first man she meets.) I'm sure you'll buy one of my buttonholes — now won't you ? If I fasten it in for you myself? Mr. Cadney Rowser. A button'ole, eh ? Think I'm not classy enough as I am ? Miss D'Aut. I don't think anyone could accuse Puppets at Large. 35 you of not being "classy;" still a flower would just give the finishing- touch. Mr. C. R. {modestly). Rats! — if you'll pass the reedom. But you've such a way with you that — there— 'ow much. Miss D'Aut. Only five shillings. Nothing to you! Mr. C. R. Five bob ? You're a artful g\x\,yon are ! Fang dc Seakale" and no error ! But I'm on it : it's worth the money to 'ave a flower fastened in by such fair 'ands. I won't 'owl — not even if you do run a pin into me. . . . What ? You ain't done a'ready ! No 'urry, yer know. . . . 'Ere, won't you come along to the refreshment-stall, and 'ave a little something at my expense. Do ! Miss D'Aut. I think you must imagine you are talking to a barmaid ! Mr. C. R. (with gallantry). I on'y wish barmaids was 'alf as pleasant and sociable as you, Miss. But they're a precious stuck-up lot, / can assure you ! Miss D'Aut. (to herself as she escapes). I suppose one ought to put up with this sort of thing — for a charity ! Mrs. Babbicombe (at the Toy Stall, to the Belle oj the Bazaar, aged three-and-a-half). You perfect duck ! You're simply too sweet ! I must find you something. (She tempers generosity with discretion by presenting 36 Puppets at Large. her with a small pair of knitted dolVs socks.) There, darling ! The Belle's Mother. What do you say to the kind lady now, Marjory ? Marjory (a practical young person, to the donor). Now div me a dolly to put ve socks on. [Mrs. B. finds herself obliged to repair this omission. A Young Lady Raffler (to a Young Man). Do take a ticket for this charmin' sachet. Only half-a- crown ! The Young Man. Delighted ! If you'll put in for this splendid cigar cabinet. Two shillin's ! [The Young Lady realises that she has encountered an Augur, and passes on. Miss de M. (to Mr. Isthmian Gatwick). Can't I tempt you with this tea-cosy ? It's so absurdly cheap ! Mr. Isthmian Gatwick (with dignity). A-thanks ; I think not. Never take tea, don't you know. Miss de M. (with her characteristic adaptability). Really ? No more do /. But you could use it as a smoking-cap, you know. I always [Recollects herself, and breaks off in confusion. Miss Ophelia Palmer (in the " Wizard's Cave" — to Mr. Cadney Rowser). Yes, your hand indicates an intensely refined and spiritual nature ; you are 'You have lofty ambitions and th e artistic temperament." Puppets at Large. 39 perhaps a little too indifferent to your personal com- fort where that of others is concerned ; sensitive — too much so for your own happiness, perhaps — you feel things keenly when you do feel them. You have lofty ambitions and the artistic temperament — seven- and-sixpence, please. Mr. C. R. {impressed). Well, Miss, if you can read all that for seven-and-six on the palm of my 'and, I wonder what you wouldn't see for 'alf a quid on the sole o' my boot ! [Miss P.'s belief in Chiromancy sustains a severe shock. Bobbie Patterson {outside tent, as Showman). This way to the Marvellous Jumping Bean from Mexico ! Threepence ! Voice from Tent. Bobbie ! Stop ! The Bean's lost ! Lady Honor's horrid Thought-reading Poodle has just stepped in and swallowed it. Bobbie. Ladies and Gentlemen, owing to sudden domestic calamity, the Bean has been unavoidably compelled to retire, and will be unable to appear till further notice. Miss Smylie {to Mr. Otis Barleywater, who— in his own set — is considered " almost equal to Comey Grain "). I thought you were giving your entertain- ment in the library ? Why aren't you ? p.l. D 44 Puppets at Large. Mrs. G.-G. Then sit where I can see you, and listen. (She reads.) " Irreproachable in all that per- tains to morality " — (and it would be a bad day indeed for you, Galahad, if I ever had cause to think otherwise !) — " morality ; scrupulously dainty and neat in his person " — (ah, you may well blush, Galahad, but fortunately, they won't want me to produce you !) — " he imports into our happy home the delicate refine- ment of a preux chevalier of the olden time." (Will you kindly take your dirty boots off the steel fen- der !) "We rule our little kingdom with a joint and equal sway, to which jealousy and friction are alike unknown ; he, considerate and indulgent to my womanly weakness " — (You need not stare at me in that perfectly idiotic fashion !) — " I, looking to him for the wise and tender support which has never yet been denied. The close and daily scrutiny of many years has discovered " — (What are you shaking like that for ?) — " discovered no single weak- ness ; no taint or flaw of character ; no irritating trick of speech or habit." (How often have I told you that I will not have the handle of that paper-knife sucked ? Put it down ; do !) "His conversation — sparkling but ever spiritual — renders our modest meals veritable feasts of fancy and flows of soul . . . Well, Galahad ? Puppets at Large. 105 Mr. G.-G. Nothing, my dear; nothing. It struck me as, well, — a trifle flowery, that last passage, that's all! Mrs. G.-G. {severely). If I cannot expect to win the prize without descending to floweriness, whose fault is that, I should like to know ? If you can't make sensible observations, you had better not speak at all. {Continuing.) " Over and over again, gather- ing me in his strong, loving arms, and pressing fervent kisses upon my forehead, he has cried, ' Why am I not a Monarch that so I could place a diadem upon that brow? With such a Consort am I not doubly crowned ?' " Have you anything to say to that, Galahad ? Mr. G.-G. Only, my love, that I — I don't seem to remember having made that particular remark. Mrs. G.-G. Then make it now. I'm sure I wish to be as accurate as I can. [Mr. G.-G. makes the remark — but without fervour : Scene the Second — At the Monarch-Jones'. Mr. M.-J. Twenty quid would come in precious handy just now, after all I've dropped lately, and I mean to pouch that prize if I can — so just you sit down, Grizzle, and write out what I tell you ; do you hear ? 106 Puppets at Large. Mrs. M.-J. (timidly). But, Monarch, dear, would that be quite fair ? No, don't be angry, I didn't mean that — I'll write whatever you please ! Mr. M.-J. You'd better, that's all ! Are you ready ? I must screw myself up another peg before I begin. (He screws.) Now, then. (Stands over her and dictates.) "To the polished urbanity of a perfect gentleman he unites the kindly charity of a true Christian." (Why the devil don't you learn to write decently, eh ?) " Liberal, and even lavish, in all his dealings, he is yet a stern foe to every kind of excess " — (Hold on a bit, I must have another nip after that) — "every kind of excess. Our married life is one long dream of blissful content- ment, in which each contends with the other in loving self-sacrifice." (Haven't you corked all that down yet !) "Such cares and anxieties as he has he conceals from me with scrupulous consideration as long as possible " — (Gad, I should be a fool if I didn't!) — "while I am ever sure of finding in him a patient and sympathetic listener to all my trifling worries and difficulties." — (Tivo f's in difficulties, you little fool — can't you even spell?) "Many a time, falling on his knees at my feet, he has rap- turously exclaimed, his accents broken by manly emotion, ' Oh, that I were more worthy of such a Puppets at Large. 107 pearl anions women ! With such a helpmate, I am indeed to be envied ! ' ' ! That ought to do the trick. If I don't romp in after that ! (Observing that Mrs. M.-J.'s shoulders are convulsed.) What the dooce are you giggling at now ? Mrs. M.-J. I — I wasn't giggling, Monarch dear, only Mr. M.-J. Only what? Mrs. M.-J. Only crying ! The Sequel. "The judges appointed by the spirited proprie- tors of All Sorts to decide the ' Model Husband Contest ' — which was established on lines similar to one recently inaugurated by one of our New York contemporaries — have now issued their award. Two competitors have sent in certificates which have been found equally deserving of the prize ; viz., Mrs. Cornelia Galahad-Green, Graemair Villa, Peckham, and Mrs. Griselda Monarch-Jones, Aspen Lodge, Lordship Lane. The sum of twenty pounds will consequently be divided between these two ladies, to whom, with their respective spouses, we beg to tender our cordial felicitations." — (Extract from Daily Paper, some six months hence.) P.L. H THE COURIER OF THE HAGUE. II 2 ♦f* 4 •!• THE COURIER OF THE HAGUE. HE is an elderly amiable little Dutchman in a soft felt hat ; his name is Bosch, and he is taking me about. Why I engaged him I don't quite know — unless from a general sense of helplessness in Holland, and a craving for any kind of companionship. Now I have got him, I feel rather more helpless than ever — a sort of composite of Sandforu and Merton, with a didactic, but fre- quently incomprehensible Dutch Barlow. My Sandford half would like to exhibit an intelligent curiosity, but is generally suppressed by Merton, who has a morbid horror of useful information. Not that Bosch is remarkably erudite, but never- theless he contrives to reduce me to a state of imbecility, which I catch myself noting with a pained surprise. There is a statue in the Plein, and the Sandford element in me finds a satisfac- tion in recognising it aloud as William the Silent. ii2 Puppets at Large. It is — but, as my Merton part thinks, a fellow would be a fool if he didn't recognise William after a few hours in Holland — his images, in one form or another, are tolerably numerous. Still Bosch is gratified. " Yass, dot is ole Volliam," he says, approvingly, as to a precocious infant just beginning to take notice. " Lokeer," he says, "you see dot Apoteek?" He indicates a chemist's shop opposite, with nothing remarkable about it externally, except a Turk's head with his tongue out over the door. " Yes, I (speaking for Sandford and Merton) see it — has it some historical interest — did Volliam get medicine there, or what ? " " Woll, dis mornin dare vas two sairvans dere, and de von cot two blaces out of de odder's haid, and afderwarts he go opstairs and vas hang himself mit a pedbost." Bosch evidently rather proud of this as illustrating the liveliness of The Hague. "Was he mad? " " Yass, he vas mard, mit a vife and seeks childrens." " No, but was he out of his senses ? " " I tink it was oud of Omsterdam he vas com," says Bosch. " But how did it happen ? " Puppets at Large. 113 " Wol-sarc, de broprietor vas die, and leaf de successor de pusiness, and he dells him in von mons he will go, begause he nod egsamin to be a Chimigal — so he do it, and dey dake him to de hosbital, and I tink he vas die too by now ! " adds Bosch, cheer- fully. Very sad affair evidently — but a little complicated. SANDFORD would like to get to the bottom of it, but Mfkton convinced there is no bottom. So, between us, subject allowed to drop. Sandford (now in the ascendant again) notices, as the clever boy, inscription on house-front, " Hier woonden Groen Van Prinsterer, 1838-76." " I suppose that means Van Prinsterer lived here, Bosch ? " " Yass, dot vas it." " And who was he ? " " He vas — wol, he vos a Member of de Barlia- ments." "Was he celebrated? " " Celebrated ? oh, yaas ! " " What did he do ? " (I think Merton gets this in.) " Do ? " says Bosch, quite indignantly, " he nefer do nodings ! " Bosch takes me into the Fishmarket, when he ii4 Puppets at Large. directs my attention to a couple of very sooty live storks, who are pecking about at the refuse. " Dose pirts are shtorks ; hier dey vas oblige to keep alvays two shtorks for de arms of de Haag. Vhen de yong shtorks porn, de old vons vas kill." Sandford shocked — Merton sceptical. "KeeL dem ? Oh, yaas, do anytings mit dem ven dey vas old," says Bosch, and adds : — " Ve haf de breference mit de shtorks, eh ? " What is he driving at ? " Yaas — ven vc vas old ve vas nod kill." This reminds Bosch — BARLOW-like — of an anec- dote. " Dere vas a vrent to me," he begins, "he com and say to me, ' Bosch, I am god so shtout and my bark is so dick, I can go no more on my lacks — vat vas I do ? ' To him I say, ' Wol, I dell you vat I do mit you — I dake you at de booshair to be cot op ; I tink you vas make vary goot shdeak-meat ! ' : Wonder whether this is a typical sample of Bosch's badinage. " What did he say to that, Bosch ? " " Oh, he vas vair moch loff, a-coursc ! " says Bosch, with the natural complacency of a success- ful humorist. We go into the Old Prison, and see some horrible Puppets at Large. 115 implements of torture, which seem to exhilarate Bosch. " Lokeer ! " he says, " Dis vas a pinition" (Bosch for "punishment") "mit a can. Uey lie de man down and vasten his foots, and efery dime he vas shdrook mit de can, he jomp op and hit his vore- haid. . . . Hier dey lie down de beoples on de back, and pull dis shdring queeck, and all dese tings go roundt, and preak deir bones. Ven de pinition was feenish you vas det." He shows where the Water-torture was practised. " Nottice 'ow de vater vas vork a 'ole in de tile," he chuckles, " I tink de tile vas vary hardt det, eh ? " Then he points out a pole with a spiked prong. " Tief-catcher — put 'em in de tiefs nack — and get 'im ! " Before a grim- looking cauldron he halts appreciatively. " You know vat dat vas for?" he says. " Dat vas for de blode-foots ; put 'em in derc, yaas, and light de vire onderneat." No idea what " blodc-foots " may be, but from the relish in Bosch's tone, evidently something very unpleasant, so don't press him for explanations. We go upstairs, and see some dark and very mouldy dungeons, which Bosch is very anxious that I should enter. Make him go in first, for the surroundings seem to have excited his sense of n6 Puppets at Large. the humorous to such a degree, that he might be unable to resist locking me in, and leaving me, if I gave him a chance. Outside at last, thank goodness ! The Groote Kerk, according to Bosch, " is not vort dc see," so we don't see it. SANDFORD has a sneaking impression that I ought to go in, but Merton glad to be let off. We go to see the pictures at the Mauritshuis instead. Bosch exchanges greetings with the attendants in Dutch. " Got another of 'em in tow, you see — and collar-work, I can tell you ! " would be a free trans- lation, I suspect, of his remarks. Must say that, in a Picture-gallery, Bosch is a superfluous luxury. He does take my ignorance just a trifle too much for granted. He might give mc credit for knowing the story of Adam and Eve, at all events ! " De Sairpan gif Eva de opple, an' Eva gif him to Adam," Bosch carefully informs me, before a " Paradise" by Rubens and Brueghel. This rouses my Merton half to inquire what Adam did with it. "Oh, he ead him too!" says Bosch in perfect good faith. I do wish, too, he wouldn't lead me up to Paul Potter's "Bull," and ask me enthusiastically if it isn't "real meat." I shouldn't mind it so much Puppets at Large. 