Gladys. "OH, MURIEL DEAR, THAT HEAVENLY FROCK-I THINK IT LOOKS LOVELIER EVERY YEAR!" THE LAY OF THE (MUSIC-HALL) LAUREATE. An! Who talks of the reversion of the Laurel, Of your MORRISSES, and SWINBURNES, and that gang? I could lick them in a canter-that's a moral! I'm the most prolific bard who ever sang. Of the modern Music Hall I'm chosen Laureate, I'm more popular than BURNS, a thing to glory at; My name is PINDAR BOANERGES BROWN. You have never heard it mentioned ? Highly probable! But the Muse is so peculiarly rob-able, Something new and smart for TRICKSY TRIP!-appals. And she wants" a new big thing that's bound to knock 'em." She does four turns a night, and rakes the shekels; Five years ago a lanky girl, with freckles, First fetched 'em with my hit, "The Masher Groom." Me! I am vivid, I am various, I am versatile; I did" Up to the Nines" for DANDY DOBBS, And Smacky-Smack" for "TIDDLUMS."-Isn't hers a tile ?"Salvation Sue"-the stiffest of stiff jobs For roopy-raspy-voiced and vain" EOLIA," Who dubs herself the SCHNEIDER-PATTI BLEND; My ink runs dry, my wits seem gone wool-gathering; My "stuff" the Stars are blaring, bleating, blathering, I know that my-anonymous-smart verses, My verse brings pros. seal-coats and well-stuffed purses My back care bows, whilst profits lade their backs. If you'll show me any "Poet" more prolific, If you'll point to any "patterer" more smart, One whose patriotic" zeal is more terrific, Who can give me at snide slang the slightest start, Who can fit a swell, a toff, a cad, a coster, At the very shortest notice, as I can, Why, unless he is a swaggering impostor, I will gladly hail him as the Coming Man! But he'll have to be a dab at drunken drivel, And he'll have to be a daisy at sick gush, To turn on the taps of swagger and of snivel, Raise the row-de-dow heel-chorus and hot flush. He must know the taste of sensual young masher, As well as that of aitch-omitting snob; And then-well, I'll admit he is a dasher, Who, as Laureate (of the Halls) is "on the job!" [Left lamenting. History of Europe." Mr. T.(from the door). Anything else you want me to do, MARIA P Mrs. T. Don't forget the turbot-and mind you choose it yourself-and the lobster for the sauceoh, and look in at SEAKALE's as you pass, and remind him to be here punctually at seven, to help JANE with the table, and say I insist on his waiting in clean white gloves; and be home early yourself, and-there, if he hasn't rushed off before I remembered half- (Mr. T. re-appears at the door.) What is it now, MONTAGUE? I do wish you'd start, and have done with it, instead of keeping JANE at the front door, when she ought to be clearing away breakfast! Mr. T. Very sorry, my love-I was just going, when I met a Telegraphboy with this, for you. I hope there's nothing wrong with Uncle GABRIEL, I'm sure. Mrs. T. Don't stand there holding it-give it to me. (She opens it.) "Regret impossible dine to-night-lost Great Aunt very suddenly. - BUCKRAM." How provoking of the man! And I partiIcularly wished him to meet Uncle GABRIEL, because he is such a good listener, and they would be sure to get on together. As if he hadn't all the rest of the year to lose his Aunt in! Mr. T. That's BUCKRAM all over. Never can depend upon that fellow. (Gloomily.) Now we shall be thirteen at table! Mr. T. I don't half like the idea, MARIA, but I suppose it's the only thing left. I'll go and see what they can do for us. [He goes out. Mrs. T. I know he'll make some muddle-I'd better do it myself! (She rushes out into the passage.) JANE, is your Master gone? Call him back-there, I'll do it. (She calls after Mr. T.'s retreating form from the doorstep.) MONTAGUE! never mind about BLANKLEY'S. I'll see to it. Do you hear? Mr. T.'s Voice (from the corner). All right, my love, all right! I hear. Mrs. T. I must go round before lunch. JANE, send Miss SEATON to me in the breakfast room. (She goes back to her desk: presently Miss MARJORY SEATON enters the room. she is young and extremely pretty, with an air of dejected endurance.) Oh, Miss SEATON, just copy out these menus for me, in your neatest writing, and see that the French is all right. You will have plenty of time for it, as I shall take Miss GWENDOLEN out myself this morning. By the way, I shall expect you to appear in the drawing room this evening before dinner. 