THE SOCIETY CRUSH AT HYDE PARK CORNER. Constable (in foreground, regulating Carriages and Pedestrians going North and West, to comrade ditto going East and South). "'OLD ON THAT LOT O' YOURN, BOB, WHILE I CITS RID O' THIS STUFF!" [Indicates with his left thumb the crush of Loungers who are patiently waiting his leave and help to get across to "The Ladies' Mile." LYRE AND LANCET. (A Story in Scenes.) PART I.-SHADOWS CAST BEFORE. Sir Rup. Don't see what any fellow wants with an alias. What is his real name? Lady Culv. Well, I know it was something ending in "ell," but I mislaid his letter. Still, CLARION BLAIR is the name he writes under; he's a poet, RUPERT, and quite celebrated, so I'm told. literary fellow down here? Poetry isn't much in our way; and a Sir Rup. (uneasily). A poet! What on earth possessed you to ask poet will be, confoundedly! SCENE I.-SIR RUPERT CULVERIN's Study at Wyvern Court. It is a rainy Saturday morning in February. Sir RUPERT is at his a writing-table, as Lady CULVERIN enters with a deprecatory air. Lady Culverin. So here you are, RUPERT! Not very busy, are you? I won't keep you a moment. (She goes to a window.) Such a nuisance it's turning out so wet with all these people in the house, isn't it? Sir Rupert. Well, I was thinking that, as there's nothing doing out of doors, I might get a chance to knock off some of these confounded accounts, but-(resignedly)-if you think I ought to go and look after Lady Culv. No, no, the men are playing billiards, and the women are in the Morning Room-they're all right. I only wanted to ask you about to-night. You know the LULLINGTONS and the dear Bishop and Mrs. RODNEY, and one or two other people, are coming to dinner? Well, who ought to take in ROHESIA ? Sir Rup. (in dismay). RoHESIA! No idea she was coming down this week! Lady Culv. Yes, by the 4.45. With dear MAISIE. Surely you knew that? Sir Rup. In a sort of way; didn't realise it was so near, that's all. Lady Culv. It's some time since we had her last. And she I wanted to come. I didn't think you would like me to write and put her off. Sir Rup. Put her off? Of course I shouldn't, ALBINIA. If my only sister isn't welcome at Wyvern at any time-I say, at any time-where the deuce 28 she welcome ? Lady Culv. I don't know, dear RUPERT. But-but about the table? Sir Rup. So long as you don't put her near me-that's all I care about. Lady Culv. I mean-ought I to send her in with Lord LULLINGTON, or the Bishop? Sir Rup. Why not let 'em toss up? Loser gets her, of course. Lady Culv. RUPERT! As if I could suggest such a thing to the Bishop! I suppose she 'd better go in with Lord LULLINGTON-he's Lord Lieutenant -and then it won't matter if she does advocate Disestablishment. Oh, but I forgot; she Lady Culv. I really couldn't help it, RUPERT. ROHESIA insisted on my having him to meet her. She likes meeting clever and interesting people. And this Mr. BLAIR, it seems, has just written a volume of verses which are finer than anything that's been done since-well, for ages! Sir Rup. What sort of verses? Lady Culv. Well, they're charmingly bound. I've got the book in the house, somewhere. ROHESIA told me to send for it; but I haven't had time to read it yet. Sir Rup. Shouldn't be surprised if ROHESIA hadn't, either. "What on earth possessed you to ask a literary fellow down here?" thinks the House of Lords ought to be abolished too! Sir Rup. Whoever takes ROHESIA in is likely to have a time of it. Talked poor CANTIRE into his tomb a good ten years before he was due there. Always lecturing, and domineering, and laying down the law, as long as I can remember her. Can't stand ROHESIAnever could! Lady Culv. I don't think you ought to say so, really, RUPERT. And I'm sure I get on very well with her-generally. Sir Rup. Because you knock under to her. Lady Culv. I'm sure I don't, RUPERT at least, no more than everybody else. Dear ROHESIA is so strong-minded and advanced and all that, she takes such an interest in all the new movements and things, that she can't understand contradiction; she is so democratic in her ideas, don't you know. Sir Rup. Didn't prevent her marrying CANTIRE. And a democratic Countess-it's downright unnatural! Lady Culr. She believes it's her duty to set an example and meet the People half way. That reminds me-did I tell you Mr. CLARION BLAIR is coming down this evening, too ?