117 if there were not several English people about, without couriers — but there are. My only revenge is (as MERTON) to carefully pick out the unsigned canvases and ask Bosch who painted them ; where- upon Bosch endeavours furtively to make out the label on the frames, and then informs me in desperation, " it vas ' School, ' — yass, he baint him ! ' : Bosch kindly explains the subject of every picture in detail. He tells me a Droochsloot represents a " balsham pedder." I suppose I look bewildered, for he adds — " oppen air tance mit a village." " Hier dey vas haf a tispute ; dis man say de ham vas more value as de cheese — dere is de cheese, and dere is de ham." " Hier is an old man dot marry a yong vife, and two tevils com in, and de old man he ron avay." "Hier 'he dress him in voman, and de vife is vrighten." " Hier is Jan Steen himself as a medicine, and he veel de yong voman's poise, and say dere is nodings de madder, and the moddcr ask him to trink a glass of vine." " Hier is de beach at Skavening — now dey puild houses on de dunes — bot de beach is schdill dere." Such are Bosch's valuable and instructive com- ments, to which, as representing SANDFORD and Merton, I listen with depressed docility. All the same, can't help coming to the conclusion that Art is n8 Puppets at Large. not Bosch's strong point. Shall come here again — alone. We go on to the Municipal Museum, where he shows me what he considers the treasures of the collection— a glass goblet, engraved " mit dails of tobaggo bipes," and the pipes themselves; a paint- ing of a rose, " mit ade beople's faces in de leafs ; " and a drawing of " two pirts mit only von foots." Outside again. Bosch shows me a house. " Lokeer. In dot house leef an oldt lady all mit herself and ade sairvans. She com from Friesland, yassir." Really, I think Bosch is going to be interesting — at last. There is a sly twinkle in his eye, denoting some story of a scandalous but infinitely humorous nature. " Well, Bosch, go on — what about the old lady ? ' I ask eagerly, as Merton. " Wol, Sir," says Bosch, " she nefer go noveres." . . . That's all ! "A devilish interesting story, Suniph, indeed ! " to quote Mr. Wagg. But, as Bosch frequently reminds me, " It vas pedder, you see, as a schendlemans like you go apout mit me; I dell you tings dot vas not in de guide- books." Which I am not in a position to deny. FEELING THEIR WAY. ^r 4* Jr FEELING THEIR WAY. (A Study in the Art of Genteel Conversation.) The Drawing-room of a Margate Hotel. Time — Evening. Mrs. Ardleigh (of Balham), and Mrs. Allbutt (of Brondes- bury), arc discovered in the midst of a conversation, in which each is anxious both to impress the other, and ascertain how far she is a person to he cultivated. At present, they have not got beyond the discovery of a common bond in Cookery, MRS. ALLBUTT. You have the yolks of two eggs, I must tell you ; squeeze the juice of half a lemon into it, and, when you boil the butter in the pan, make a paste of it with dry flour. Mrs. Ardleigh. It sounds delicious — but you never can trust a Cook to carry out instructions exactly. Mrs. All. I never do. Whenever I want to have anything specially nice for my husband, I make a point of seeing to it myself. He appreciates it. Now sonic men, if you cook for them, never notice whether it's you or the Cook. My husband docs. 122 Puppets at Large. Mrs. Ard. I wonder how you find time to do it. I'm sure / should never Mrs. All. Oh, it takes time, of course — but what does that matter when you've nothing to do ? Did I mention just a small pinch of Cayenne pepper ? — because that's a great improvement ! Mrs. Ard. I tell you what I like Cayenne pepper with, better than anything — and that's eggs. Mrs. All. (with elegant languor). I hardly ever eat an egg. Oysters, now, I'm very fond of— fried, that is. Mrs. Ard. They're very nice done in the real shells. Or on scollops. We have silver — or rather — (with a magnanimous impulse to tone down her splendour), silver-plated ones. Mrs. All. How funny — so have we ! (Both women feel an increase of liking for one another.) I like them cooked in milk, too. [The first barrier being satisfactorily passed, they proceed, as usual, to the subject of ailments. Mrs. Ard. My doctor does do me good, I must say — he never lets me get ill. He just sees your liver's all right, and then he feeds you up. Mrs. All. That's like my doctor; he always tells me, if he didn't keep on constantly building me up, I should go all to pieces in no time. That's how I Puppets at Large. 123 come to bo here. I always run down at the end of every Season. Mrs. Akd. {feeling that Mrs. Allbutt canH be "anybody very particular" after all). What — to Margate ? Fancy ! Don't you find you get tired of it ? / should. Mrs. All. (with dignity). I didn't say I always went to Margate. On the contrary, I have never been here before, and shouldn't be here now, if my doctor hadn't told me it was my only chance. Mrs. Ard. (reassured). I only came down here on my little girl's account. One of those nasty croupy coughs, you know, and hoops with it. But she's almost well already. I will say it's a wonderful air. Still, the worst of Margate is, one isn't likely to meet a soul one knows ! Mrs. All. Well, that's the charm of it — to me. One has enough of that during the Season. Mrs. Ard. (recognising the superiority of this view). Indeed one has. What a whirl it has been to be sure ! Mrs. All. The Season ? Why, I never remember one with so little doing. Most of the best houses closed — hardly a single really smart party— one or two weddings — and that's positively all ! Mrs. Ard. (slightly crushed, in spite of a conviction P.L. I 124 Puppets at Large. foal — socially speaking — Balham has been rather more brilliant than usual this year). Yes, that's very true. I suppose the Elections have put a stop to most things ? Mrs. All. There never was much going on. / should rather have said it was Marlborough House being shut up that made everything so dull from the first. Mrs. Ard. Ah, that does make such a difference, doesn't it ? (She feels she must make an effort to recover lost ground.) I fully expected to be at Homburg this year. Mrs. All. Then you would have met Lady Neuraline Menthol. She was ordered there, I happen to know. Mrs. Ard. Really, you don't say so ? Lady Neuraline ! Well, that's the first I've heard of it. (It is also the first time she has heard of her, but she trusts to be spared so humiliating an admission.) Mrs. All. It's a fact, I can assure you. You know her, perhaps ? Mrs. Aru. (who would dearly like to say she does, if she only dared). Well, I can hardly say I exactly know her. I know of her. I've met her about, and so on. (She tells herself this is quite as likely to be true as not.) "Dear, dear! not a county family! Puppets at Large. 127 Mrs. All. (who of course docs not know Lady Neuraline either). Ah, she is a most delightful person — requires knowing, don't you know. Mrs. Ard. So many in her position do, don't they ? (So far as she is concerned — they all do.) You'd think it was haughtiness — but it's really only manner. Mrs. All. (feeling that she can go ahead with safety now). I have never found anything of that sort in Lady Neuraline myself (which is perfectly true.) She's rather odd and flighty, but quite a dear. By the way, how sad it is about those poor dear Chutneys — the Countess, don't you know ! Mrs. Aru. Ah (as if sJie knew all the rest of the family), I don't know her at all. Mrs. All. Such a sweet woman — but the trouble she's had with her eldest boy, Lord Mango ! He married quite beneath him, you know, some girl from the provinces — not a county-family girl even. Mrs. Ard. (shocked). Dear, dear ! not a county family ! Mrs. All. No; somebody quite common — I forget the name, but it was either Gherkin or Onion, or something of that sort. I was told they had been in Chili a good while. Poor Mango never had much taste, or he would never have got mixed up with I 2 128 Puppets at Large. such a set. Anyway, he's got himself into a terrible pickle. I hear Capsicums is actually to be sold to pay his debts. Mrs. Ard. You don't say so ! Capsicums ! Gracious ! Mrs. All. Yes, isn't it a pity ! Such a lovely old place as it was, too — the most comfortable house to stay at in all England; so beautifully warm! But it's dreadful to think of how the aristocracy are taking to marry out of their own set. Look at the Duke of Dragnet — married a Miss Duckweed — goodness only knows where he picked her up ! but he got entangled somehow, and now his people are trying to get rid of her. I see so many of these cases. Well, I'm afraid I must wish you good evening — it's my time for retiring. (Patronisingly.) I've quite enjoyed the conversation — such a pleasure in a place like this to come across a genial com- panion ! Mrs. Ard. {fluttered and flattered). I'm sure you're exceedingly kind to say so, and I can say the same for myself. I hope we may become better acquainted. (To herself, after Mrs. Alldutt has departed.) I've quite taken to that woman — she's so thoroughly the lady, and moves in very high society, too. You can tell that from the way she talks. What's that Puppets at Large. 129 paper on the table ? (She picks up a journal in a coloured wrapper.) "Society Snippets, the Organ of the Upper Ten. One Penny." The very tiling I wanted. It's such a comfort to know who's who. (She opens it and reads sundry paragraphs headed " Through the Keyhole.") Now how funny this is ! Here's the very same thing about the dulness of the Season that she said. That shows she must be really in it. And a note about Lady Neuraline being about to recruit at Homburg. And another about her reputation or eccentricity, and her "sweetness to the select few privileged to be her intimates." And here's all about Lord Mango, and what a pleasant house Capsicums is, and his marriage, and the Duke of Dragnet's, too. Her information was very correct, I must say ! (A light begins to break in upon her.) I wonder whether but there — people of her sort wouldn't require to read the papers for such things. [Here the door opens, and Mrs. Allbutt appears, in some embarrassment. Mrs. All. (scrutinising the tables). Oh, it's nothing. I thought I'd left something of mine here ; it was only a paper — I see I was mistaken, don't trouble. Mrs. Ard. (producing Society Snippets). I expect it will be this. (Mrs. Allbutt's face reveals her ownership.) I took it up, not knowing it was yours. 130 Puppets at Large. (Meaningly.) It has some highly interesting informa- tion, I see. Mrs. All. (slightly demoralised). Oh, has it ? I— I've not had time to glance at it yet. Pray don't let me deprive you of it. I dare say there's very little in it I don't know already. Mrs. Ard. So I should have thought. (To her- self, after Mrs. Allbutt has retired in disorder.) Fancy that woman trying to take me in like that, and no more in Society than I am — if so much ! However, I've found her out before going too far — luckily. And I've a good mind to take in this Society Snippets myself — it certainly does improve one's conversation. She won't have it all her own way next time ! A TESTIMONIAL MANQUE. * ♦1* + A TESTIMONIAL MANQUE, (A Sketch from the Suburbs.) The Argument. — Mr. Hotspur Porpentine, a distinguished resident in the rising suburb of Jerrymere, has recently been awarded fourteen days 1 imprisonment, without the option of a fine, for assaulting a ticket-collector, who had offered him the indignity of requiring him to show his season-ticket at the harrier. The scene is a Second-Class Compartment, in which four of Mr. Turpentine's neighbours are discussing the affair during their return from the City. MR. COCKCROFT (warmly). I say, Sir— and I'm sure all here will bear me out — that such a sentence was a scandalous abuse of justice. As a near neighbour, and an intimate friend of Porpentinc's, I don't 'csitate to assert that he has done nothing whatever to forfeit our esteem. He's a quick-tempered man, as we're all aware, and to be asked by some meddlesome official to show his season, after travelling on the line constantly for years, and leaving it at home that morning — why — I don't blame him if he did use his umbrella ! 134 Puppets at Large. Mr. Balch {sympathetically). Nor I. Porpentine's a man I've always had a very 'igh respect for ever since I came into this neighbourhood. I've always found him a good feller, and a good neighbour. Mr. Filkins (deferentially). I can't claim to be as intimate with him as some here; but, if it isn't putting myself too far forward to say so, I very cordially beg to say ditto to those sentiments. Mr. Sibbering {who has never "taken to" Porpcn- tine). Well, he's had a sharp lesson, — there's no denying that. Mr. Cockcr. Precisely, and it occurs to me that when he — ah — returns to public life, it would be a kind thing, and a graceful thing, and a thing he would — ah — appreciate in the spirit it was intended, if we were to present him with some little token of our sympathy and unabated esteem — what do you fellers think ? Mr. Filk. A most excellent suggestion, if my friend here will allow me to say to. I, for one, shall be proud to contribute to so worthy an object. Mr. Balch. I don't see why we shouldn't present him with an address— 'ave it illuminated, and framed and glazed ; sort of thing he could 'ang up and 'and down to his children after him as an heirloom, yi-know. 'Well, he's had a sharp lesson— there's no denying that." Puppets at Large. 137 Mr. Sibb. I don't like to throw cold water on any proposition, but if you want my opinion, I must say I see no necessity for making a public thing out of it in that way. Mr. Cockcr. I'm with Sibbering there. The less fuss there is about it, the better Porpentine '11 be pleased. My idea is to give him something of daily use — a useful thing, yi-know. Mr. Balch. Useful or ornamental. Why not his own portrait ? There's many an artist who would do him in oils, and guarantee a likeness, frame included, for a five-pound note. Mr. Sibb. If it's to be like Porpentine, it cer- tainly won't be ornamental, whatever else it is. Mr. Filk. It can't be denied that he is remark- ably plain in the face. We'd better, as our friend Mr. Cockcroft here proposes, make it something of daily use — a good serviceable silk umbrella now — that's always appropriate. Mr. Sibb. To make up for the one he broke over the collector's head, eh ? — that's appropriate enough ! Mr. Cockcr. No, no; you mean well, Filkins, but you must see yourself, on reflection, that there would be a certain want of — ah — good taste in giving him a thing like that under the circumstances. I should suggest something like a hatstand — a 138 Puppets at Large. handsome one, of course. I happen to know that he has nothing in the passage at present but a row of pegs. Mr. Sibb. I should have thought he'd been taken down enough pegs already. Mr. Filk. (who resents the imputation upon his taste). I can't say what the width of Mr. Porpentine's passage may be, never having been privileged with an invitation to pass the threshold, but unless it's wider than ours is, he couldn't get a hatstand in if he tried, and if my friend Cockcroft will excuse the remark, I see no sense — to say nothing of good taste, about which perhaps I mayn't be qualified to pass an opinion — in giving him an article he's got no room for. Mr. Cockcr. (with warmth). There's room enough in Porpentine's passage for a whole host of hatstands, if that's all, and I know what I'm speaking about. I've been in and out there often enough. I'm— ah- a regular tame cat in that house. But if you're against the 'atstand, I say no more— we'll waive it. How would it do if we gave him a nice comfortable easy-chair— something he could sit in of an evening, yi-know ? Mr. Sinn. A touchy chap like Porpcntinc would be sure to fancy we thought he wanted something Puppets at Large. 139 soft after a hard bench and a plank bed — you can't go and give him furniture ! Mr. Cockcr. {icitli dignity). There's a way of doing all things. I wasn't proposing to go and chuck the chair at him — he's a sensitive feller in many respects, and he'd feel that, I grant you. He can't object to a little present of that sort just from four friends like ourselves. Mr. Balch {with a falling countenance). Oh ! I thought it was to be a general affair, limited to a small sum, so that all who liked could join in. I'd no notion you meant to keep it such a private matter as all that. Mr. Filk. Nor I. And, knowing Mr. Porpentine so slightly as I do, he might consider it presumption in me, making myself so prominent in the matter — or else I'm sure Mr. Cockcr. There's no occasion for anyone to be prominent, except myself. You leave it entirely in my 'ands. I'll have the chair taken up some evening to Porpentine's house on a 'andcart, and drop in, and just lead up to it carelessly, if you understand me, then go out and wheel the chair in, make him try it — and there you are. Mr. Balch. There you are, right enough ; but I don't see where we come in, exact!)'. 140 Puppets at Large. Mr. Filk. Ii" it's to be confined to just us four, I certingly think we ought all to be present at the presentation. Mr. Cockcr. That would be just the very thing to put a man like Porpentine out — a crowd dropping in on him like that ! I know his ways, and, seeing I'm providing the chair Mr. Balch (relieved). You are? That's different, of course ; but I thought you said that we four Mr. Cockcr. I'm coming to that. As the prime mover, and a particular friend of Porpentine's, it's only right and fair I should bear the chief burden. There's an easy-chair I have at home that only wants re-covering to be as good as new, and all you fellers need do is to pay for 'aving it nicely done up in velvet, or what not, and we'll call it quits. Mr. Balch. I daresay; but I like to know what I'm letting myself in for ; and there's upholsterers who'll charge as much for doing up a chair as would furnish a room. Mr. Filk. I — I shouldn't feel justified, with my family, and, as, comparatively speaking, a recent resident, in going beyond a certain limit, and unless the estimate could be kep' down to a moderate sum, I really Mr. Sibij. (unmasking). After all, you know, I Puppets at Large. 