1 hope you have a suitable frock? Miss Seaton. I have a black one with lace sleeves and heliotrope chiffon, if that will do-it was made in Paris. Mrs. T. You are fortunate to be able to command such luxuries. All my dresses are made in the Grove. Miss Seat. (biting her [Miss SEATON collects the cards and goes out with compressed lips as JANE enters. Jane. Another telegram, if you please, M'm, and Cook would like to speak to you about the pheasants. Mrs. T. Oh, dear me, JANE! I wish you wouldn't come and startle me with your horrid telegrams-there, give it to me. (Reading.) Wife down, violent influenza. Must come without her. TOOMER." (Resentfully.) Again! and I know she's had it twice since the spring- it's too tiresomely inconsid-no, it isn't-it's the very best thing she could do. Now we shall be only twelve, and I needn't order that man from BLANKLEY'S, after all. Poor dear woman, I must really write her a nice sympathetic little note -so fortunate' SCENE II.-Mrs. TIDMARSH's BedroomTime 7.15. Mrs. T. has just had her hair dressed by her Maid. Mrs. T. You might have given me more of a fringe than that, PINNIFER. You don't make nearly so much of my hair as you used to! (PINNIFER discreetly suppresses the obvious retort.) Well, I suppose that must do. I shan't require you any more. Go down and see if the lamps in the drawing-room are smelling. (PINNIFER goes; sounds of ablutions are heard from Mr. T.'s dressing-room.) MONTAGUE, is that you? I never heard you come in. Mr. T.'s Voice (indistinctly.) Only just this moment come up, my dear. Been putting out the wine. Mrs. T. You always will leave everything to the last. No, don't come in. What? How can I hear what you say when you keep on splashing and spluttering like that? Mr. T.'s Voice (from beneath a towel.) That dozen of Champagne Uncle GABRIEL sent has run lower than I thought-only two bottles and a pint left. And he can't drink that Saumur. Mrs. T. Two bottles and a half ought to be ample, if SEAKALE manages properlyamong twelve. Mr. T.'s V. Twelve, my love? you mean fourteen! Mrs. T. I mean nothing of the sort. Mrs. TOOMER's got influenza again-luckily, So of course we shall be just twelve. Mr. T.'s V. MARIA, why didn't you tell me that before? Because I say, look here![He half opens the door. Mrs. T. I won't have you coming in here all over soap, there's nothing to get excited about. Twelve's a very convenient number. Mr. T.'s V. Twelve! Yes-but how about that fellow you told me to order from BLANKLEY'S? He'll be the thirteenth! Mrs. T. MONTAGUE, don't say you went and ordered him, after I expressly said you were not to mind, and that I would see about it myself! You heard me call after you from the front door? Mr. T.'s V. I-I understood you to say that I was to mind and see to it myself; and So I went there the very first thing. The Manager assured me he would send us a person accustomed to the best society, who would give every satisfaction. I couldn't be expected to know you had changed your mind! Mrs. T. How could you be so idiotic! We simply can't sit down thirteen. Uncle will think we did it on purpose to shorten his life. MONTAGUE, do something-write, and put him off, quick-do you hear? Mr. T's V. (plaintively). My love, I can't write while I'm like this-and I've no pen and ink in here, either! Jane (outside). Please, Sir, SEAKALE Would like a word with you about the Sherry you put out-it don't seem to ta-smell quite right to him. Mrs. T. Oh, never mind Sherry now. (She scribbles on a leaf from her pocket-book.) Here, JANE, tell SEAKALE to run with this to BLANKLEY'S-quick.... There, MONTAGUE I've written to BLANKLEY's not to send the man-they're sure to keep that sort of person [He pulls out drawer after drawer of his wardrobe, in a violent flurry. THE RAILWAY SERVANT'S VADE MECUM. (For