-only till Monday, RUPERT. Sir Rup. CLARION BLAIR! never heard of him. Lady Cule. I suppose I forgot. CLARION BLAIR isn't his real name though; it's only a-an alias. man's verses have made quite a sensation; they're so dreadfully clever, and revolutionary, and morbid and pessimistic, and all that, so she made me promise to ask him down here to meet her! Sir Rup. Devilish thoughtful of her. Lady Culv. Wasn't it? She thought it might be a valuable experience for him; he's sprung, I believe, from quite the middle class. Sir Rup. Don't see myself why should he be sprung on us. Why can't RоHESIA ask him to her own place? Lady Culv. I daresay she will, if he turns out to be quite presentable. And, of course, he may, RUPERT, for anything we can tell. Sir Rup. Then you've never seen him yourself! How did you manage to ask him here, then? Lady Culv. Oh, I wrote to him through his publishers. ROHESIA says that 's the usual way with literary persons one doesn't happen to have met. And he wrote to say he would come. Sir Rup. So we're to have a morbid revolutionary poet staying in the house, are we? He'll come down to dinner in a flannel shirt and no tie-or else a red one-if he don't bring down a beastly bomb and try to blow us all up! You'll find you 've made a mistake, ALBINIA, depend upon it. Lady Culv. Dear RUPERT, aren't you just a little bit narrow? You forget that nowadays the very best houses are proud to entertain Genius-no matter what their opinions and appearance may be. And besides, we don't know what changes may be coming. Surely it is wise and prudent to conciliate the clever young men who might inflame the masses against us. ROHESIA thinks so; she says it may be our only chance of stemming the rising tide of Revolution, RUPERT! Sir Rup. Oh, if ROHESIA thinks a revolution can be stemmed by asking a few poets down from Saturday to Monday, she might do her share of the stemming at all events. Lady Culr. But you will be nice to him, RUPERT, won't you? Sir Rup. I don't know that I'm in the habit of being uncivil to any guest of yours in this house, my dear, but I'll be hanged if I grovel to him, you know; the tide ain't as high as all that. But it's an infernal nuisance, 'pon my word it is; you must look after him yourself, I can't. I don't know what to talk to geniuses about; I've forgotten all the poetry I ever learnt. And if he comes out with any of his Red Republican theories in my hearing, why Lady Culv. Oh, but he won't, dear. I'm certain he'll be quite mild and inoffensive. Look at SHAKSPEARE-the bust, I mean-and he began as a poacher! Sir Rup. Ah, and this chap would put down the Game Laws if he could, I daresay; do away with everything that makes the country worth living in. Why, if he had his way, ALBINIA, there wouldn't be Lady Cult. I know, dear, I know. And you must make him see all that from your point. Look, the weather really seems to be clearing a little. We might all of us get out for a drive or something after lunch. I would ride, if Deerfoot's all right again; he's the only horse I ever feel really safe upon, now. Sir Rup. Sorry, my dear, but you'll have to drive then. ADAMS tells me the horse is as lame as ever this morning, and he don't know what to make of it. He suggested having HORSFALL over, but I've no faith in the local vets myself, so I wired to town for old SPAVIN. He's seen Deerfoot before, and we could put him up for a night or two. (To TREDWELL, the butler, who enters with a telegram.) Eh, for me? just wait, will you, in case there's an answer. (As he opens it.) Ah, this is from SPAVIN-h'm, nuisance! Regret unable to leave at present, bronchitis, junior partner could attend immediately if required.-SPAVIN." Never knew he had a partner. 64 Tredw. I did hear, Sir RUPERT, as Mr. SPAVIN was looking out for one quite recent, being hasthmatical, m'lady, and so I suppose this is him as the telegram alludes to. Sir Rup. Very likely. Well, he's sure to be a competent man. We'd better have him, eh, ALBINIA? Lady Cule. Oh, yes, and he must stay till Deerfoot's better. I'll speak to POMFRET about having a room ready in the East Wing for him. Tell him to come by the 4.45, RUPERT. We shall be sending the omnibus in to meet that. Sir Rup. All right, I've told him. (Giving the form to TREDWELL.) See that that's sent off at once, please. (After TREDWELL has left.) By the way, ALBINIA, ROHESIA may kick up a row if she has to come up in the omnibus with a vet, eh? Lady Culv. Goodness, so she might! but he needn't go inside. Still, if it goes on raining-I'll tell THOMAS to order a fly for him at the station, and then there can't be any bother about it. MAY Kitty (reading a fairy tale). "ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WAS A FROG- I'm frantic with drouth, and the taste in my mouth is a mixed Malebolge and Marah. The water-carts come; but they're only a hum, for the sun and the wind dry it up again, And then on manure in a powder impure the pedestrian's fated to sup again. It's worse than a circus. If men from the "Vorkus" were turned on to keep it well swept up, There might be improvement. But there's no such movement; the dire thorax- Manure-desiccation sets up irritation and head, and you find it a labour to swallow. And as to your nose!