141 don't see why we should go to any expense over a stuck-up, cross-grained chap like Porpentine. It's well-known he hasn't a good word to say for us Jerrymere folks, and considers himself above the lot of us ! Mr. Balch and Mr. Filk. I'm bound to say there's a good deal in what Sibbering says. Porpen- tine's never shown himself what / should call sociable. Mr. Cockcr. I've never found him anything but pleasant myself, whatever he may be to others. I'm not denying he's an exclusive man, and a fastidious man, but he's been 'arshly treated, and /should have thought this was an occasion — if ever there was one — for putting any private feelings aside, and rallying round him to show our respect and sympathy. But of course if you're going to let petty jealousies of this sort get the better of you, and leave me to do the 'ole thing myself, I've no objection. I daresay he'll value it all the more coming from me. Mr. Sim;. Well, he ought to, after the shameful way he's spoken of you to a friend of mine in the City, who shall be nameless. You mayn't know, and if not, it's only right I should mention it, that he complained bitterly of having to change his regular train on your account, and said (I'm only 142 Puppets at Large. repeating his words, mind you), that Jcrrymere was entirely populated by bores, but you were the worst of the lot, and your jabber twice a day was more than he could stand. He mayn't have meant any- thing by it, but it was decidedly uncalled for. Mr. Cockcr. (reddening). I 'ope I'm above being affected by the opinion any man may express of my conversation — especially a cantankerous feller, who can't keep his temper under decent control. A feller who goes and breaks his umbrella over an unoffending official's 'ead like that, and gets, very properly, locked up for it ! Jerrymere society isn't good enough for him, it seems. He won't be troubled with much of it in future — / can assure him ! Upon my word, now I come to think of it, I'm not sure he shouldn't be called upon for an explanation of how he came to be travelling without a ticket ; it looks very much to me as if he'd been systematically defrauding the Company ! Mr. Filk. Well, I didn't like to say so before; but that's been my view all along ! Mr. Balcii. And mine. Mr. Sinn. Now perhaps you understand why we'd rather leave it to you to give him the arm-chair. Mr. Cockcr. I give a man an arm-chair for Puppets at Large. 143 bringing disgrace on the 'ole of Jerrymere ! I'd sooner break it up for firewood ! Whoever it was that first started all this tomfoolery about a testi- monial, I'm not going to 'ave my name associated with it, and if you'll take my advice, you'll drop it once and for all, for it's only making yourselves ridiculous ! [His companions, observing that he is in a some- what excited condition, consider it advisable to change the subject. P.L. R THE MODEL DEMOCRACY. K 2 •!- •:♦ THE MODEL DEMOCRACY. 1 THINK you left directions that you were to be thawed in 199 — precisely ? " said the stranger politely. " Allow me to introduce myself — Number Seven Million and Six. If you feel equal to the effort, and would care to see the vast improvements in our social condition since the close of the benighted Nineteenth Century, I shall be pleased to conduct you." Mr. Punch then began to realise that he had had himself frozen by a patent process just a hundred years ago, and that he had returned to animation in time for the close of the marvellous Twentieth Century ; so he prepared, in much curiosity and excitement, to accompany his guide. "By the way," observed the latter, "you must not be annoyed if your — hem — habiliments, which we are unaccustomed to nowadays, should attract some attention." 148 Puppets at Large. Singularly enough, Mr. Punch had just begun to feel a certain embarrassment at the prospect of being seen in Piccadilly or Regent Street in the company of a person attired in grey cellular pyjamas, a drab blanket, and a glazed pot hat. However, on reach- ing the street, he found that every man he met was similarly clad, while his own costume — which, in his original century, would only have been remarkable for its unimpeachable taste — was, in this, the subject of universal and invidious comment. " You'll have your regulation pot hat and pyjamas served out to you in time!" said Mr. Seven Mil- lion and Six encouragingly. " Then no one will say anything to you. In these days we resent anything that tends to confer an artificial distinction on any man. Surnames, for example, which occasionally suggested superiority of birth, have long been abolished, and official numbers substituted. You seem to be looking for something you do not see ? ' he added, noting a certain blankness and disappoint- ment in Mr. Punch's expressive countenance. " I was only wondering why I saw no signs of any new and marvellous inventions at present," said Mr. Punch. " I rather expected to see the air full of electric trains, manageable balloons, or coveys of citizens darting about on mechanical pinions. Puppets at Large. 149 But I see none, and even more people go on foot than in my own time." " Inventions, I take it," was the reply, " only served to enrich the Capitalist, and save time or labour. Now we have no Capitalists and no riches, and no reason for hurrying anywhere, while it would be absurd and useless to lessen the amount of manual labour when, even as it is, there is scarcely enough to keep everyone employed for six hours a day." "Why are all the women I see dressed exactly alike in navy-blue woollen frocks and coal-scuttle bonnets? " Mr. Pinch inquired presently. "Surely they can't all be members of the Sal " " A uniform costume was decreed by plebiscite some years ago," replied his mentor, promptly. " Any real equality amongst women was found hope- less so long as some were able to render themselves exceptionally attractive by a distinctive toilette." "What!" exclaimed Mr. Punch, "did all the pretty women consent to such a sacrifice ? ' " They were in a very decided minority, even then," said Mr. Seven Million and Six; "and it is not our way to think much of minorities. At present, owing no doubt to an enactment which penalised every pretty woman by compelling her to wear blue 150 Puppets at Large. goggles and a respirator, feminine beauty is prac- tically extinct." Mr. Punch could not restrain a sigh. They were now entering a somewhat gloomy thoroughfare, be- tween massive blocks of buildings, with large doors and innumerable small windows, which towered into the sky on either hand. " I seem to miss the shop-fronts," he said aloud, "with their plate-glass, and all their glitter and luxury. What has become of them all ? ' : " Such necessaries as the citizen requires," said his companion, "are procured at the Public Store- houses, which you see around you, by the simple method of presenting a ticket. The luxuries you refer to were only procurable by the rich, and nobody is rich now. If you will come with me, I will take you over one of the State Dwelling-houses, and show you one of the suites of rooms. Every citizen has a room ; or, if married, a couple of rooms, exactly the same shape and size as those of his fellows. . . . Beautifully clean, you see ! ' he re- marked, complacently, as he threw open one of the doors. " Neat whitewashed walls, plain deal fur- niture, nice holland blinds — what more can any reasonable citizen want in the way of comfort ? ' " There used to be a celebrated poet in my time," Puppets at Large. 151 said Mr. Punch, with some hesitation, "who de- signed and sold very beautiful upholster)- — tapestry, wall-papers, curtains, and so on. I fancy he held Socialistic views. But I see no trace of his work here." " I think I know whom you refer to," was the reply. " The community would doubtless have been glad of his Company's services if they would only have contracted to supply every citizen with precisely the same pattern and quality of their manufactures at, say, a pork-pie a yard. But, for some reason, the firm could not see their way to it, and the industry declined ; which is not to be regretted, for it certainly tended to foster individualism." " It is curious," said Mr. Punch, when they were outside again, " that I have not as yet seen a single policeman." " Not at all curious. We have none. Crime simply proceeded from the galling sense of social inequality. Consequently, as soon as that was removed, Justice, with all its machinery, became an anachronism." "I think," said Mr. Punch, presently, "I should like to take a stroll in Hyde Park." "That," said his guide, "has not been possible for at least fifty years. All the parks are now cut 152 Puppets at Large. up into three-acre allotments, where every able- bodied citizen does an hour's compulsory spade-work once a fortnight. A most admirable reform, as you will agree ! " "Capital!" gasped Mr. Punxh, with an antici- patory pain in his back. " Then I am curious to see what strides have been made by your modern painters. Could you take me to a picture-gallery ? '' " There are no modern painters. It is perhaps a pity — but quite unavoidable. It was an obvious injustice that, when all citizens had to perform their share of more or less distasteful manual labour, there should be any one class that ( arned a living by work in which they took a positive pleasure. So that every artist had to do his six hours' stone-breaking or brick-making ; or what not, as an antecedent condition of being permitted to paint at all, and naturally the State declined to provide him with paints and brushes at the expense of the community. A few artists persisted for a while, from sheer love of the thing ; but as no picture fetched more than a pound of sausages, and the average price was a bowl of porridge, they found it expedient to turn to some more useful occupation. And it is undeniable that they contribute more to the resources of the common- wealth by wielding a trowel or a broom than by Puppets at Large. 153 messing about with brushes and paint. As a concession to hereditary instinct, however, their descendants are still set apart as State white- washers." "And the drama?" Mr. Punch inquired next. " How is that getting on ? Has the New Dramatist made his appearance at last ? " " On the contrary, I am glad to say he has dis- appeared — let us hope for ever. For, the essence of Drama, as I understand, was Emotion — Passion, Jealousy, Marital and Parental relations, and so on. Now that marriages are the subject of State regulation, and extend only for a limited period, Passion, of course is obsolete ; Jealousy, too, is recognised as merely Selfishness in disguise, and we have grown too altruistic to desire the exclusive possession of anything. While as the offspring of every union are removed at birth to a communal creche, and brought up and educated by the State, there are no longer any opportunities for filial or parental affection." "Then I presume Fiction is equally ? " "Just so. Fiction depended on Contrast. When everybody is on precisely the same level, the novelist is, happily, unnecessary. What are you looking for now ? ' 154 Puppets at Large. " I was wondering if I could buy an evening paper anywhere," said Mr. Punch, wistfully. " But perhaps Journalism is also ? " " Of course. Everyone is so contentedly and peacefully absorbed in contributing his share of work to the State, that he has no desire to read about the doings of other persons, even if there was anything of interest to be told, which there isn't. We produce just sufficient for our own wants, so there is no commerce ; we have no Army or Navy, since we don't desire to conquer, and are not worth con- quering. No Politics, because we govern ourselves by our own consent and co-operation ; no Science, as inventors only benefited capital at the expense of labour ; and, this being so, what is there to put into a newspaper, if we had one ? " "Haven't you even a — a humorous paper?" said Mr. Punch. " I used to do a little in that way once." " You had better not do it here. Humour, I believe, consisted in representing Humanity under ridiculous aspects. We've Humanity, and we don't see any fun in being laughed at. None of your humour here, mind ! " " But the citizens have a certain amount of leisure, I suppose," said Mr. Punch. " How do they amuse "None of your humour here, mind!" Puppets at Large. 157 themselves ? For I can discover no libraries, no circuses, nor concert-rooms, nor anything ! ' " It was seen to be invidious to furnish any entertainment at the public expense which did not give equal amusement to all, and so the idea was gradually dropped. When our citizens have finished their daily task, they find their relaxation, in the intervals of eating and sleeping, in the harmless and soothing practice of chewing gum. They can all do that, and the State provides each with a weekly supply for the purpose. Now tell me — is there anything more I can do for you ? " " Yes," murmured Mr. Punch ; " if you would be so very kind as to freeze me again for five hundred years or so, I should be exceedingly obliged. I don't feci quite at home in this century ! " BY PARLIAMENTARY. BY PARLIAMENTARY. On the Platform. A LADY OF FAMILY. Oh, yes, I do travel third-class sometimes, my dear. I consider it a duty to try to know something of the lower orders. [Looks out for an empty third-class compartment. In the Carriage. — The scats arc now occupied : the Lady ok Family is in one comer, next to a Chatty Woman with a basket. and opposite to an Eccentric-looking Man with a flighty manner. The Eccentric Man (to the Lady of Family). Sorry to disturb you, Mum, but you're a-setting on one o' my 'am sandwiches. The L. of F. ???!!! The E. M. (considerately). Don't trouble yourself, Mum, it's of no intrinsic value. I on'y put it there to keep my seat. P.L. L 1 62 Puppets at Large. The Chatty W. (to the L. of F.). I think I've seen you about Shinglebeach, 'ave I not ? The L. of F. It is very possible. I have been staying with some friends in the neighbourhood. The C. W. It's a nice cheerful place is Shingle- beach ; but (confidentially) don't you think it's a very singler thing that in a place like that — a fash'nable place, too — there shouldn't be a single 'am an' beef shop ? The L. of F. (making a desperate effort to throw herself into the question). What a very extraordinary thing to be sure. Dear, dear me ! No ham and beef shop ! The C. W. It's so indeed, Mum ; and what's more, as I daresay you have noticed for yourself, if you 'appen to want a snack o' fried fish ever so, there isn't a place you could go to— leastways, at a moment's notice. Now, 'ow do you explain such a thing as that ? The L. of F. (faintly). I'm afraid I can't suggest any explanation. A Sententious Man. Fried fish is very sus- taining. [Relapses into silence for remainder of journey. The Eccentric Man. Talking of sustaining, I remember, when we was kids, my father ud bring us Puppets at Large. 