Use in the Training School when the proposed Institution has been established.) Question. What are the duties of a Porter ? Answer. To move passengers' luggage with the greatest possible expedition. A. Yes, when the passenger is late, and there seems some doubt about the bestowal of a tip. Q. If he had to call a Cab for an elderly Lady with three boxes, or a military-looking Q. What is the customary charge of a Guard for reserving a compartment? A. If very busy, a Booking-Clerk may walk leisurely from one pigeon-hole to the other, and ask the passenger to repeat his demand, and then take some time in finding the required amount of change. If the passenger is irritable, and in a hurry, the Clerk can stop to explain, and remonstrate. In the case of an inquiry as to the progress of the trains, a busy Booking-Clerk can refer impatient passengers to the time-table hanging outside the station. Q. When is a Booking-Clerk usually very busy? A. When he happens to be in a bad temper. Q. Ought a suggestion from the Public that the Public will write to his superiors have any effect upon a Booking-Clerk ? A. Not if the Public has just taken an express ticket in London either for Melbourne, Australia, or Timbuctoo. Q. What is the best course for the Public to pursue under such circumstances? A. Not after he has been on duty some eighteen hours. A SUGGESTION FOR PANTOMIME.-The good Fairy, Sir DRURIOLANUS, triumphing over Evil Spirits, King Fog, Frost (he's a nipper, he is!"), and Slush, the obstructionists. Evil Spirits disappear, Good Spirits prevail, and, as Kate Nickleby's lunatic lover observed, "All is gas and gaiters! Messrs. DAN LENO and CAMPBELL are doing great business just Vive DRURIOLANUS PANTOMIMICUS IMPERATOR! now. A MEETING between the "Unemployed and Mr. GLADSTONE." What a contrast! NOTICE.-Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception. 66 THE KEEPER. (Continued.) There are other animals which your true keeper holds in aversion. And chief amongst these is the domestic cat. You might as well try to keep a journalist from his writing-paper as country cats from the coverts. They are inveterate and determined poachers, and, alas, they meet with scant mercy from the keeper if he catches them. Many a fireside tabby or tortoise-shell dies a violent death in the course of every year, and is buried in a secret grave. This often gives rise to disturbance, for the cottager, to whom the deceased was as the apple of her eye, may make complaint of the keeper to his master. My friend SYKES, one of the best keepers I know, blessed wood. Did you see 'im, Sir? I wish you'd a shot 'im just CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS. by mistake. Nobody wouldn't a missed 'im. But there, a-course I daren't touch 'em. Mr. CHALMERS wouldn't like it, and a-course I couldn't bring myself to do it. But I do say, we've got too many Is there no way, then, you may ask, in which the Head Keeper on 'em, and we never get the hounds, or if they do come, they may be lured from his customary silence for more than a sentence or can't kill. What am I to do? Mr. CHALMERS wants birds, and 'e two? Yes, there is one absolutely certain method, and, so far as wants foxes too. I tell 'im 'e can't have both. I does my best, but I know, only one. The subject to which you must lead your conver-what's a man to do with a couple o' thousand foxes nippin' the sation is- -no, it isn't poachers, for a good keeper takes the occa- heads off of his birds? Fairly breaks my heart, Sir. Keep 'em sional poacher as part of his programme. He wages war against alive, indeed! Live and let live's my motter, but it ain't the plan him, of course; and, if his shooting happens to be situated near a o' them blamed foxes. [And so forth ad lib. town of some importance, the war is often a very sanguinary one, only ended by the extermination (according to Assize-Court methods) of the poachers. But the keeper, as I say, takes all this as a matter of course. He recognises that poachers, after all, are men; as a sportsman, he must have a sneaking