MRS. BROWN AND THE GLAZIER. I'm sure I don't know what the world is a-comin' to, that I don't, for the way as parties goes on is awdacious as I never did. Why, you ain't safe in your own house, as BROWN says is a Englishman's castle, not as I'd wish to have one for to live in myself thro' knowin' what they is, as I've seen with my own eyes, where my own aunt lived and died, as the sayin' is, bein' a place called Rochester, as you did use to get at easy by the boat to Gravesend, and a 'bus as runned reg'lar. Of all the ruinated old places, with no roof on and holes all round you, with a wind enough to turn a mill, and I should say as they must have been strong constitutions in them days, and must be fond of air, and not mindin' the cold thro' a-wearin' iron plates all over 'em didn't feel it, as must have been uneasy for to sleep in I should say, not to say a-pressin' hard on the body, as I never could bear even a steel busk myself, and do not hold with them restraints, as must be But I was a-settin' noddin' a bit, thro' its being duskish arter tea, and not a-carin' for to light a candle too soon, when I hears a sharp crack as woke me up sudden; but I says, "P'raps it was fancy," and didn't take no more notice, and it wasn't till the next day as I was a-standin' at the winder, and see a party a-keep a-touchin' of his cap and a-pointin'. So thinkin' as he were p'raps took silly, I didn't make no remarks till he rung the bell. hurtful. I says to the gal as answered it, and was a-talkin' to him at the gate, "Whatever is it?" She says, "He wants to know if he shall mend you." "Mend me!" I says; "he's a maniac." "Yes," she says, "he is, for he don't speak no English proper," as proved to be a foreigner. So I says, "Whatever is it, mounseer?" thro' knowin' how they likes to be talked to; but he jabbers away as sounded Jewish to me, and kep' a-pointin' to the parlour window, and if there wasn't a pane starred all over, as must have been the crack as I heard over night, and them HARKER boys, the plague of the place, a-throwin' stones all about, as is highly dangerous, and cost their own mother a front tooth comin' sudden round the corner. So I says, "Whatever will you do it for ?" shillin', sixpence," as the gal heard him. So I says, "That ain't dear," to myself, "as will be half-a-crown if I sends to the glazier." So I says, "I'm agreeable;" but of all the knockin' and crashin' as he made I never did, and cracked two in doin' it, as he says he'd do a-makin' signs like. He says, "One When it was done if he didn't say as he would have five shillin's, a-holdin' up his fingers for the money. I says, "Go along with your rubbish, I won't pay you." He says, "You pay me, you pay me," a-keepin' on a-hollaring at me. So I says, "LIZA, you open the front door wide," and I ups with the tongs, as was handiest, and says, "Now you go peaceable and quiet, or things may be unpleasant," and puts the eighteenpence on the table, as he collared precious quick, but says, "More I vill 'ave." "Will you," says I, "now go." Well, he kep' a-backin' and a-backin', me a-follarin' him up with the tongs, as he seemed for to srink from like, but when he gets to the door-mat there he stops, and wouldn't let the gal shut the door thro' puttin' in his foot, as was my orders. I says, "Get out, will yer." "No," he says, "my money, my money." So I gives a plunge at him with the tongs, as I didnt think as would have reached him, but ketched him in the side, nothin' for to signify, as wouldn't have knocked a fly off, as the sayin' is, when if he didn't scream out and falls backards down them three front steps of ours, as I shouldn't so much have cared about the fellow a-fallin' backard on if it hadn't been as that good soul, MRS. YARDLEY, were a-comin' up that very minute, as is a lusty figger, and not as active as she used to be thro' lumbago, as has crippled her these two years, and if they didn't go and roll down both together to the gate. I never did have such a fright in my life, for I heard poor MRS. YARDLEY give a sort of a somethin' between a groan and a hollar, as was the breath a-bein' knocked out on her, and the glass as he was a-carryin' under his arm a-crushin' and shiverin' all over, and all as ever me and LIZA could do would get the fellow up, as pretended to be stunned, and groaned frightful. Well, what to do I couldn't tell, and if it hadn't been for the butcher boy as come up, and a milkwoman, as is natural strong thro' carryin' them pails, as braces up the figger, I don't think as we ever should have got that wagabond for to move, as had got his back agin poor MRS. YARDLEY'S chest till she was black in the face. It's a mercy as she wasn't killed, and, in fact, when I see her a-settin' takin' her dinner comfortable, as she did in about a