163 home two pennorth o' ches'nuts, and we 'ad 'em boiled, and they'd last us days. (Sentimentally.) He was a kind man, my father (to the L. of F., who boivs constrainedly), though you wouldn't ha' thought it, to look at him. I don't know, mind yer, that he wasn't fond of his bit o' booze- — (the L. of F. looks out oj window) — like the best of us. I'm goin' up to prove his will now, I am — if you don't believe me, 'ere's the probate. (Hands that document round for inspection.) That's all reg'lar enough, I 'ope. (To the L. of F.) Don't give it back before you've done with it — I'm in no 'urry, and there's good reading in it. (Points out certain favourite passages with a very dirty forefinger.) Begin there — that's my name. [The L. OF F. peruses the will with as great a show of interest as she can bring herself to assume. The Eccfxtric Man. D'ye see that big 'andsome building over there? That's the County Lunatic Asylum — where my poor wife is shut up. I went to see her last week, I did. (Relates his visit in detail to the L. of F., who listens unwillingly.) It's wonderful how many of our family have been in that asylum from first to last. I 'ad a aunt who died cracky ; and my old mother, she's very peculiar at times. There's days when I feel as if I was a little orf my own 'ed, so L 2 164 Puppets at Large. if I say anything at all out ot the way, you'll know what it is. [ L. of F. changes carriages at the next station. In the second carriage are two Men of seafaring appearance, and a young Man who is parting from his Fiancee as the L. of F. takes her seat. The Fiance. Excuse me one moment, Ma'am. (Leans across the L. of F. and out of the window.) Well, good-bye, my girl ; take care of yourself. The Fiancee (with a hysterical giggle). Oh, I'll take care o' my self. [Looks at the roof of the carriage. He (with meaning). No more pickled onions, eh? She. What a one you are to remember things ! (After a pause.) Give my love to Joe. He. All right. Well, Jenny, just one, for the last. (They embrace loudly, after which the F. resumes his seat with an expression of mingled sentiment and complacency.) Oh (to L. of F.), if you don't mind my stepping across you again, Mum. Jenny, if you see Dick between this and Friday, just tell him as [Prolonged ichispcrs ; sounds of renewed kisses ; final parting as train starts with a jerk, which throws the Fiance upon the L. of F.'s lap. After the train is started a gleam of peculiar significance is observable in the eyes of one of the Seafaring Puppets at Large. 165 Men, who is reclining in an easy attitude on the seat. His companion responds with a grin oj intelligence, and produces a large black bottle from the rack. They drink, and hand the bottle to the Fiance. The F. Thankee, I don't mind if I do. Here's wishing you [Remainder of sentiment drowned in sound of glug- glug-glug ; is about to hand back bottle when the first Seafarer intimates that lie is to pass it on. The L. of F. recoils in horror. Both Seafarers. It's wine, Mum ! Tableau. The Lady of Family realises that the study of third-class humanity has its drawbacks. THE FARMING OF THE FUTURE, + THE FARMING OF THE FUTURE; Or. What British Agriculture is Coming to. A Car on the Electric Light Railway. Time. — Twentieth Century. FIRST FARMER (recognising Second Farmer). Why, 'tis Muster Fretwail, surelie ! didn't see it was you afore. And how be things gettin' along with you, Sir, eh ? Farmer Fretwail (lugubriously). 'Mong the middlin's, Muster Lackaday ; 'mong the middlin's ! Nothen doin' just now — nothen 't all ! Third Farmer (enviously). Well, you hevn't no call fur to cry out, neighbour. I see you've got a likely lot o' noo 'oardins comin' up all along your part o' the line. I wish mine wur arf as furrard, I know thet ! F. Fretwail. Ah, them "Keep yer "air on " 's, you mean, Ryemouth. I don't deny as they was lookin' tidy enough a week back. But just as I was 170 Puppets at Large. makin' ready fur to paint up "Try it on a Billiard Ball," blamed if this yere frost didn't set in, and now theer's everything at a standstill, \vi' the brushes froze 'ard in the pots ! F. Ryemouth. Tis the same down with me. Theer's a acre o' "Bunyan's Easy Boots" as must hev a noo coat, and I cann't get nothen done to 'en till the weather's a bit more hopen like. Don' keer 'ott 1 soon we hev a change, myself, I don't ! F. Lackaday. Nor yet me, so long as we don't 'ave no gales with it. Theer was my height acre pasture as I planted only las' Candlemas wi' " Roopy's Lung Tonics " — wunnerful fine and tall they was, too — and ivery one on 'en blowed down the next week ! F. Fretwail. Well I 'ope theer wun't be no rain, neither, come to that. I know I had all the P's of my " Piffler's Persuasive Pillules" fresh gold-leaved at Michaelmas, and it come on wet directly arter I done it, and reg'lar washed the gilt out o' sight an' knowledge, it did. Theer ain't no standin' up agen rain ! F. Ryemouth. I dunno as I wouldn't as lief hev rain as sun. My " Hanti-Freckle Salves " all blistered up and peeled afore the summer was 'ardly begun a'most. " I cann't get nothen done to 'en till the weather's a bit more hopen like." Puppets at Large. 173 F. Lackadav. 'Tis a turr'ble hard climate to make 'ead against, is ourn. I've 'card tell as some farmers are takin' to they enamelled hiron affairs, same as they used to hev when I wur a lad. I mind theer wur a crop o' " Read Comic Cagmag " as lingered on years arter the paper itself. Not as I hold with enamelling, myself — 'tain't what I call 'igh farmin' — takes too much outer the land in my 'pinion. F. FRETWAIL. Aye, aye. " Rotation o' boards." Say, " Spooner's Sulphur Syrup" fur a spring crop, follered with some kind o' soap or candles, and p 'raps cough lozengers, or hembrocation, or bakin' powder, if the soil will bear it, arterwards — that's the system / wur reared on, and there ain't no better, 'pend upon it ! F. Ryemouth. I tell 'ee what 'tis ; it's time we 'ad some protection agen these yere furrin advartise- ments. I was travellin' along the Great Northern t'other day, an' I see theer wos two or three o' them French boards nigh in ivery field, a downright shame and disgrace I call it, disfigurin' the look of the country and makin' it that ontidy — let alone drivin' honest British boards off the land. Government ought to put a stop to it ; that's what / say ! F. Lackaday. They Parliment chaps don't keer 174 Puppets at Large. what becomes of us poor farmers, they don't. Look at last General Election time. They might ha' given our boards a turn ; but not they. Most o' they candidates did all their 'tisin' with rubbishy flags and balloons — made in Japan, Sir, every blamed one o' them ! And they wonder British Agriculture don't prosper more ! F. Ryemouth. Speaking o' queer ways o' hadver- tisin', hev any of ye set eyes on that farm o' young Fullacrank's ? Danged if ever / see sech tomfool notions as he's took up with in all my born days. F. Fretwail. Why, what hev he been up to now, eh ? F. Ryemouth. Well, I thought I shud ha' bust myself larfin' when I see it fust. Theer ain't not a board nor a sky sign ; no, nor yet a 'oarding, on the 'ole of his land ! F. Lackaday. Then how do he expect to get a profit out of it ? — that's what / want to year. F. Ryemouth. You'll 'ardly credit it, neighbours, but he's been buryin' some o' they furrin grains, boats and barley, an' I dunno what not, in little holes about his fields, so as to make the words, " Use Faddler's Non-Farinaceous Food " —and the best of it is the darned young fool expecks as 'ow it'll all sprout come next Aperl— he do indeed, friends ! Puppets at Large. /b F. FRETWAIL. Flying in the face o' Providence, I calls it. He must ha' gone clean out of his senses ! F. Lackaday. Stark starin' mad. I never heerd tell o' such extravagance. Why, as likely as not, 'twill all die off o' the land afore the year's out — and wheer wull he be then ? F. Ryemouth. Azactly what I said to "en myself. " You tek my word for it," I sez, " 'twun't never come to no good. The nateral crop for these yere British Hiles," I told 'en, " is good honest Henglish hoak an' canvas," I sez, "and 'tain't the action of no sensible man, nor yet no Christian," sez I, " to go a-drillm' 'oles and a-droppin' in houtlandish seeds from Canada an' Roosha, which the sile wasn't never intended to bear ! " Farmers Fretwell and Lackaday. Rightly spoke, neighbour Ryemouth, 'twas a true word ! But theer'll be a jedgment on sech new-fangled doin's, and, what's moor, you and I will live fur to see it afore we're very much older ! [Tiny all sliakc their heads solemnly as scene closes in. A DIALOGUE ON ART. * * * A DIALOGUE ON ART. (A Study in Spirits and Waters.) The Smoke-room of a Provincial Hotel. Time — Towards, midnight. Characters — Mr. Luceslipp - Bletheron, a middle-aged Art Patron and Dilettante. He has arrived at his third tumbler of whiskey and water, and the stage at which a man alludes freely before strangers to his "poor dear father." Mr. Milboard, a Painter, on a sketching tour. He is enduring Mr. L.-B. with a patience which will last for just one more pipe. First Commercial, who considers Mr. L.-B. a highly agreeable and well-informed gentleman, and is anxious to be included in his audience. Second Commercial, who doesn't intend to join in the conversation until he feels lie can do so with crushing effect. MR. LUCESLIPP-BLETHERON. Yes, I assure you, I never come acrosh a David Cox but I say to myself, " There'sh a Bit ! " (Here he fixes Jiis eye-glass, sips whiskey and water, and looks at Mr. Milboard as if he expected him to express admiration at this evidence of penetration. The onlx tribute lie extorts, however, is a grunt.) Now, we've a P.L. M 180 Puppets at Large. Cornelius Janssen at home. Itsh only hishtory is — my dear father bought it. He was an artist himself, painted a bit, travelled man, an' all that short o' thing. Well, he picked it up for ten pounds ! First Commercial (deferentially). Did he reelly now ? A Johnson for ten pounds ! Did he get a warranty with it, Sir? Mr. L.-B. (after bringing the eye-glass to bear on the intruder for a second). Then I've a Mieris — at leasht, shome clever f'ler painted it, and it'sh a pleashure to look at it, and you can't get over that, can you ? Mr. Milboard. I don't intend to try to get over it. Mr. L.-B. You're qui' right. Now I'm the lasht man in the world to shwagger ; shtill, I'm goin' to ashk you to lemme have my lil' shwagger now. I happened to be at Rome shor' time ago, and I met Middleman there. We had our lil' chat together and what not — he'sh no pershonal friend o' mine. Well ; I picked up a lil' drawing by a Roman chap ; worth nothing more than what I got it for, or anything, as you may shay. Middleman had the whole run of this chap's studio. I saw this drawing — didn't care mush about it — but thought it wash a gem, and gave the modesh shum of a hundred an' fifty lire for it. Put it in my portmanteau between a couple o' shirts Puppets at Large. 181 First Comm. (still pining for notice). When you say shirts, Sir, I presume you mean clean ones ? Mr. L.-B. No man with the shlightest feelin' or reverence for Art would put sush a queshtion ! (The First Comm. collapses.) Between a couple of — (under- lining the word) Shirts, and brought it home. Now I'm comin' to my point. One afternoon after my return, I wash walking down Bond Street, when I saw a sketch exhibited in a window by the shame f ler. I went in and shaid, " What are you asking for thish ? Mind I don' wanter buy it ; ashk me any price yer like ! ' And they shaid forty guineash. Mr. Milb. Apparently they availed themselves of your permission, and did ask you any price they liked. Mr. L.-B. No doubt; but wait till I've done. I saw another — a finished drawing not qui' so good as mine, there. Then I shaid to them quietly, " Now, look here, why don' you go an' buy 'em for yourshelves in the artist's own shtudio ? " It shtruck me as sho odd, a man like Middleman, being there, and having the pick, shouldn' buy more of 'em ! Mr. Milb. Wasn't worth his while; he can't buy everything ! Mr. L.-B. (after considering this impartially with some more whiskey). No; your ansher is a very good M 2 « 1 82 Puppets at Large. one, and a very fair one. He can't buy everything. I did pick, however, an' I gorrit. I said to him, " How mush ? " an' he tol' me, and there wash an end of it, do you shee ? Mr. Milb. It's the ordinary course of business, isn't it? Mr. L.-B. Egshackly. But how few do it ! Now, I'll tell you 'nother shtory 'bout my poo' dear father. He came 'pon a sculpture in a curioshity shop ; it wash very dirty and used up, but my dear father saw it was worth shpotting, and a thing to be shpotted, and sho he put hish finger on it ! First Comm, {undaunted by past failure). And was it antique, Sir ? Mr. L.-B. That'sh more n I can tell you ; it wash very dirty, at an)' rate, and he only gave fifty guineash for it. Wasn't a great shum First Comm. (encouraged by his affability). No, indeed ; a mere nothing, so to speak, Sir ! Mr. L.-B. (annoyed). Will you have the goodnesh to lemme finish what I was telling thish gentleman ? When my poo' father got that busht home, it was the mos' perfect likenesh o' Napoleon ! Mr. Milb. Ha! puts me in mind of the old story of the man who picked up a dingy panel somewhere or other, took it home, cleaned it, and found a "They haven't the patiensli for it.' Puppets at Large. 185 genuine Morland ; went on cleaning and discovered an undoubted Rembrandt ; cleaned that, and came to a Crivelli ; couldn't stop, kept on cleaning, and was rewarded by a portrait of George the Fourth ! First Comm. (deeply impressed). And all of them genuine ? How very extraordinary, to be sure ! Mr. L.-B. (wagging his head sapicntly). I could tell you shtranger things than that. But as I was shaving, here was this busht of Napoleon, by some French chap — which yon would tell me was against it. Mr. Milb. Why? The French are the best sculptors in the world. Mr. L.-B. The Frensh ! I can not bring myshelf to believe that, if only for thish shimple reashon, they haven't the patiensh for it. First Comm. So / should have said. For my own part — not knowing much abont it, very likely — I should have put the Italians first. Mr. Milb. If you are talking of all time First Comm. (feeling at last at his ease). I should say, even now. Why, there was a piece of statuary in the Italian Exhibition at Earl's Court some years back that took my fancy and took my wife's fancy very much. It was a representation in marble of a 'en and chickens, all so natural, and with every 1 86 Puppets at Large. individual feather on the birds done to such a nicety ! Mr. Milb. I was hardly referring to the skill with which the Italians carve — ah— poultry. Mr. L.-B. Ridic'lous! Great mishtake to talk without unnershtanding shubject. (The First Com- mercial retires from the room in disorder.) One thing I should like to ashk is thish. Why are sculptors at present day so inferior to the antique ? Ishn't the human form divine ash noble and ash shymmetrical ash formerly ? Why can't they reproduce it then ? Mr. Milb. You must first find your sculptor. Providence doesn't see fit to create a Michael Angelo or a Praxiteles every five minutes, any more than a Shakspeare. Mr. L.-B. (wavering between piety and epigram). Thank the Lord for that ! Now there'sh Florensh. Shome of us who have had the run there — well, there you see all the original thingsh— all the originalsh. And yet, if you'll believe me (dreamily), with all my love and charm for Art, gimme the Capitoline Venush living and breathing in flesh and blood, Sir, not in cold lifelesh marble ! Mr. Milb. That of course is a matter of taste. But we are talking about Art, not women. Mr. L.-B. (profoundly). Unforsh'nately, women Puppets at Large. 187 are the shubjccts of Art. You've got to find out your client's shtyle of Art firsht, and then carry it out in the besht possible manner. Mr. Milb. (rising, and knocking his pipe out). Have I ? But I'm going to bed now, so you'll excuse me. Mr. L.-B. (detaining him). But look here again. Take the Louvre. (As Mr. Milboard disclaims any desire to take it.) Now, nobody talksh about the Gallery there, and yet, if you only egshemp the thingsh that are rude and vulgar, and go quietly roun' Second Commercial (who sees a Socratic opening at last). Might I ask you, Sir, to enumerate any pictures there, that, in your opinion, are " rude and vulgar"? [Mr. Milboard avails himself of this diversion to escape. Mr. L.-B. In the Grand Gallery of the Louvre there'sh an enormous amount of shtuff, as everybody who'sh an artisht and a lover of Art knowsh. If I had a friend who wash thinking of going to the Louvre (here he looks round vaguely for Mr. Milboard), I should shay to him, " Do you care about pictursh at all ? If you don't, don't borrer yourshelf 'bout it. If you do, drop in shome day with Me, and I'll give 1 88 Puppets at Large. you a hint what to shee." (As he cannot make out what has become of Mr. Milboard, he has to content himself with the Second Commercial.) If you were my boy, I should shay to you Second Comm. (at the door). Pardon me for remarking that, if I was your boy, I should probably prefer to take my own opinion. (With dignified inde- pendence.) I never follow other persons' taste in Art ! [He goes out as the Smoke-room Page enters. Mr. L.