sympathy for one whose science and wood-craft often baffle his own; and, therefore, though he fights against him sturdily and conscientiously, and, as a rule, triumphs over him, he does not generally, being what I have described him, brag of these victories, nor, indeed, does he care to talk about them. There, but for the grace of God, goes Velveteens," must be the mental exclamation of many a good keeper when he hears his enemy sentenced to a period of compulsory confinement. I do not wish to be misunderstood. There are poachers and poachers. And whereas we may have a certain sympathy for the instinct of sport that seems to compel some men to match their skill against the craft of fur or feather reared at the expense and by the labour of others, there can surely be none for the methodical rogues who band themselves together on business principles, and plunder coverts just as others crack cribs, or pick pockets. Even sentiment is wasted on these gentlemen. But I return from this digression. The one subject, then, on which a keeper may be trusted to become eloquent, is, that of FOXES. Just try him. Suppose you are shooting a wood, in which you expect to find a considerable number of pheasants. The guns are posted, the beaters have begun to move at the far end of the wood. Suddenly you "Taking away his Character." once related to me an are aware of a commotion in the middle of the wood. Here and come about a cat. 'Ah,' she says. "It's just this way,' I says, there pheasants rise long before the beaters have approached. There is a whirring of wings, and dozens of birds sail away, unshot at, to right, to left, and all over the place. And then, while you are still wondering what this may mean, a fine dog-fox comes sliding out from the covert. Away he goes at top speed across the open. The little stops view him as he passes, and far and near the air resounds with shrill "yoick !" and tally-ho!" In the end four birds are brought to bag, where twenty at least had been expected. When the beat is over, this is the kind of conversation you will probably hear: First Beater (to a colleague). I seed un, JIM; a great, fine fox 'e were, a slinkin' off jest afore we coom up. Go it," I says to myself; go it, Muster BILLY Fox, you bin spoilin' sport, I'll warrant, time you was off"; and out 'e popped as sly as fifty on 'em, ah, that 'e was. Second B. Ah! I lay 'e was that. Where did 'e slip to, Tom? First B. I heerd 'em a hollerin' away by CHUFF's Farm. Reckon 'e's goin' to hey 'is supper there, to-night. Second B. And a pretty meal 'e'll make of it. Pheasant for breakfast, pheasant for dinner, pheasant for tea; I'll lay 'e don't get much thinner. One of the Guns (to the Keeper). Nuisance about that fox, SYKES. Keeper. Nuisance, Sir? You may say that. Why, I've seen as many as four o' them blamed varmints one after another in this 'ere VOL. CIV. Mr. CHALMERS tells me you said I'd shot your cat. Now,' I says, straightenin' myself up and lookin' proud, 'I couldn't scarcely believe that, and you and me such good friends, so I've just come to ask you if you did say that. She was a bit took aback at this, so I asked 'er again. 'Well,' she says, 'I didn't exactly say that.' What did you say then?' I asked her. I told Mr. CHALMERS,' she says, that our old cat 'ad been shot what never did no 'arm, and I thought it might be as you'd a done it, p'raps not meanin' it.' Ah,' I says, 'them was your words, was they? Yes,' she says, them was my words.' 'Well, then,' I says, you'd better be careful what you say next time, or you don't know whose character you'll be takin' away next.' And with that I left 'er." "But did you shoot the cat, SYKES?" I ventured to ask. WHEN referring to a recent Lecture by a certain Noble Marquis (distinguished in the "P.R.-age" of the Realm), the ladies generally say, that they should decidedly object to be married "under the Queensberry Rules." Their prize ring is quite another affair. "DOWN AMONG THE COALS."-The most appropriate place wherein to try "the scuttle" policy would, of course, be-Newcastle. |