hour's time, I was thankful, bein' a heavy figure for to fall, as must weigh many tons if she's a ounce. ever so. But as to that wagabond as I'd have had the law on; but, bless you, there's never a policeman about if you was to scream your life out; he swore awful as he'd have me up. I says, "Do your wust, this is my house, and BROWN is my name," as I wouldn't deny was it his side, that at last I give him the five shillin's for to go in peace and But, law, the fellow kep' on a-talkin' and a-groanin', a-rubbin' of quietness, thro' a-wantin' for to go in and see to the dinner, as were a roast fowl with a nice bit of pickled pork, some nice French beans, and a damson tart, as that gal was no more capable of lookin' arter than flyin'. Of all the cussin' as ever I heard that willin give into, a sayin' as I had killed him with broken glass worth a sovereign scattered all over the place; but law, I didn't pay no attentions to him thro' a-gettin' MRS. YARDLEY into the parlour, as had come to spend the day, with the crown of her bonnet stove in, and her new gownd all gravel walk and putty, to say nothin' of the broken glass as had worked in. the money run down the place and turn round for to put his fingers I certainly was savage when I see that fellow as soon as he'd got to his nose, as the gal told me, as met him with fetchin' the tart, as he called me a old cow, and that most of his glass was fragments a-ready made for the purpose. When BROWN come in he only laughs and calls me Old Greenhorns, as said it is one of the oldest tricks out with them glazier chaps, as goes and breaks the winders with their own hands over night reg'lar, as ain't glaziers at all. But glad I was to see it come home to him, for it was only last Sunday as BROWN read it out to me from the papers, as the same wagabond, no doubt, had been a-tryin' it on with a party up in Finsbury, as is a monk thro' bein' close to the Catholic chapel, as has a many on them about, and if that monk and his good lady didn't up and kick him out of the house, as I was glad on, and only hopes as it may be a warnin' to him, as is sure to come to a bad end." for MRS. YARDLEY hadn't as much as a bruise, tho' there's no tellin' A audacious falsehood as he is, tho' a light character he must be, what a shock may do a-takin' of you sudden in comin' up steps, as is a thing I never could a-bear thro' bein' frightful dangerous in a frost, as well I knows to my cost thro' once a-rollin' from the top to the bottom of twelve one New Year's Day evenin', the list on my shoes and cinders throw'd down on; but I am glad as the magistracy wouldn't give that fellow no satisfaction, and said as the monk was perfect right in kickin' him out as I wish I'd a done, a reg'lar bad lot as put in the glass shameful, and as green as grass with a scam in it, as makes everythin' look crooked outside. But law, if it ain't one thing it's another, aud really there's no tellin' a thief from an honest man now-a-days, as is a thing as I don't hold with. URBS IN RURE. BY A LONDONER OUT OF TOWN. THE Cit who for his holidays Leaves town as I've, for one, done, For him, who, though he's out of town, And where the stepping-stones provide The conies leaping o'er the sward If in the fields a lass he meets, His memory swift will range From th' artless way in which she greets To a 'bus towards the Exchange. THE NEWEST PNEUMATIC NEWS. OUR special reporter, after asserting Hibernically, "He'd be blowed if he'd go," went, and on arriving at the end of his journey remarked that "he was blowed," but he did not mind as it was all done for Fux. THIS BEATS ALL. A CORRESPONDENT of the Pall Mall Gazette suggests flogging by machinery. We understand that America intends to adopt the plan with a view to carrying out its long promise of whipping creation. ARRAH-NA-POGUE. RE-CAST BY A BRUTAL SAXON. SCENE 1.-Glendalough by moonlight. The moon illuminated at the expense of the English tax-payers. Enter THE MC COUL. THE MC COUL.-I am a rebel, and hope to be always received as such. (Indulgent British audience applauds.) Enter RAPPAREES, ANDY REGAN, MICHAEL DRISCOLL, PADDY BYRNE, CORNEY O'NOOLAGHAN, &c. RAPPAREES.-Long life to the Mc Coul! (They prostrate themselves before him.) Mc CoUL.