-B. (hazily with half-closed eyes). If you wash my boy, I should shay to you, very quietly, very sherioushly, and without 'tempting to dictate (Perceives that he is addressing the Page.) Jus' bring me 'nother glash whiskey an' warrer. [He is left sitting. THE OLD LOVE AND THE NEW. * THE OLD LOVE AND THE NEW. A Contrast. The Stables at Saddlesprings, the Wheelers' Country House near Bykersall. Miss Diana's Horse Bayard discovered in his Stall. BAYARD (talking to himself, as is the habit of some horses when alone). I can't make it out. She's here. All the family came down yester- day — I heard the omnibus start for the station to meet them. And yet she hasn't sent for me ; hasn't even been near me ! She always used to rush in here and kiss me on the nose the very first — She's ill — that's it of course — sprained her fetlock or something. If she was well, she'd have had me saddled as soon as she'd had her morning feed, and we'd have gone for a canter together somewhere. ... I hope she'll get well soon. I'm sick of being taken out by the stable- man ; he's so dull — no notion of conversation beyond whistling ! Now, Miss Diana would talk to me the ig 2 Puppets at Large. whole way. . . . Perhaps her hands and seat might have been But what did that matter ? I liked to feel she was on my back, I liked the sound of her pretty voice, and the touch of her hand when she patted me after her ride. . . . (He pricks his cars.) Why, that's her voice outside now ! She's all right, after all. She's coming in to see me ! . . . I knew she couldn't have forgotten ! Miss Diana's Voice (outside). Yes, you might put it in here for the present, Stubbs. I suppose it will be quite safe ? Stubbs' Voice. Safe enough, Miss, there's plenty o' empty stalls this side. Nothing in 'ere just now, except Miss D.'s Voice. Very well, then. Just wipe some of the dust off the mud-guards, because I shall want it again after lunch. And mind you don't scratch the enamel taking it in. Stubbs. Very good, Miss. I'll be keerful. [Miss Diana's steps die away upon the cobbles. Bayard (to himself). She's gone — without even asking after me ! \\ 'hat has she been out in — a bath chair ? I'm sure she must be ill. Stubbs (to the Bicycle, as he wheels it iu). 'Ere, steady now, 'old up, can't ye ? And keep that blarsted near pedal o' yourn off o' my enamel. " It must be a sort of animal, I suppose." Puppets at Large. 195 Blest if I wouldn't rather rub down arf a dozen 'unters nor one o' them yere bloomin' bi-cycles. I know where I am with a 'orse ; but these 'ere little, twist}', spidery wheels Come over, will ye. I'll lean ye up agen 'ere till I've 'ad my dinner. [He places the machine against a partition next to Bayard's stall, and goes out. BAYARD (to himself, as he inspects his neighbour with the corner of his eye). It's not a bath-chair; it's one of these bicycles. It must be a sort of animal, I suppose, or Stubbs wouldn't have spoken to it. I should like to ask it one or two questions. (He gets his neck over the partition, and breathes gently through his nostrils upon the handle-bars.) Excuse me, but do you understand horse-language at all ? The Bicvcle (answering by a succession of saddle- creaks). Perfectly. I'm a kind of horse myself, I believe, only greatly improved, of course. Would you mind not breathing on my handle-bars like that ? it tarnishes the plating so. The saddle is the scat < if my intelligence, if you will kindly address your remarks here. Bayard. I beg your pardon. I will in future. I don't creak myself, but I've been closely connected with saddles ever since I was a two-year-old, so I can 196 Puppets at Large. follow you fairly well. Didn't I hear my mistress's voice outside just now ? The Bicycle. No ; my mistress's, Miss Diana's. I'd just taken her out for a short spin — not far, only fifteen miles or so. Bayard. Then, she — she's quite well ? The Bicycle. Thanks, she's pedalling pretty strong just now. I'm going out with her again this afternoon. Bayard. Again ! You will have had a hard day of it altogether, then. But I suppose you'll get a day or two's rest afterwards ? I know I should want it. The Bicycle. Bless you, I never want rest. Why, I've been forty miles with her, and come home without clanking a link ! She was knocked up, if you like — couldn't go out for days ! Bayard. Ah, she was never knocked up after riding me ! The Bicycle. Because — it's no fault of yours, of course, but the way you've been constructed — you couldn't go far enough to knock anybody up. And she doesn't get tired now, either. I'm not the kind of bicycle to boast ; but I've often heard her say that she much prefers her "bike'" (she always calls me her "bike" — very nice and friendly of her, isn't it ?) to any mere horse. Puppets at Large. 197 Bayard. To any mere horse ! And does she — give any reasons ? The Bicycle. Lots. For one thing, she says she feels so absolutely safe on me ; she knows that, whatever she meets, I shall never start, or shy, or rear, or anything of that sort. Bayard. I don't remember playing any of those tricks with her, however hard she pulled the curb. The Bicycle. Then she says she never has to consider whether any distance will be too much for me. Bayard. As for that But the longer I was out with her, the better I was pleased ; she might have- brought me home as lame as a tree all round, and / shouldn't have cared ! The Bicycle. Perhaps not. But she would ; so inconvenient, you see. Now my strong point is, I can't go lame — in good hands, of course, and she knows exactly how to manage me, I will say that for her! Bayard. Does she give you carrots or sugar after a ride ? she did me. The Bicycle {with a creak of contempt). Now what do you suppose I could do with sugar or a carrot if I had it ? No, a drop or two of oil now and then is all I take in the way of sustenance. That's another 198 Puppets at Large. point in my favour, I cost little or nothing to keep. Now, your oats and hay and stuff, I daresay, cost more in a year than I'm worth altogether ! Bayard. I must admit that you have the advan- tage of me in cheapness. If I thought she grudged me my oats But I'm afraid I couldn't manage on a drop or two of oil. The Bicycle. You'd want buckets of it to oil your bearings. No, she wouldn't save by that ! (Stubbs re-enters.) Ah, here comes my man. I must be going ; got to take her over to Pineborough, rather a bore this dusty weather, but when a lady's in the case, eh ? Bayard. There's a nasty hill going into Pine- borough ; do be careful how you take her down it ! The Bicycle. You forget, my friend, I'm not a Boneshaker, I'm a Safety. Why, she'll just put her feet up on the rests, fold her arms, and leave the rest to me. She knows / can be trusted. Bayard. Just tell me this before you go. Does — she doesn't pat you, or kiss you on your — er — handle- bar after a run, does she ? The Bicycle {turning its front wheel to reply, as Stubbs wheels it out). You don't imagine I should stand any sentimental rot of that sort, do you ? She knows better than to try it on ! Puppets at Large. 199 Bayard (to himself). I'm glad she doesn't kiss it. I don't think I could have stood that ! Same Scene. Some Hours Later. Stubbs (enters, carrying a dilapidated machine with crumpled handles, a twisted saddle, and a front wheel distorted into an irregular pentagon). Well, I 'ope as 'o\v this'll sarve as a lesson to 'er, I dew ; a marcy she ain't broke her blessed little neck ! (To the Bicycle.) No need to be hover and above purtickler 'bout scratchin' your enamel now, any'ow ! (He pitches it into a corner, and goes.) Bayard (after reconnoitring). You don't mean to say it's you ! The Bicycle. Me ? of course it's me ! A nice mess I'm in, too, entirely owing to her carelessness. Never put the brake on down that infernal hill, lost all control over me, and here I am, a wreck, Sir ! Why, I had to be driven home, by a grinning groom, in a beastly dog-cart ! Pleasant that ! Bayard. But she — Miss Diana — was she hurt ? Not — not seriously, eh ? The Bicycle. Oh, of course you don't care what becomes of me so long as She's all right enough — fell in a ditch, luckily for her, / came down on a heap of stones. It'll be weeks before I'm out of the repairer's hands. p.l. N 200 Puppets at Large. Bayard (to himself). I oughtn't to be glad ; but I am — I am ! She's safe, and — and she'll come back to me after this ! (To the Bicycle.) Wasn't she sorry for you ? The Bicycle. Not she ! These women have no feeling in them. Why, what do you suppose she said when they told me it would take weeks to tinker me up ? Bayard (to himself — with joy). I think I can guess! {To the Bicycle.) What did she say ? The Bicycle (rattling with indignation). Why, all she said was: " How tiresome ! I wonder if I can hire a decent bike here without having to send to town for one." There's gratitude for you ! But you can't enter into my feelings about it. Bayard. Pardon me — I fancy I can. And, after all, your day will come, when the Vet has set you up again. Mine's over for ever. (To himself.) Oh, why, why wasn't I born a bicycle ! A DOLL'S DIARY. N 2 4* * A DOLL'S DIARY. JANUARY i. — just had a brilliant idea — quite original. I don't believe even any human person ever thought of such a thing, but then, — besides being extremely beautiful and expensive, with refined wax features and golden hair — I am a very clever doll indeed. Frivolous, no doubt ; heartless, so they tell me — but the very reverse of a fool. I flatter myself that if anybody understands the nature of toys, especially male toys — but I am forgetting my idea — which is this. I am going this year to write down — the little girl I belong to has no idea I can write, but I can — and better than she does, too ! — to write down every event of importance that happens, with the dates. There ! I fancy that is original enough. It will be a valuable dollian document when it is done, and most interesting to look back upon. Now I must wait for something to happen. January 6. — Went to Small Dance given by the 204 Puppets at Large. Only Other Wax Doll (a dreadful old frump !) on the Nursery Hearthrug. Room rather nicely illuminated by coloured fire from grate, and a pyramid nightlight, but floor poor. Didn't think much of the music — a fur monkey at the Digitorium, and a woolly lamb who brought his own bellows, make rather a feeble orchestra. Still, on the whole, enjoyed myself. Much admired. Several young Ninepins, who are considered stuck-up, and keep a good deal to their own set, begged to be introduced. Sat out one dance with a Dice-box, who rattled away most amusingly. I understand he is quite an authority on games, and anything that falls from his mouth is received with respect. He is a great sporting character, too, and arranges all the meetings on the Nursery Race-course, besides being much interested in Backgammon. I do like a Toy to have manly tastes ! The Captain of a Wooden Marching Regiment quartered in the neighbourhood was there in full uniform, but not dancing. Told me they didn't in his regiment. As his legs are made in one piece and glued on to a yellow stand, inclined to think this was not mere military swagger. He seemed considerably struck with me. Made an impression, too, on a rather elderly India-rubber Ball. Snubbed him, as Puppets at Large. 205 one of the Ninepins told me he was considered " a bit of a bounder." Some of the Composition Dolls, I could see, were perfectly stiff with spite and envy. Spent a very pleasant evening, not getting back to my drawer till daylight. Too tired to write more. Mem. — Not to sit out behind the coal-scuttle another time ! February 14. — Amount of attention I receive really quite embarrassing. The Ninepins are too absurdly devoted. One of them (the nicest of all) told me to- day he had never been so completely bowled over in his whole existence ! I manage to play them off against each other, however. The India-rubber Ball, too, is at my feet — and, naturally, I spurn him, but he is so short-winded that nothing will induce him to rise. Though naturally of an elastic temperament, he has been a good deal cast down of late. I smile on him occasionally — just to keep the Ball rolling ; but it is becoming a frightful bore. March. — Have been presented with a charming pony-carriage, with two piebald ponies that go by clock work. I wish, though, I was not expected to share it with a live kitten .' The kitten has no idea of repose, and spoils the effect of the turn-out. Try not to seem aware of it — even when it claws my 206 Puppets at Large. frock. Rather interested in a young Skipjack, whom I see occasionally ; he is quite good-looking, in a common sort of way. I talk to him now and then — it is something to do ; and he is a new type, so different from the Ninepins ! April i. — Have just heard the Skipjack is engaged to a plaster Dairy-maid. A little annoyed, because he really seemed Have been to see his fiancee, a common-place creature, with red cheeks, and a thick waist. Congratulate the Skipjack, with just a hint that he might have looked higher. Afraid that he misunderstood me, for he absolutely jumped. April 7. — The Skipjack tells me he has broken off his engagement ; he seems to think I shall guess the reason — but I don't, of course. Then he actually has the impertinence to (I can scarcely pen the words for indignation) to propose — to Me ! I inform him, in the most unmistakable terms, that he has presumed on my good-nature, and that there are social barriers between us, which no Skipjack can ever surmount. He leaves me abruptly, after declaring that I have broken the spring of his existence. April 8. — Much shocked and annoyed. The Skip- jack found quite stiff and colourless this morning, in the water-jug ! Must have jumped in last night. So very rash and silly of him ! Am sure I gave him no Puppets at Large. 207 encouragement — or next to none. Hear that the Dairy-maid has gone off her head. Of course it will be put down to grief; but we all know how easily plaster heads get cracked. Feel really distressed about it all, for the blame is sure to fall on me. Those Composition Dolls will make a fine scandal out of it ! May. — The Ninepins are getting very difficult to manage ; have to put them down as delicately as possible ; but I am afraid, poor fellows, they are dreadfully upset. The Wooden Captain has chal- lenged the Dice-box to a duel — I fear, on my account. However, as the officer's sword will not unglue, I hope nothing will come of it. All this most worrying, though, and gives me little real satisfaction. I find myself sighing for more difficult conquests. June. — Went to afternoon tea with the biggest Dutch Doll. Rather a come-down, but now that there is this coolness between the Composition set and myself, I must go somewhere. I feel so bored at times ! Can see the ridiculous Dutch thing is trying to out-dress me ! She had a frock on that must have cost at least fifty beads, and I don't believe it will ever be paid for ! Only made her look the bigger guy, though ! Tea-party a stupid affair. Make-believe tea in pewter cups. Met the latest arrival, a really 208 Puppets at Large. nice-looking Gentleman Doll, introduced as " Mr. Joseph." Very innocent face, without any moustache, and the sweetest blue eyes (except mine) I think I ever saw ! Seemed rather shy, but pleasant. Asked him to call. June 18. — Mr. Joseph has not called yet. Very strange ! Suspect those horrid Composition Dolls have been setting him against me. Met him by the back-board and scolded him. He seemed confused. By a little management, I got it all out of him. I was right. He has been told about the Skipjack. He has strict principles, and gave me to understand that he would prefer to decline my acquaintance — which was like his impudence ! This is exciting, though. I intend to overcome these scruples ; I mean him to be madly in love with me — then I shall scornfully reject him, which will serve him just right ! July. — My tactics have succeeded — at last ! To-day Joseph called, ostensibly to beg me to go and see the unhappy Ball, who, it seems, is terribly collapsed, reduced to a mere bowl, and so exhausted that he cannot hold out much longer. However, in the course of the interview, I soon made him oblivious of the Ball. He fell at my feet. " Beautiful Gloriana," he cried, " with all your many and u G > C o tut) C C !/3 Puppets at Large. 211 glaring faults, I love you ! ' Then I carried out the rest of my programme — it was a painful scene, and I will only record that when he left me, he was completely un -dolled ! I feel almost sorry for him — he had rather a nice face ! July 4.