Punch, or the London Charivari Part 3

_Lady Maisie._ You are not very sympathetic! I should not have told you at all, only I wanted to show you that if poor Mr. SPURRELL _did_ innocently usurp your place, he may have lost---- But I see all this only bores you.

_Und._ Candidly, Lady MAISIE, I can't affect a very keen interest in the--er--gossip of the Housekeeper's Room. Indeed I am rather surprised that _you_ should condescend to listen to----

_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). This is really _too_ much! (_Aloud._) It never occurred to me that I was "condescending" in taking an interest in a pretty and wayward girl who happens to be my maid. But then I'm not a Democrat, Mr. BLAIR.

_Und._ I--I'm afraid you construed my remark as a rebuke; which it was not at all intended to be.

_Lady Maisie._ It would have been rather uncalled for if it had been, wouldn't it? (_Observing his growing uneasiness._) I'm afraid you don't find this bench quite comfortable?

_Und._ I--er--moderately so. (_To himself._) There's a female figure coming down the terrace steps. It's horribly like---- But that must be my morbid fancy; still, if I can get Lady MAISIE away, just in case---- (_Aloud._) D--don't you think sitting still becomes a little--er--monotonous after a time? Couldn't we----

[_He rises, spasmodically._

_Lady Maisie_ (_rising too_). Certainly; we have sat here quite long enough. It is time we went back.

_Und._ (_to himself_). We shall meet her! and I'm almost sure it's---- I _must_ prevent any---- (_Aloud._) Not _back_, Lady MAISIE! You--you promised to show me the orchid-house--you did, indeed!

_Lady Maisie._ Very well; we can go in, if you care about orchids. It's on our way back.

_Und._ (_to himself_). This is too awful! It _is_ that girl PHILLIPSON.

She is looking for somebody! Me! (_Aloud._) On second thoughts, I don't think I _do_ care to see the orchids. I detest them; they are weird unnatural extravagant things. Let us turn back and see if there are any snowdrops on the lawn behind that hedge. I love the snowdrop, it is so trustful and innocent, with its pure green-veined---- _Do_ come and search for snowdrops!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Do come and search for snowdrops!"]

_Lady Maisie._ Not just now. I think--(_as she s.h.i.+elds her eyes with one hand_)--I'm not quite sure yet--but I rather fancy that must be my maid at the other end of the walk.

_Und._ (_eagerly_). _I_ a.s.sure you, Lady MAISIE, you are quite mistaken. Not the _least_ like her!

_Lady Maisie_ (_astonished_). Why, how can you possibly tell that, without having seen her, Mr. BLAIR?

_Und._ I--I meant---- You described her as "pretty," you know. This girl is plain--distinctly plain!

_Lady Maisie._ I don't agree at all. However, it certainly is PHILLIPSON, and she seems to have come out in search of me; so I had better see if she has any message.

_Und._ She hasn't. I'm _positive_ she hasn't. She--she wouldn't walk like _that_ if she had. (_In feverish anxiety._) Lady MAISIE, shall we turn back? She--she hasn't seen us _yet!_

_Lady Maisie._ Really, Mr. BLAIR! I don't quite see why I should run away from my own maid!... What is it, PHILLIPSON?

[_She advances to meet_ PHILLIPSON, _leaving_ UNDERSh.e.l.l _behind, motionless._

_Und._ (_to himself_). It's all over! That confounded girl recognises me. I saw her face change! She'll be jealous, I _know_ she'll be jealous--and then she'll tell Lady MAISIE everything!... I wish to Heaven I could hear what she is saying. Lady MAISIE seems agitated....

I--I might stroll gently on and leave them; but it would look too like running away, perhaps. No, I'll stay here and face it out, like a man!

I won't give up just yet. (_He sinks limply upon the bench._) After all, I've been in worse holes than this since I came into this infernal place, and I've always managed to scramble out--triumphantly, too! If she will only give me five minutes alone, I _know_ I can clear myself; it isn't as if I had done anything to be _ashamed_ of.... She's sent away that girl. She seems to be expecting me to come to her.... I--I suppose I'd better.

[_He rises with effort, and goes towards_ Lady MAISIE _with a jaunty unconsciousness that somehow has the air of stopping short just above the knees_.

COUNTING NOSES.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Between nose and nose a strange contest arose Concerning the smells from a brewery.

Some thought them like Eau de Cologne, whilst their foes Denounced them as sickly and sewery.

'Twixt the Rhine, which (see COLERIDGE) washes Cologne, And that sweet "Cologne water" that scents it, How now shall the difference truly be known?

Strange comparison! Reason resents it!

