PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Volume 93

December 24th 1887

edited by Sir Francis Burnand

Dear Toby, Ahoy!

Where are you bound? Haul on the bowline; brace up amidships; sling your hammock; belay all hands and stand by ready to pounce.

Excuse this little outburst. The fact is, I am about to cut for awhile landlubber associations, and am going cruising in my Pandora's box, or rather berth. My sea lingo is getting a little rusty, so I practise it wherever I have an opportunity, and thought you wouldn't mind my making one with you. I am going off to spend Christmas and New Year's time at Pau. You've heard of Pau, of course? I was first attracted to the place by coming across the beautiful line from Goldsmith—or was it Bacon?

"Or by the lazy Scheldt or wandering Pau."

I'm not at all drawn towards the Scheldt. I never was lazy myself, and have no sympathy with laziness in others. But it is different with Pau, don't you know. I have been tied to the desk too long. I had a heavy time of it during the Parliamentary Session. They used to chaff me about being "on the pounce." It is all very well, but the attitude is one which, preserved through successive nights, becomes exhausting. I have had enough of it, and feel a strong desire to wander. The Pau is wandering. Why should we not wander together, arm in arm as it were? Anyhow, I mean to try. So bear a hand with your lee-scuppers; haul round the mainmast, up with your hatches, and keep the helm hard down on the South-West-by-East-Half-East. I have pounced enough on the Parnellites. Now I shall pounce on Pau.

I feel the necessity for taking a good rest, for I know we are going to have it pretty stiff next Session. B-lf-r, who is getting more cocky than ever, goes about comforting us with assurances that he will make matters smooth. "Is there anyone particular you can't abear?" he said to me only yesterday, with an annoying air of patronage. "Is there anyone of the Irish Members you would like put out of the way for the earliest and freshest months of the Session? If so, name your man, and I'll oblige you. I have got six of 'em lagged now, and there's a clear six weeks before Parliament meets. It's amazing how we can smooth the way by then."

I don't altogether like this solicitude on the part of B-lf-r for making smooth water in the House next Session. There is a persistent rumour about that he thinks he can lead the House better than anyone else, and that the Markiss is inclined to humour him. He has never said this in private conversation with me, though he has not made any attempt to disguise his conviction that he could take charge of the Army, the Navy, the Home Office, the Board of Trade, or even the Exchequer. Now I come to think of it, he may, in talking to G-sch-n, leave out reference to the Exchequer, and substitute the Leadership of the House of Commons, and so with the others. I should certainly like to see him in my place for a week, with Gr-nd-lph on the corner of the bench behind. It is true that of late Gr-nd-lph has considerably flattened down. Having found that impudence and caprice don't pay, he is going in for dulness and respectability. But I fancy the sight of Arth-r B-lf-r leading the House, and trying to lead him, would be too much. The swept and garnished place would be reoccupied, and his last state would be worse than his first. B-lf-r can't very well send him to a plank bed, and will have to make the best of him.

I rather fancy Gr-nd-lph must know, or think he knows, something about this little plot for promoting the nephew, which accounts for his latest impertinence. "And what title do you mean to take when you go to the House of Lords, H. W.?" he asked me the other day. (He always calls me "H. W." which he thinks is an improvement upon Dizzy's hesitation as to the sequence of the initials.) "How would Baron Bookstall suit?" he added, trying to look harmless. That only shows the inherent vulgarity which underlies the thin veneer of his sometime courtly manner. I never forget what the Markiss once said about him. "Scratch R-nd-lph Ch-rch-ll," said he, "and you'll find Tim H-ly," which I thought at the time was a little hard on T-m.

You will not, I trust, dear Toby, take it for granted that I am contemplating a near removal to the House of Lords, if I confess that I have sometimes thought over the title I should assume if my duty to my country led me to change my state. I belong, as you know, to one of the oldest families among mankind. It's all very well for Br-ss-y to talk about coming over with the Conqueror. We came in with the Flood, or shortly after. Tubal Cain, the founder of our family, was a century or two before Bois De Guilbert, Front-De-Bœf, or even the Sieur de Bresci. What do you think of Lord Tubal-Cain? Would you recognise in that stately and ermined peer, Tubal-Cain, of Henley, your old friend of 217, Strand? I wis not. But that, as Gl-dst-ne says, belongs to the dim and distant future. I beg to move that the question be now put. Oars! Steady, there! Pull away!

Yours, sheer off,
W. H. Sm-th.

ROSES IN DECEMBER.

Sir,—Strange as it may appear to you, Sir, as a London playgoer, I had never seen The Two Roses till last night. How this "celebrated comedy" ever acquired its celebrity is, I confess, beyond me, for the plot is poor, and in the dialogue there is nothing quotable, though the phrase, "a little cheque," forces itself on one's memory by frequent iteration. You, Sir, saw it with its original cast, and I take it that a play of this sort requires certain surroundings to insure its immediate success, just as a rich joke, when deprived of its original accidental accessories, is found to be a very poor joke, or no joke at all. This play by Mr. Albery I should have thought would have been, as Dr. Samuel Johnson might have said, Al-bery'd and forgotten long ago. Yet it lives,—at all events, it has been revived.

A Manager does not revive a piece which was not originally produced at his theatre without some pretty good reason for so doing. He must, at least, be fairly confident of its attractive powers as, at all events, a remunerative stop-gap; and I am informed that this piece has been revived, once before, by Mr. Henry Irving at the Lyceum. This is ancient history to you, Sir. After the revival, and the unwonted exercise of a long run (did it have a long run?), I should have supposed that there could not have been much life left in it. Yet