— I don't seem able to settle to anything. After all, I think I will go and see the poor Ball. It would comfort him, and I might see him there. I will order the pony-carriage. A ugust. — What has happened to me ? Where have I been all this time ? Let me collect myself, and see how much I remember. My last clear recollection is of being in my carriage on my way to receive the departing Ball's last sigh. . . . Some- thing has started the clockwork. My ponies are bolting, and I haven't the slightest control over them ! We are rushing along the smooth plain of the chest of drawers, and rapidly nearing the edge. I try to scream for help, but all I can utter is, " Papa ! " and ' Mamma ! ' All at once I see him standing, calm and collected, on the very brink of the precipice. Is he strong enough to stop the ponies in their mad clockwork career, and save me, even yet ? How I will love him if he does ! An instant of sickening suspense . . . we are over! — falling down, down, 212 Puppets at Large. down. ... A crash, a whirr of clockwork, a rush of bran to my head — and I know no more. What follows is a dream — a horrible, confused nightmare — of lying among a heap of limp bodies — some armless, some legless, others (ah ! the horror of it) headless ! I grope blindly for my own limbs — they are intact ; then I feel the place where I naturally expect to find my head — it is gone ! . . . The shock is too much — I faint once more. And that is all. Thank goodness, it was only a dream — for here I am, in the same old nursery again ! Not all a dream, either — or my pony-carriage would scarcely present such a damaged appearance. The accident was real. Then what — ichat has become of Joseph ? I must find him — I must make him understand that I repent — that, for the future, I intend to be a changed doll ! September. — Still searching for Joseph. No trace of him. I seem to be a changed doll in more ways than one. My former set knows me not. The Nine- pins do not stagger when I smile at them now ; the Dice-box gapes open-mouthed at my greeting. I call upon the Composition Dolls — they are very polite ; but it is quite clear that they don't remember me in the least ! Alas ! how soon one is forgotten in the world of Toys ! Have no heart to recall Puppets at Large. 213 myself to them. I go, for the first time since my accident, to a convenient brass knob, in which I would once gaze at my reflected features by the hour. How indescribable are my sensations at the discovery that I have a totally new head — a china one ! I, who used to look down on china dolls ! It is a very decent head, in its way ; quite neat and inoffensive,, with smooth, shiny hair, which won't come down like the golden locks I once had. I am glad — yes,. glad now — that Joseph has gone, and the home he used to occupy is deserted, and shut up. If he were here, he would not know me either. Now I can live single all my remaining days, in memory of him, and devote myself to doing good ! October. — Have entered on my new career. Am organising a Mission for Lost Toys, and a Clothing Club for Rag Dolls. To-day, while "slumming" in the lumber-closet, found my old acquaintance, the Dutch Doll in a. shocking state of destitution — nothing on her but a piece of tattered tissue-paper ! To think that my evil example and her own senseless extravagance have brought her to this ! Gave her one of my old tea-gowns and a Sunday domino, but did not reveal myself. Feeling very sad and lonely : think I shall have to keep a mouse— I must have something to love me ! 214 Puppets at Large. October 15. — Someone has taken poor dear Joseph's old house. I see a new doll, with a small but worldly black moustache and a very bad countenance, watching me as I pass the windows. Shall call and leave a scripture brick. It may do him good. October 16. — Have called. . . . Never heard worse language from the lips of any doll ! Came across my old admirer, the Ball, who is better, though still what I have heard the nursery governess describe as an "oblate spheroid." Of course, he did not recognise me. December.— H&ve seen a good deal of the Doll with the worldly moustache lately. From certain symptoms, do not despair of reforming him — ultimately. He seems softening. Yesterday he told me he did not think he should live long. Yet he has a splendid constitution — the best porcelain. He is dreadfully cynical — seems so reckless about every- thing. If I could only reclaim him — for Joseph's sake ! This afternoon I saw the yellow stand which the Wooden Captain used to occupy. What memories it recalled, ah me ! Can he have disgraced himself and been " broke"? And am I responsible ? Christmas Eve. — Am sitting in my corner, my mouse curled comfortably at my feet, when the Puppets at Large. 215 Walking Postman comes up with a letter — for me ! It is from the Wicked Doll ! He is very ill — dying, he thinks — and wishes to see me. How well I remember that other message which Joseph — but Joseph is taken, and the Ball still bounds ! Well, I will go. It will be something to tell my Diary. ****** Christinas Day. — Something indeed! How shall I begin my wondrous incredible tale ? I reached the Doll's House, which looked gloomier and more deserted than ever, with the sullen glow of the dying fire reflected redly in its windows. The green door stood open — I went in. "Ha, ha! trapped!" cried a sneering voice behind me. It was the Wicked Doll ! His letter was a rnsc — he was as well as I was — and I — I was shut up there in that lonely house, entirely at his mercy ! ... It was a frightful position for any doll to be placed in ; and yet, looking back on it now, I don't think I minded it so very much. "Listen!" he said, in response to my agonized entreaties. " Long, long ago, when I was young and innocent, a beautiful but heartless being bewitched me, kid and bran ! I told my love — she mocked at me. Since then I have sworn, though she has escaped me, to avenge myself by sacrificing the life 216 Puppets at Large. of the first doll I could entice into my power. You are that doll. You must die!" ... "I am quite prepared," I told him — "do your worst!" which seemed to confuse him very much. " I will," he said, " presently — presently; there is no hurry. You see," he explained, in a tone almost of apology, " in endeavouring to save her life (it was my last good action) I got my head smashed, and received the substitute I now wear, which, as you will observe, is that of an unmitigated villain. And it's no use having a head like that if you don't live up to it- is it, now ? So — as I think I observed before — prepare for the worst!" "Don't talk about it any more — do it!" I said, and I breathed Joseph's name softly. But the Wicked Doll did nothing at all. I began to feel safer — it was so obvious that he hadn't the faintest notion what to do. " She treated me abominably," he said feebly; "any doll would have been annoyed at the heartless way in which Gloriana " I could contain my feelings no longer. "Joseph!" I gasped (I had lost all fear of him), " you ridiculous old goose, don't you know me ? / am Gloriana, and I have found you at last ! " And with that I flung myself into his arms, and told him everything. I think he was more relieved than Puppets at Large. 217 anything. " So you are Glofiana ! " he said. "It's dreadfully bewildering ; but, to tell you the honest truth, I can't keep up this villainy business any longer. I haven't been brought up to it, and I don't understand how it's done. So I tell vou what we'll do. If you'll leave off living up to your new head, I won't try to live up to mine!" And so we settled it. Postscript. December 31. — We are to be married to-morrow. The Dutch Doll is to be my bridesmaid, and the Wooden Captain (who was only away on sick leave, after all) is coming up to be best man. I have seen the poor old Ball, and told him there will always be a corner for him in our new home. I am very, very happy. To think that Joseph should still care for his poor Gloriana, altered and homely as her once lovely features have now become ! But Joseph (who is leaning over my shoulder and reading every word I write) stops me here to assure me that I am lovelier than ever in his eyes. And really — I don't know — perhaps I am. And in other persons' eyes, too, if it comes to that. I certainly don't intend to give up society just because I happen to be married ! P.L. O ELEVATING THE MASSES. O 2 ♦{► 4" 4- ELEVATING THE MASSES. (A Purely Imaginary Sketch.) Argument — Mrs. Flittermouse, having got up a party to assist her in giving an Entertainment at the East End, has called a meeting for the purpose of settling the items in the programme. Mrs. Flittermouse's Drawing-room in Park Lane. Every- body discovered drinking tea, and chatting on matters totally unconnected x^itli Philanthropy. MRS. FLITTERMOUSE (imploringly). Now, please, everybody, do attend ! It's quite im- possible to settle anything while you're all talking about something else. (Apologies, protests, constrained silence.) Selina, dear, what do you think it would be best to begin with ? The Dowager Lady Dampier. My dear Fritilla, I have no suggestion to offer. You know my opinion about the whole thing. The people don't want to be elevated, and — if they did — entertaining them is not 222 Puppets at Large. the proper means to set about it. But I don't wish to discourage you. Mrs. Flitt. Oh, but I think we could do so much to give them a taste for more rational and refined amusements, poor things, to wean them from the coarse pleasures which are all they have at present. Only we must really decide what each of us is going to do. Mrs. Perse- Weaver. A violin solo is always popular. And my daughter Cecilia will be delighted to play for you. She has been taught by the best Cecilia. Oh, Mother, I couldn't, really ! I've never played in public. I know I should break down ! Lady Damp. In that case, my dear, it would be certainly unwise on your part to attempt it. Mrs. P.-W. Nonsense, Cecilia, nonsense. You won't break down, and it wouldn't matter in the least if you did. They wouldn't notice anything. And it will be such excellent practice for you to get accustomed to a platform, too. Of course she will play for you, dear Mrs. Flittermouse ! Mrs. Flitt. It will be so good of you, Miss Weaver. And it won't be like playing to a real audience, you know — poor people are so easily pleased, poor dears. Then I will put that down to begin with. Puppets at Large. 223 (She makes a note.) Now we must have something quite different for the next— a reading or something. Lady Honor Hyndleggs. A — nothin' humorous, I hope. I do think we ought to avoid anythin' like descendin' to their level, don't you know. Mr. Lovegroove. Might try something out of Pickwick. " Bob Sawyer's Party," you know. Can't go far wrong with anything out of Dickens. Miss Diova Rose. Can't endure him myself. All his characters are so fearfully common ; still — (tolerantly) I daresay it might amuse — a — that class of persons. Mrs. Flitt. I must say I agree with Lady Honor. We should try and aim as high as possible — and well, I think not Dickens, dear Mr. Lovegroove. Tennyson might do perhaps ; he's written some charmin' pieces. Mr. Lovegr. Well, fact is, I don't go in for poetry much myself. But I'll read anythin' of his you think I'm equal to. Mrs. Flitt. Why — a — really, it's so long since I — and I'm afraid I haven't one of his poems in the house. I suppose they are down at Barn-end. But I could send to Cutt and Hawthorn's. I daresay they would have a copy somewhere. Miss Sibson-Gabler. Surely Tennyson is rather 224 Puppets at Large. — a — retrograde ? Why not read them something to set them thinking ? It would be an interesting experi- ment to try the effect of that marvellous Last Scene in the Doll's House. I'd love to read it. It would be like a breath of fresh air to them ! Mrs. P.-W. Oh, I've seen that at the Langham Hall. You remember, Cecilia, my taking you there ? And Corney Grain played Noah. To be sure — we were quite amused by it all. Miss S.-G. (coldly). This is not amusing — it's a play of Ibsen's. Mrs. Flitt. Is that the man who wrote the piece at the Criterion — what is it, The Toy Shop ? Wynd- ham acted in it. Lady Damp. No, no ; Ibsen is the person there's been all this fuss about in the papers — he goes in for unconventionality and all that. I may be wrong, but I think it is sack a mistake to have anything uncon- ventional in an Entertainment for the People. Mrs. Flitt. But if he's being talked about, dear Lady Dampier, people might like to know something about him. But perhaps we'd better leave Ibsen open, then. Now, what shall we have next ? Miss Skipworth. I tell you what would fetch them — a skirt-dance. I'll dance for you — like a shot. It would be no end of fun doin' it on a regular platform, " To-night is ours ! " Puppets at Large. 227 and I've been studyin' Flossie Frillington, at the Inanity, till I've caught her style exactly. Mr. Kempton. Oh, I say, you can give her a stone and a beatin' any day, give you my word you can. She doesn't put anythin' like the go into it you do. [Miss S. accepts this tribute with complacency. Mrs. Flitt. A skirt-dance will be the very thing. It's sure to please the people we shall bring over for it — and of course they'll be in the front rows. Yes, I must put that down. We ought to have a song next. Mrs. Tuberose, you promised to come and sing for us — you will, won't you ? Mrs. Tuberose. Delighted ! I rather thought of doing a dear little song Stephan Otis has just brought out. It's called " Forbidden Fruit" and he wrote it expressly for me. It goes like this. [She sits down at the piano, and sings, with infinite expression and tenderness. " Only the moon espies our bliss, Through the conscious clusters of clematis, Shedding star-sweet showers. To-morrow the world will have gone amiss — Now I gaze in your eyes, love, I thrill to your kiss — So let us remember naught but this : That To-night is ours ! Yes, this passionate, perilous, exquisite night — Is Ours!" 228 Puppets at Large. Several Voices. Charmin'. . . . Otis puts so much real feeling into all his songs . . . quite a little gem ! &c., &c. Lady Damp. I should have thought myself that it was rather advanced— for an East-End audience — Mrs. Tuberose {nettled). Really, dear Lady Dampier, if people see nothing to object in it here, I don't sec why they should be more particular at the East-End ! Mrs. Flitt. Oh, no, — and as if it matters what the worth are in the song. I daresay if one heard their songs Now we want another song — some- thing as different as possible. Mr. Gardinier. Heard a capital song at the " Pav." the other night — something about a Cock- eyed Kipper. Just suit my voice. I could easily get the words and music, and do that for you— if you like. Several Voices. A Cock-eyed Kipper ! It sounds too killing ! Oh, we must have that ! Lady Damp. Might I ask what kind of creature a — a " Cock-eyed Kipper" may be ? Mr. Card. Oh, well, I suppose it's a sort of a dried herring — with a squint, don't you know. Lady Damp. I see no humour in making light of a personal deformity, I must say. Puppets at Large. 229 Mr. Gard. Oh, don't you ? They will — it'll go with a scream there ! Miss Dioya Rose. Yes, poor dears — and we mustn't mind being just a little vulgar for once — to cheer them up. Lady Honor. I have been to the Pavilion and the Tivoli myself, and I heard nothing to object to. I know I was much more amused than I ever am at theatres — they bore me to death. Mr. BAGOTRIX. We might finish up with Mrs. Jarlcy's Waxworks, you know. Some of you can be the figures, and I'll come on in a bonnet and shawl as Mrs. Jarlcy, and wind you up and describe you. I've done it at lots of places in the country ; brought in personal allusions and all that sort of thing, and made everybody roar. Lady Damp. But will the East-Enders under- stand your personal allusions ? Mr. Bag. Well, you see, the people in the front rows will, which is all I want. Lady Honor (suspiciously). Isn't Mrs. Jarlcy out of Pickwick, though ? That's Dickens, surely ! Mr. Bag. (reassuringly). Nothing but the name, Lady Honor. I make up all the patter myself, so that '11 be all right — just good-natured chaff, you know; if anybody's offended — as I've known them to be — it's no fault of mine. 230 Puppets at Large. Mrs. Flitt. Oh, I'm sure you will make it funny, — and about getting someone to preside — I suppose we ought to ask the Vicar of the nearest church ? Lady Honor. Wouldn't it be better to get some- body — a — more in Society, don't you know ? Mrs. Flitt. And he might offer to pay for hiring the Hall, and the other expenses. I never thought of that. I'll see whom I can get. Really I think it ought to be great fun, and we shall have the satis- faction of feeling we are doing real good, which is such a comfort ! BOOKMAKERS ON THE BEACH. *{-*$" 4* BOOKMAKERS ON THE BEACH. A Sketch at a Ska-side Race Meeting. The Sands at Daymoittli, where sonic pony and horse races are being run. By the Grand Stand, and under the wall of the esplanade, about a dozen bookmakers, perched on old packing- cases, are clamouring with their customary energy. The public, however, for some reason seems unusually deaf to their blandish- ments and disinclined for speculation, and the bookmakers, after shouting themselves hoarse with little or no result, are beginning to feel discouraged. BOOKMAKERS (antiphonally). Evens on the field ! Three to one bar one ! Five to one bar two ! Six to one bar one ! Even money Beeswing ! Six to one Popgun ! Come on 'ere. Two to one on the field ! What do you want to do ? [The public apparently want to look another way. First Bookmaker (to Second Bookmaker). Not much 'ere to-day ! Shawn't get no roast baked and biled this journey, eh ? 