Oh! what _is_ an odour, and what is a "stink"?

(As the outspoken schoolboy will dub it.) If man's nose is asked to decide, well, I think, In puzzlement pure man must--rub it!

If the fragrance of "grains" will to some suggest drains, And to others bright Bendemeer's roses, Sanitation's big problem a puzzle remains, Since it all seems a question of noses.

NEW DIRECTOR TO ROYAL COLLEGE OF MUSIC.--"Who would succeed Sir GEORGE GROVE?" that was the question. The answer to the inquiry was, "Who but PARRY?" Whereupon HUBERT PARRY was appointed. Now, all music at the College, of whatever nationality, will be taught _a la mode de Parry_.

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Some people are disposed to deny to Mr. GLADSTONE a sense of humour.

They will surely reconsider their judgment in view of the fact that the late PREMIER made the author of _Work and Wages_ (LONGMANS) a Lord-in-waiting to the QUEEN. The volume contains in handy form a series of addresses and papers spoken and written by Lord BRa.s.sEY during the last quarter of a century. They disclose profound knowledge, not only of the principles that underlie the connection between Work and Wages, but of the everyday practices that sometimes control it.

Throughout, the book is marked by a broad spirit and statesmanlike view which, if more common, would make strikes much more uncommon. As Mr.

GEORGE HOWELL in his introduction points out, when in 1869 the young member for Hastings (not yet Lord BRa.s.sEY) addressed the House of Commons on the subject of Trade Unions there were very few members who knew anything about the subject, except that they did not like it. Mr.

BRa.s.sEY, the son of one of the greatest employers of labour of the day, had the breadth of mind to recognise the right of industrial organisation representing labour, and lived to see the ban against trades unions removed by the House of Commons. The book is, my Baronite says, the most valuable contribution to the intricate question discussed of any recently published. Truly a most remarkable work for an ex-lord-in-waiting. We shall next hear of Mr. "BOBBY" SPENCER coming out with a treatise on the Solar Parallax.

"With delight," writes a young Baronite, "the ordinary schoolboy turns from even Old aeSOP'S words of wisdom to the ever-blissful fascinations of cowboys, Red Indians, and all the untrammelled pleasures of ranch life which are to be met with in following _The Great Cattle Trail_, by EDWARD S. ELLIS (Ca.s.sELL & CO.); and certainly life appears very, so very interesting, when you can be a hero with Buffalo Bill effect."

_Five Stars in a Little Pool_, by EDITH CARRINGTON (Ca.s.sELL & CO.), suggests lives and billiards, but that is the wrong cue to give, except that it is five little stories in black on white, "red" is added when you've finished the book.

Ca.s.sELL & CO. evidently, or, says a Baronite fresh from school, "_Ovid_ently" put a new construction on "_Ars est celare Artem_," for in their _Magazine of Art_ it is clearly shown not only what Art does but how it does it. The etchings and photogravures are charming. There is a capital article on stage costumes, and among them is found the original idea out of which the fas.h.i.+onable Serpentine dance was twirlingly evolved.

Most little people will be much amused by the waggish tale of _Toby_, by ASCOTT R. HOPE. He is not of course _Mr. Punch's_ "Toby," _cela va sans dire_. There cannot be two Tobies. It is "Toby or not Toby," and there is no "question" about it. This Toby, to whom _the_ Toby never stood G.o.dfather, gives us the benefit of his amusing opinions. He is brought out by INNES (& CO.), and is one of the daintiest dogs in the Dainty Book Series. So much for _Toby_.

Any who read the first series of _Eighteenth Century Vignettes_, by AUSTIN DOBSON, will eagerly welcome a second series issued by the same publishers, Messrs. CHATTO AND WINDUS. Of all writers at work to-day, Mr. AUSTIN DOBSON is most profoundly steeped in the literary essence of the Eighteenth Century, and is most successful in reproducing its flavour. In writing about SWIFT, RICHARDSON, Dr. JOHNSON, or the topography of HUMPHREY CLINKER (a learned, yet most mellow disquisition), he does not condescend to the easily-acquired trick of introducing archaic words, or inverting sections of phrases with which we are familiar in the works of some other artists on the same broad pavement. Yet, withal, there is in the literary style of these pleasant chats round about the old writers, booksellers and bookbuyers, a certain distinct Eighteenth Century flavour. So intimate is Mr. DOBSON with the ways, the personal appearance, the dress, the daily environment, and the little gestures of the more or less mighty dead, that he is able to recall them to startlingly vivid life. His picture of SWIFT writing to STELLA from his bed in the back room of a first floor in Bury Street, St. James's, is a masterpiece of live portraiture.

THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.