-well, I do not suppose Or I really can't think every species of stink And then manhole whiffs! Or nose-torturing Dear days of MCADAM! If only we had 'em, with all disadvantages, back again! Oh! to hear the rattle of well-shod cattle upon the old granite-laid track again. But this wooden pavement, e'en after lavement is simple enslavement to nastiness, For when it is dry 'tis foul dust in your eye, and when moist mere malodorous pasti-Ah, ness. Oh, slip-sloppy Cabby, this Bouquet de Baby- My palate quite hot is, my larynx and glottis feel like an Augean Sahara, What everyone knows is the human proboscis this Bouquet de Babylon bothers. Surely pavements of wood cannot be very good when they lead to such stenches and smothers. Sir, and dear Madam, I'm sure old MCADAM-though scientist prigs may prove sceptic Would be welcomed back by the sore throated pack. Mother Earth is the true Antiseptic!! And so ends my talk on a late evening walk, and the woes of this dashed wooden pavement, Which worries my nose, sets my thorax in throes, my nostrils stuffs up, till I'm like a pug pup, all snorts, sniffs, and snuffles; my temper it ruffles; gives me a choked lung, and a coppery tongue, a stomach at war, and a nasal catarrh; a cough and a sneeze, and a gurgle and wheeze; a thirst quite immense, and a general sense that the bore is intense; and a perfect conviction, beyond contradiction, that till the new brood paved our city with wood, and its air made impure with dust-powdered manure, I never was sure that at last I had hit on one poor true-born Briton who was for a sore-throated slave meant! CABBY'S ANSWERS. (To Mr. James Payn's Conundrum.) ["Why does a cabman always indignantly re fuse his proper fare?"-JAMES PAYN.] Он well, becos fare is not fair! Becos sech lots o' fares is shabby! Becos yer Briton is a bear, Or else a blessed ignerent babby! Becos bare fare comes bloomin' 'ard, And wot is 'ard cannot be "proper"! Becos we're worrited by the "Yard," The British Female and the "Copper"! Becos if yer takes wot is guv, Yer fare thinks 'e's too freely "parted"! The more you shows yer "brotherly love" The more the fare gets 'arder 'carted. Becos if one bob for two mile You takes, wivout a botheration,. Fare sniffs a diddle in yer smile; (That's wy we puts on hindignation!) Becos" strike-measure" do not pay, In sububs lone, with fare's wot's shabby. Becos-well fin'lly. I should say, Becos Fare 's Fare, and Cabby's Cabby! Flipbust (the famous young Art-Critic). "ULLO WHAT'S THIS PENCIL SKETCH I'VE JUST FOUND ON THIS EASEL?" " Our Artist. "OH, IT'S BY FLUMPKIN THE IMPRESSIONIST FELLOW ALL YOU YOUNG CHAPS ARE SO ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT, YOU KNOW. CLEVER, AIN'T IT?" Flipbutt. "CLEVER! WHY, IT'S DIVINE! SUCH FRESHNESS, SUCH NAÏVETÉ! SUCH A SPLENDID SCORN OF MERE CONVENTIONAL TECHNIQUE! SUCH AOur Artist. "ULLO, OLD MAN! A THOUSAND PARDONS! THAT'S THE WRONG THING YOU'VE GOT HOLD OF! THAT'S JUST A SCRIBBLE BY THIS LITTLE SCAMP OF A GRANDSON OF MINE, HIS FIRST ATTEMPT ! NOT VERY PROMISING, I FEAR; BUT HE'S ONLY FOUR!" "VIVE LA RÉPUBLIQUE !" ENGLAND TO FRANCE.-JUNE, 1894. Her servants fall, but she-she doth not die; The tear that brimmeth, blindeth not her eye, The writhing reptile bruised by her unfaltering feet! Vive la République! How can we who love Fair France's charm, and sorrow at her sorrow, The land's possession by that cleansing fire, Sister in sorrow now, as once in arms, Of old "fair enemy" on many a field, In valiant days but blind, we will not yield All generous hearts, or love of those gay charms To wear, inimitable and alone; And now the asp-hearted Anarch's mad alarms We cry "let brothers band till Cain-like slayers cease!" The slaughtered son you bear from forth the fray,- Was the blood-blinded phrenzy of black hate. So may it be till Anarchy's stealthy blade Falls pointless, shattered, from its palsied grasp, With robe unsmirched, its hem no longer gory, A PUZZLER. SIR,-I enclose a cutting from the Manchester Guardian, June 25. "Yesterday the Darwen police arrested THOMAS BECKETT, a weaver. During a disturbance in a local public-house on Saturday night BECKETT was kicked under the chin, and died immediately." Query when was THOMAS BECKETT arrested? What became of the man who, in the "disturbance," kicked BECKETT under the chin? Yours, SNIPPER. "THE NEW BOY."-Doing wonderfully well. "Going strong."White Lodge, Richmond. |