234 Puppets at Large. Second B. (with deep disgust). They ain't got no money ! Baymouth's going down. Why, this might be a bloomin' Sunday-school treat ! Blest if I believe they know what we're 'ere for ! Third B. (after pausing to refresh himself, sardoni- cally to Fourth Bookmaker). De-lightful weather, William ! William (in a similar tone of irony). What a glorious day, Percy ! Sech a treat to see all the people enjoyin' theirselves without any o' the silly speculation yer do find sometimes on occasions like this ! (He accepts the bottle his friend passes, and drinks.) 'Ere's better luck to all ! Fifth B. (pathetically). Don't leave your little Freddy out ! (They don't leave their little Freddy out.) Cheer up, William, there's 'appier days in store ; there'll be Jersey comin' soon. We'll be orf to the sunny south ! (To a stranger who conies tip to him.) Why, Uncle, you don't say it's you ! How well you're looking ! Shake 'ands and 'ave a bit on, jest for ole sake's sake ! (The stranger proceeds to introduce himself as the Secretary, and to demand a fee.) What ! pay you five shillins for standin' 'ere wastin' my time and voice like this ? Not me ! Why, I ain't took two blessed sorcepans since I bin 'ere ! (The Secretary remains firm.) I won't do it, my boy. Puppets at Large. 235 Not on prinscrplc, I won't. I wouldn't give you five shillins not if your tongue was 'anging down on to your boots — so there ! (The Secretary docs not attempt so violent an appeal to his better nature, but calls a police- inspector.) 'Ere, I'd sooner git down and chuck the show altogether ; jest to mark my contempt for such goings on ! (He descends from his box ; takes down his sign, unscrews his pole, folds up his professional triptych, and departs in a state of virtuous indignation only to be expressed by extreme profanity, while the Secretary pro- ceeds unmoved to collect payments from the others ; who eventually compromise the claims for half-a-crown.) Mr. Sam Satchell ("from Southampton "). Now then, you gentlemen and aristocratic tradesmen, where arc you all ? Don't any o' you know any- thing ? Come on 'ere. (He stops an elderly rustic.) You've got a fancy, I can see ! (The rustic denies the impeachment, grinning.) Git along with yer, yer artful ole puss, then, and don't keep gentlemen away as wants to bet ! (To a Yeomanry trooper.) Come along, my ole soldier-boy, give it a name ! (His old soldier-boy declines to give it any name, and passes on.) Call yerself a warrior bold, and afraid o' riskin' 'alf-a-crown ! Why, yer Queen and country orter be ashamed o' yer! (As a young farmer in riding-gaiters comes up, with the evident P.L. p 236 Puppets at Large. intention of business.) Ah, you don't forget the old firm, I see. . . . What, four to one not good enough for you ? You won't get no better odds, go where you like! I suppose you expeck me to make you a present o' the money ? (The farmer moves on.) I dunno what's come to 'em all. I never see nothing like it in all my life ! In the Grand Stand. A Glib Person, in a tall hat (as he picks his way up and down the benches, the occupants of which treat him with intolerant indifference). I'm not a book- maker, ladies and gentlemen ; don't have that impression of me for a moment ! I'm simply an amateur, and an independent gentleman o' means, like any of yourselves. You all know more than / do. I don't come 'ere with any intention o' winning your money — far from it. I'm wishful to settle and live among you. I may eventually put up as your member ; and, if so, when I take my place in Parlia- ment I shall be in a position to testify that the Baymouth people are extremely cautious as to the manner in which they invest their money on 'orse- racing' ! Yes, I'm 'ere on beyarf of the Sporting League, just to prove how free a meeting like this is from the evils o' gambling. I don't come 'ere to Puppets at Large. 237 rob yer. I want yer all to win. I like to see yer bright and shining faces around me ; I like the friverolity and reckereation and the conviverality of the thin^, that's all. I'll tell yer how it is. I've a rich ole aunt, and she puts fifty pound into my 'ands, and sez, " Jacky," she sez, " I love those dear Bay- mouth people, and I want you to take this 'ere money and lay it out among 'em in moieties, and make 'cm rich and 'appy." You can see for your- selves. I've no tickets and no parry fernalia, excep' this little pocket-book, where I enter any bets you honour me with. Come, Miss win a pair o' those three-and-sixpenny gloves at Chickerell's, the ex- Mayor's, to oblige me ! Did I tread on your corn, Sir ? I assure you it was the last thing I intended. ..." You knew I'd do it afore I'd done?" . . . Well, Sir, if you've sech a gift o' seeing into futoority as that, why not make some- thing out of it now ? Three to one bar one. Kitty I'm barring. Thank you, Sir ; 'alf-a-crown to seven and six on Sportsman. I tell you candidly — you've got the winner. The favourite won't win. Now, then, all you others, where's your Baymouth pluck ? I orfered you thirty to one Beeswing last race ; and you wouldn't take it. And Bcesicing won, and you lost the chance o' making yer fortunes. P 2 238 Puppets at Large. Don't blame me if the same thing 'appens again. I'm on'y bettin', as I told you, for my own amuse- ment, and to get rid o' the money ! (&c, &c.) Mr. Sam Satchell (whom the apathy of the public has apparently reduced to a state of defiant buffoonery). Even money Daredevil, you rascals ! And why the blazes don't ye take it ? Come on. I'll take two little bits o' twos that Kitty don't win ! Four to one against ole bread-and-butter Tommy, over there in the corner ! Eleven and a 'alf to three quarters to two against Kitty. " What har the Wild Waves say-hay-ing ? " Two Kitties to three Daredevils against a bloomin' goat-chaise ? On the Baymouth Durby I'm bettin' ! At the Close of the Last Race — Three horses have started; the favourite has led to the tun: and then bolted up the shingle, but, as the tide has come in and almost covered the course, and the other two horses by declining to face the water have let him in again, he wins after an exciting finish, up to the girtlis in sea- water ; and such bookmakers as have succeeded in obtaining patronage are paying up witli as much cheerfulness as they can command. First Bookmaker (to eager backer). Wait a bit, my boy, wait a bit, the number hasn't gone up yet, my son. Where's your ticket — forty-two ? (His Clerk refers to book.) That's Squibbs. I pay over winners — not losers. (To the public.) Come along '•Why the blazes don't ye take it?" Puppets at Large. 241 and fetch your money, the bullion's 'ere ! (To another backer.) What was yours — threes? (" Fours I've got," from his Clerk.) Why don't ycr arst for what you're entitled to, instead o' makin' me arst my clurk what your bet was ? There's your money — take it and go." [The backer departs wealthier but abashed. Second B. I'm payin' over that 'ard-run race, gentlemen, men and 'orscs exhorsted ! I'm payin' over Susan — dearole Susey-hanner ! who wants their money ? The Bank o' England's 'ere, gentlemen, Mr. Frankie Fairprice and his ole friend, who's always by his side and never looses 'im ! Third B. (who has had to borrow largely from his brethren to meet his engagements). Are you all done now? (To the crowd.) Then I'll wish yer good afternoon, thank ye all for yer comp'ny, but you've bin bloomin' bad fun to-day, and you don't ketch me playin' Patience on a monument at any more o' yer blanky sand 'oppin' 'andicaps, that's all ! [However, the local newspapers report next day that "A number of the sporting fraternity were in attendance to do business and apparently carried on a brisk and profitable trade" — which only shows how difficult it is for the casual observer to form an accurate opinion. 'IGHER UP! 4 4 4 'IGHER UP! (A Sketch Outside an Omnibus.) The Omnibus is on its progress from Piccadilly to the Bunk : the weather is raze and unpleasant, and the occupants of the garden-seats on the roof of the vehicle are — -for once in a way — ■ mostly men. FIRST PASSENGER (to Second, an acquaint- ance). I see young Bashaway the other day. (Significantly.) Jest been to see his father, so he told me. Second Passenger (with interest). 'Ad he though ? And 'ow did he find him ? First P. Fustrate, young Jim said ; didn't know when he'd seen him lookin' better — (with sentiment) — quite like his old self! Second P. (heartily). That is good 'earin', that is ! (Reflectively.) Seems nun, though, come to think of it. 246 Puppets at Large. First P. 'Ow d'ycr mean — rum ? It's no more than what yer'd expect, bein' where he is. Look at the air o' the place — there ain't a 'elthier situation all round London, to my mind ! Second P. No, that's right enough; and, from all I 'ear, the food's well cooked and served reg'lar, if it is plain. First P. Ah, and Bill enjoys his meals now, he does — the work gives him a appetite, and it's years, to my certain knowledge, since he done a stroke, and o' course he ain't allowed no drink Second P. And that's enough, of itself, to be the savin' of 'im, the way he was ! First P. Then, yer see, there's the reg'lar hours, and the freedom from worry, and the like, and nothink on his mind, and the place with every sanitary improvement and that — why, he owns his own self it's bin the makin' of 'im. And from what young Jim was a tellin' me, it appears that if Bill goes on gittin' good-conduck marks at the rate he's doin', there'll be a nice little sum doo to 'im when he's done his time at Wormwood Scrubs. Second P. (sympathetically). Well, and that makes suthin' to look forward to, don't it, when he does git let out. Talkin' o' that, you've known 'im longer 'n Puppets at Large. 247 what I 'ave. Do you 'appen to know what it was as he got inter trouble for ? First P. (with the consciousness of superior delicacy). Lor' bless yer, I never thought o' arskin' 'im the question. Second P. {with feeble self-assertion under this implied rebuke). Well, it all depends on 'ow yer put a question o' that sort. [He is silent for the remainder of the journey. A Chatty Passenger (to a Contradictious Passenger, as the 'bits passes Trafalgar Square). Pretty these 'ere fountains look, with the water playin', don't they ? The Contradictious Passenger. The fountings are well enough, if it wasn't fur the water — norsty messy stuff, I call it. The Chatty P. (abandoning the fountains). It's wonderful what an amount o' traffic there is in the Strand, ain't it ? Contrad. P. Nothink to what it was forty years ago! [His neighbour, not feeling in a position to deny it, subsides. The Driver (to a Passenger with a Badge, immediately behind him). 'Ow is it you're orf yer keb to-day, Bob ? Taking a day orf, or what ? 248 Puppets at Large. The Passenger with a Badge. Not much. Goin' up to Bow Street to gimmy evidence in a collision case — that's all. Driver (dubiously). Bow Street ! Ain't that rorther shovin' yer 'ed in the lion's mouth, eh ? The P. with A B. (with virtuous serenity). Not it ! What ha' they got agen me all the time I bin licensed ? Only three drunks and a loiter ! The Chatty P. (returning to the charge). Orful state the roads are in with all this mud ! I s'pose that's the London County Council, eh ? The Contrad. P. London Kayounty Kayouncil ! No, it ain't — nothink o' the sort! I'll tell yer '00 it is, if yer want to know ; it's Gladstone ! The Chatty P. (mildly surprised, but glad to have discovered common ground). I see you're a Conserva- tive — like myself. The Contrau. P. That's jest where you're wrong! I ain't no Conservative, nor yet I don't want none o' Gladstone neither. I'm a Radikil, I am. John Burns and Ben Tillett— that's my lot! The Chatty P. (reluctantly relinquishing politics). Ah, well, every man's got a right to form his own opinions, ain't he ? The Contrad. P. No, he ain't— not if he goes Puppets at Large. 249 and forms wrong 'uns ! (A pause.) 'Ave yer got the time about yer ? The Chatty P. {accepting this as a sign of softening). I'm sorry to say I come out without my watch this morning, or else But there's plenty o' clocks about as'll tell yer. The Contrad. P. (with intense disdain). Clocks! You don't ketch me trusting no clocks — with no two of 'em alike ! The Chatty P. (as they pass a well-known watch- maker's). Well, 'ow about that clock with the Aggers ? Won't that do yer ? They set it to Grinnidge time every hour, so it's bound to be right ! The Contrad. P. (as he descends). There yer arc ! Think I'd put my faith in a clock as 'as to be set right every hour ? 'Tain't likely ! Good-day to yer! The Chatty P. So long ! (To himself.) A pleasant feller enough, I dessay, if you leave the subjec' to '/;;? / Driver (to smart Hansom Cabman). Now then, outer the way with that 'ere 'Ackney keb o' yours ! Hansom Cabman (with hauteur). As it 'appens, it ain't a 'Ackney cab — it's a private kerridge, this is ! 250 Puppets at Large. Driver. Ah, I might ha' known you was a hammytoor by yer silly hasslike method o' con- ducting yer business ! [Drives on triumphant. A Political Passenger {with a panacea — to a " Knowledgable " Passenger). No, I don't want no 'Ome Rule, nor yet no Parish Counsels, nor nothink o' that. What / wanter see interdooced 'ere is Tereenial Porliments. The Knowledgable Passenger {with respect). Tereenial Parliments ? I don't know as I've 'eard o' them. The Pol. P. Ain't yer ? Well, they're what we want. Why, they've 'ad 'em in America, they've ad 'em in Ostralia, they've 'ad 'em in Orstria ; and everywhere, mind yer, everywhere they've been in operation they've turned out a success ! The Kn. P. Then it's 'igh time we 'ad 'em. What is it they're called, again ? The Pol. P. Tee-reen-ial Porliments. It stands to reason they work well. There they arc, a settin' eight months in the year fur seven year on end — somethink's bound to come of it ! I'd like to see any o' our lot settin' like that ! It's a pity we don't take more pattern by America in our law- makin'. The Kn. P. Except in our criminal law. Why, " Thash where 'tis, yer come on me too late ! " Puppets at Large. 253 I've 'eard there's States out there where a man may go and commit a crime, d'ye see, and once he gits across the boundary from one State into another — like as it might be a line across this 'ere street like, d'ye see — once he's over that, they can't do nothink to 'im ! The Pol. P. {thoughtfully). Ah, that wouldn't never do 'ere, that wouldn't ! [The Conductor comes up to collect fares. Conductor (to a Sleepy Passenger in a corner). Now then, fare, please ? The Sleepy Passenger {with manly regret). I ain't gorrit, ole pal. If yer'd asht me jes' two minutes afore I gorrup, I could ha' done it for yer, but I took jes' anorrer glash an' blued th' lot. No man can say I don' part s'long's I gorrer money ; no freehandeder man anywheresh'n wharri am ; but yer come on me too late. {Shaking his head reproach- fully.) Thash where 'tis, yer come on me too late ! Cond. 'Ere, I ain't goin' to stand no nonsense ! If yer 'aven't got the money, git down orf o' my bus, and quick, too ! The Sl. P. Ged down ? An' quick ! You would n' tor' li' that if you'd sheen wharrer bloomin' 'ard job I 'ad to get up ! [He resumes his slumber. Cond. (passing on, softened). I can't go and break 254 Puppets at Large. the beggar's neck for tuppence, and he's got it somewhere about him, as likely as not. (To a Litigious Passenger.) Tuppence is the fare, Sir, if you please. The Litigious Passenger. One penny is the legal fare, and all I intend to pay. I know the law ! Cond. And so do I. It's wrote up tuppence inside the bus. If yer ain't going to pay more, yer'd better git down ; ye've 'ad over your penn'orth a'ready ! The Litig. P. (with spirit). I decline to get down. I insist on being taken to the Bank for my penny. Cond. Oh, do yer ? We'll see about that. [He stops the 'bus and calls a Constable, to whom he briefly explains the situation. Constable (pacifically, from below, to the Litig. P.). Come, Sir, don't block the traffic, like this 'ere ! Either pay the man his fare or get down — one of the two. The Litig. P. (from the roof). I have a legal right to remain here if I like ! Const. That may be, Sir ; but if you do, this man can summons you that's all. The Litig. P. (warming with the joy of battle). That's just what I want him to do ! Can't I make him summon me ? Puppets at Large. 255 Cond. {disgusted). 'Ere, 'ang it all ! do yer think I'm goin' to cart you 'arf over London fur a penny, and throw yer in the luxury of a lawsoot ? 'Ere's yer penny back, and I give yer the ride free, there ! The Litig. P. (accepting the penny, and descending with dignity). Very well ; and let me tell you this, it was just as well you gave way when you did, for I was quite prepared to carry the case to the House of Lords ! Cond. Ah ! and I s'pose yer think yer'd git there for a penny ? [The Omnibus goes on before the Litigious Person has time to think over such an obvious repartee as asking the Constable to take the man's number. P.L. Q AT A HIGHLAND CATTLE AUCTION. Q 2 AT A HIGHLAND CATTLE AUCTION. A Yard. In the open space between the rows of pens the Auctioneer is trying to dispose of sonic horses which arc trotted out one by one in the usual fashion. THE AUCTIONEER (spectacled, red - bearded, canny, slightly Arcadian touch imparted by straw hat, and a sprig of heather in his button-hole). What'll I say for this, noo ? (A horse of a meditative mien is just brought in.) Here's a beast, and a very good beast, from Lochaber ! (The bystanders remain unmoved.) He was bred by Meester MacFarlane, o' Drumtappit, and ye'll all ha' haird on him as the biggest breeder in these pairts. (Heads are shaken, so much as to intimate that this particular animal does not do Mr. MacFarlane justice.) Trot him up an' doon a bit, boy, and show his action — stan' away back there ! (With affected concern.) Don't curb him so tight — be careful now, or ye'll do meeschief to yourself an' others! (As the horse trots past them, 260 Puppets at Large. several critics slap it disrespectfully on the hind-quarters — a liberty which it bears with meekness.) There's a pace for ye — he's a guid woorker, a gran' beast — hoo much shall we say for him ? (Nobody seems able to express his appreciation of the grand beast in figures.) Just to stairt ye then — twenty poon ! (Even the animal himself appears slightly staggered by this sum ; bystanders are quietly derisive; Auctioneer climbs rapidly down without interruption till he reaches six pounds, when he receives his first bid.) Sex poon' is bed for 'm — is there ony advance on sex poon ? (Someone in the background : — " Fefteen shellin' ! ") Sex-fefteen — noo, Meester McRobbie, wull ye no luik this way ? (Mr. McR. responds by a decided negative.) Ye won't ? Ah, I never got ony guid from ye — 'cept when I didn't meet ye. (This piece of Scotch " wut " raises a laugh at Mr. McR.'s expense, but does not affect the bidding, which still languishes.) Then, he's going at sex-fefteen — for the last time. Whaur's my bedder at sex-fefteen ? (Repentance or modesty prevents the bidder from coming forward, and the Auctioneer continues, more in grief than anger.) Eh, this is too bad noo — I'll thank no man for making me a bed, 'cept those that are meant in airnest. No one bed onything for a beast like this ! Then I hae to tell ye ye've not bed near up to the resairve Puppets at Large. 261 price on it. (Suddenly becomes weary of the animal.) Tak' it awa'. (The next horse is led in.) Now, here's a beast that's well - known, I'm thenkin'. (The general expression signifies that its reputation is not altogether to its credit.) There's a well-bred mare — open up, and let her show hersel'. (The mare is shown, but fails to excite competition.) Ah, ye'll ony buy screws to-day, an' not the nice things at a' — tak' her away. (The marc is taken out ignominiously ; Auctioneer, followed by crowd, leads the way to where a pony and trap arc standing harnessed.) Noo, I'm gaun to pit up the pony an' van — just show them hoo she goes in hairness, boy. (To intrusive collie.) Out of the way, dug, in case ye get your feet smashed. (Trap starts off, and is driven out of sight.) Whaur's the laddie gaun ta ? Thenks he'll show himsel' at Nairn, maybe ! Ah, here she comes. (Trap returns at a modest pace.) Stan' back, noo, all of ye ; give her room. I'll sell the mare first, and a beauty she is — what shell we say ? Ten poons — and she's a nice one ! Well, stairt her at five, she may get up. (Bidding gets up to ten pounds, where it stops.) Then she goes at ten, and I'm very glad she's gaun to a gude auld friend o' mine — Meester McKenzie, o' Glenbannock. Wull ye say five mair, and take the hairness, Meester McKenzie? It's richt hairness! 262 Puppets at Large. (Mr. McK. declines to be tempted.) Well, I'm sorry ye wull na, I'd ha liked {sentimentally, as if it had been the dream of his life) for the mare an' the hairness to go togither and no to pairt them — but as 'tis, it canna be helped. We'll pass on to the pegs, if you please. (Passes to a row of pens containing pigs, and mounts some planks placed along the top.) Now, these are some proper pegs. (A rush is made for the rails enclosing the pigs, which instantly become self-conscious and redouble their grunts.) Noo, laddies, laddies, it's no fair o' ye taking up a' the room i' that way. I'm quite sure there's a lot o' ye in front that's no buying pegs — ye hanna the luik o' pairsons that buy pegs. Stan' by for shame, and don't keep them that comes to buy, where they canna see sae much as a tail. Hoo much apiece for these palefaced pegs ? Ye've an awfu' guid view o' them there, Mr. Ferguson, ■ — luik this way once again for forrty and threepence. (Persuasively.) It'll soun' better wi' the threepence. Gaun' for forty an' three. (The owner of the pigs calls out " No! ") I thocht I made a law here that people having pegs should gie me the resairve at the time- see what ye do now, Peter MacPhairson, make a fule of the buyers and a fule o' mysel' ! — but (with tolerant contempt) Peter is not a strong man, we must no be haird on Peter. (Roar from crowd ; Puppets at Large. 263 disappearance of Mr. MacPh.) I'll cancel no more sales that way, however, as I eentimate to ye once for a'. 'Arry (on tour from Town — to his admiring friend). I say, Charley, what d'yer bet I don't talk to some of these chaps in their own lingo ? Charley. What a fellow you are ! Mind what you are about, that's all. 'Arry (going up to an elderly person in the only Scotch cap visible). Hech, Sair, but yon's a braw bonnie wee bit piggie fur a body to tak' a richt gude wullie waucht wi' gin ye meet him comin' thro' the rye ! The Person in the Scotch Cap (who happens to be a retired Colonel in a Highland Regiment, who is somewhat careless in his attire). I think you will find that sort of thing better appreciated after you've got home. 'Arry returns to Charley, feeling much smaller than lie allows his friend to perceive. THE COUNTRY OF COCKAIGNE. THE COUNTRY OF COCKAIGNE. A Monologte — With a Moral. An airless Court in a London back Street. Time — August !> ' JIMMY (aged eight, to Florrie, aged seven). No, I ain't comin' to the Reckereation Groun', not jess yit, I carn't. . . . I'm goin' ter wyte about 'ere till the lidy comes. . . . Why, 'er as is comin' to see my Muvver 'bout sendin' me fur a fortnight in the kerntry. . . . Yus, where I was larst year. . . . It's settled as I'm ter go agine — leastways as good as settled. My Farver 'e 've sent in a happlication to the K'mitty, and Teacher 'e sez 'e kin reckermend me, an' Mr. and Mrs. Delves — them as 'ad the cot- tidge where I went afore — they've arst fur to 'ave me agin — so you see, Florrie, it's all right. On'y I carn't settle to nuffink afore I know when I'm goin', an' about the trine an' that. Yer 'ave to roide in a trine 268 Puppets at Large. to git to the kerntry, yer know. . . . Wot, ain't yer never bin there ? . . . Yer'd wanter favvst enough if yer knoo what it was loike. . . . There's grorss there, an' trees an' that. . . . Na-ow, a lot better 'n the Reckereation Groun' — that's all mide outer old grivestones as the deaders 'as done wiv. There's 'ills an' bushes an' 'edges where yer can pick flowers. . . . There ain't no perlice to git yer locked up. . . . An' everyfink smells so lovelly, kinder 'elthy like — it mikes yer feel 'ungry. . . . Not like sassages an' inions azackly — 'tain't that sorter smell. . . . On'y 'ere and there, an' yer'd 'ardly tell they was shops, they kerry 'em on that quoiet. . . . Yer wouldn' call it poky if yer was there. Mr. Delves 'e was a kind man, 'e was ; mide me a whistle out a sickermore brornch, 'e did ; and Mrs. Delves, she lemme help her feed the chickings. . . . They 'ad a garding beyind, an' there'd bin rasberries an' gooseberries a growin' on bushes — strife, there 'ad — I ain't tellin' yer no lies — on'y they was all gone by then. An' they 'ad a dog — Rover 'is nime was — 'e was a koind dog, lemme lay insoide of 'is kennel orfen, 'e would. ... I'd like ter 'ave a run over thet Common agen, too. I dessay as I shell — p'reps the d'y arter to-morrer. . . . There's a pond on it, an' geese, an' they comes at yer a stritching out their necks an' a-'issin' thet Puppets at Large. 269 sevidge. . . . Na-ow, yer've on'y got ter walk up to 'em, an' they goes orf, purtendin' they took yer fur somebody else, an' wasn't meanin' no offence. I ain't afride o' no geese, I ain't — nor yet Lily wasn't neither. We sor a pig 'aving a ring put froo 'is nose one day. 'E 'ollered out like 'e was bein' killed — but 'e wasn't. An' there was a blecksmiff's, where they put the 'orse's shoes on red 'ot, 'an the 'orse 'e never took no notice. Me and Lily used ter go fur long walks, all under trees. Once she showed me a squill — " squerl " she kep' a-calling of it, till I tole 'er 'ow — an' it run up a tree zigzag, and jumped on to another ever so fur. That was when we was pickin' nuts. We went a blackberryin', too, one day. . . . Na-ow, there warn't nobody dead. An' Lily . . . Lily Delves 'er nime was, b'longed to them I was stoppin' wiv. ... I didn't notice partickler. . . . Older nor you, an' bigger, and lots redder 'bout the cheeks. . . . She wasn't a bad sort — fur a gal. ... I dunno ; I liked all on 'em. . . . Well, there was Farmer Furrows, 'e was very familiar, said as 'ow I might go inter 'is horchard and pick the happles up as was layin' there jest fur the askin'. An' Bob Rumble, 'im as druv Mr. Kennister the grocer's cart, 'e used ter gimme a roide along of 'im when 'e was tikin' round porcels 270 Puppets at Large. an' that. We'd go along lanes that 'igh yer couldn't see nuffink fur leaves ; and once 'e druv along a Pork with tremenjus big trees in it, an' stagses walkin' about underneath with grite big 'orns. . . . Suthink like 'im as is drawed outside the public round the corner — on'y they warn't none o' them gold. I 'speck them gold ones is furrin' . . . An' the grub — we 'ad beekstike pudd'n o' Sundays, an' as much bread an' treacle every day as ever I could eat, and I ivas 'ungry when I was in the kerntry . . . An' when I come away Mrs. Delves, she gethered me a big noseguy fur to tike 'ome to Muvver — kissan- timums, merrigoles, an' dyliers, all sorts there was — an' Murver she put 'em in a jug, and soon as ever I shet my eyes an' sniffed, I could see that garding and Rover and Lily as plinc — but the)- went bad, an' 'ad to be froed aw'y at larst. I shall see 'em all agine very soon now, though, won't thet be proime, eh ? . . . Whatsy? 'Ere, Florrie, you ain't croying, are yer? . . . Why don't yer arsk yer Farver if 'e won't let you go. . . . Oh, I thought as yer wanted to go. Then what arc yer ? . . . No, I ain't gled to git aw'y from you. . . . A-course I shell be gled to see 'er ; but that ain't why, it's jest You ain't never bin in the kerntry, or you'd know 'ow I'm feelin'. . . . There's the lidv comin' now. Ere, Florrie, you ain't croying, are yer ? " Puppets at Large. 273 I must cut across an' 'ear what she sez to Muwer. Don' tike on — 'tain't o'ny fur a fortnight, anyway. . . . Look 'ere, I got suthink' for yer, Florrie, bought it orf a man what 'ad a tray on 'em — it's a wornut, d'ye see ? Now open it — ain't them two little choiner dolls noice, eh? . . . I'd rorther you 'ad it nor 'er, strite, I would ! ... I'll be back in a minnit. After an Interval of Twenty -four Hours. No, / ain't bin nowhere particular. . . . Settled ? yus, it's all settled 'bout me goin' ter the kerntry. . . . To-morrer ? no, I ain't goin' to-morrcv. . . . Nex' week ? not as I knows on. . . . You wanter know sech a lot, you do ! . . . If I do tell yer, you'll on'y go an' larf. . . . Well, I ain't goin' at all — now I 'ope you're pleased . . . What's the good o' bein' sorry ? . . . Oh, I don't keer much, I don't. . . . Set down on this step alonger me, then, and don't you go saying nuffink, or I'll stop tellin' of yer . . . You remember me goin' in yes'day arternoon to 'ear what the lidy said ? Well, when I got in, I 'eard 'er s'y, " Yus, it'll be a great disappintment for 'iin, pore boy," she sez, " arter lookin' forward to it an' all ; but it can't be 'elped." And Muwer, she sez, "'Is Farver '11 be sorry, too; it done Jimmy ser much good larst time. 'E can't pay not more nor p.l. K 274 Puppets at Large. 'arf-a-crownd a week towards it, but he can manage that, bein' in work jess now." But the lidy sez, "It's this w'y," she sez, "it costis us neelly arf a suffering over what the parint pays fur each child, and we ain't got the fun's fur to send more 'n a few, cos the Public don' suscroibe ser much as they might," she sez. ' ' An' so this year we're on'y sending children as is delikit, an' reelly wants a chinge." So yer see, I ain't a goin'. I dunno as I'm delikit ; but I do want the kerntry orful bad, I do. I wish I never 'adn't bin there at all 'cos then preps I shouldn' mind. An' yit I'm gled I bin, too. I dreamt about it larst night, Florrie, I did. I was a-settin' on this 'ere step, sime as I am now, an' it was 'ot an' stoiflin', like it is ; an' all of a suddink I see Mr. Kennister's cart wiv the grey 'orse turn into our court an' pull up hoppersite, an' Bob Rumble 'e was a-driving on it. An' 'e sez, " Jump up ! " 'e sez, " an' I'll tike yer back to Mr. Delves's cottidge." And I sez, "May Florrie come too?" An' 'e sez, " Yus, both on yer." So up we gits, and we was droivin' along the lanes, and I was showin' yer the squills an' the stagses, an' jes as we come to the turn where yer kin see the cottidge Well, I don' remember no more on it. But it was a noice dream so far as I got wiv it, an' if I 'adn't never bin there, I couldn' Puppets at Large. 275 ha' dreamt it, could I, eh? An', like as not, I'll dream the rest on it anuwer night. . . . An' you must try an' dream your share, too, Florrie. It'll be a'most like bein' in the kerntry in a sort o' w'y fur both on us, won't it ? The Moral. (The Offices of the Children's Country Holidays Fund are at 10, Buckingham Street, Strand, and contributions should be made payable to the Hon. Treasurer.) THE END. BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. I. IX, PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE. In Crown 8vo, cloth, price 5s. PUPPETS AT LARGE. By F. ANSTEY, Author of "Vice Versa," &c. Scenes and Sketches reprinted from " Punch" with 16 page Illustrations by J. B. Partridge. In Crown 8vo, cloth, price 5s. UNDER THE ROSE. A STORY IN SCENES. By F. ANSTEY, Author of "Vice Versa," &c. Reprinted from " Punch " with 15 Illustrations by J. B. Partridgk. " Will provoke many a hearty laugh. From first to last the fun is legitimate." — Morning Post. " The fun of it never flags for a moment." — St. James' Gazette. In Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d. 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