-Bless ye, brightest jewels in the crown of Erin. And what have ye brought the chieftain who will never desert the boys who thieve for him or the emerald flag of his own native isle ? Music "Garryowen." UP AN' TEMPERANCE LYRICS. A SONG OF SODA-WATER. I LOVE the water of the rippling rill, Of white cascades that thunder in the mountains; The water of the lakelet, vexed or still; The water, even, of the Drinking Fountains! I love the water of the brooks that rise In grassy glades, and "make a sudden sally;" The water of the lonely mere, that lies Half hidden by the haze that shrouds the valley; And, for my Song requires this plaintive coda, I love the water that is charged with Soda. I love the "cry of Dart" amid the waste, When the wide moor is hushed in midnight slumber; And-such my catholicity of taste! I love the Tyne, the Thames, the Tweed, the Humber. I love the roaring of the flood in spate, Boisterous and brown, that rushes from the highlands; But equally I love, I beg to state, The watery whispers breathed round osier islands; And, for my Song requires this plaintive coda, I love the popping of my bottled Soda! 66 "O Fons Bandusiæ," glittering like glass, But brighter and with more resplendent crystal, If ever by thy waters I should pass, How gladly would I fill my pocket-pistol! More gladly far than at the German wells Of Baden and of Ems, which to my thinking As beverages are confound sells Good for the gout, but horrible for drinking! The Bacchanal, of course, may take offence; And that I much prefer it mixed with brandy. "Soda and B." I own is very good; Though I've "sworn off" I don't deny its merits; But exercise, good hours, and wholesome food, Are better stimulants than ardent sperrits; So let my Song have this triumphal coda, I stick to unadulterated Soda! SCENE 2.-A wretched cabin. SHAUN THE POST, ARRAH-NA-POGUE, 'Paddy's Wedding." SHAUN.-Whisht! whisht! Wud I be singin' "The Wearin' o' the Green," within ear-shot of the barks (barracks)? ANDY, MICHAEL, PADDY, AND CORNEY.-We'll watch that none o' the sojers hears you. (Andy, Michael, Paddy, and Corney go off to give information at the I met with Napper Tandy, and I says, "What do you here?" THE O'GRADY.-Arrest everybody for sedition; also Arrah-naPogue for harbouring the rebel Beamish Mc Coul! SHAUN (jealously).-Are ye afther hidin' him on my weddin'-day? ARRAH (to Shaun).-Sure, darlin, it was only that I might give him up to the Govvernment, and so get the rewar-rud (reward). SHAUN (melted to tears).-Alanna asthore! Core of my heart! Krincshigshivabathongrauagh! (Embraces her.). THE O'GRADY.-Where is the Mc Coul? SOLDIERS (who have been searching the house).-Gone! THE O'GRADY (knowing the habits of the peasantry).-Remember the reward offered for his apprehension is £500. SHAUN.-I'll give him up for half that sum. ARRAH. And I for half that. SHAUN.-Och, shame on yez to undersell your husband on his weddin'-day! (They fight.) ANDY REGAN. Sure, O'Grady, I'll give up the Mc Coul too. MIKE. And so will I. PADDY.-And I. CORNEY. And I. OUT-OF-TOWN TALK. EDITOR, Brussels is a beautiful little city, crammed full of interesting associations. But as I don't think it right to take the bread out THE O'GRADY (conscious that he is the descendant of kings-that is, of poor MURRAY's mouth, I am not going to specify them particu of Irish kings).-Arrest Shaun the Post! SHAUN.-Hwhat for? THE O'GRADY.-I don't know. SHAUN. Who has bethrayed me? THE O'GRADY.-The Mc Coul. (Shaun is made prisoner. The peasantry fall on their faces and worship the O'Grady, the descendant of kings—that is, of Irish kings.) Music-"St. Patrick was a gentleman." Mc COUL.-Hurroo! THE O'GRADY.-Hurroo! (They fight. Both are nearly killed.) FANNY (looking at them).-It is themselves that are the dandies. Music "When history's pages!" SCENE 2.-A court-martial. CAPTAIN COFFIN, an ENGLISH OFFICER, and MR. MICHAEL FEENEY, the only respectable persons present. No evidence of any sort is given. THE PRESIDENT.-We find Shaun guilty. THE PRESIDENT.-And sentence him to be hanged. THE PEASANTRY.-Hurroo! larly. Not that MURRAY has dealt well with me; I am sulky with MURRAY. I don't believe in his hotel recommendations, and I don't think he is a good judge of pictures. He has an arbitrary way of dealing with hotels and pictures which is very convincing as you read about them in the train on your journey to a place, but when you come to read over his dicta about them, after having had the advantage of a practical experience of them, you find that you and he are at loggerheads on many important points. For instance, why does he place the Hotel Bellevue at the head of the hotels in Brussels? Is it because it is dear? Is it because the table-d'hôte is offensively pretentious? Is it because the sprited proprietor avails himself of every chance of turning the nimble half-franc that the inexperience of the traveller may offer him? MEм. If you should ever go to the BelleVue at Brussels, never tell the concierge to call a cab for you-go and call it for yourself. If you don't he will send for a vehicle about onethird the size of an ordinary fiacre, but in every other respect exactly like tarif on the ground that it is not a public carriage, but the private one, and you will be charged fifty per cent. above the authorized property of the hotel-keeper. Also, if you propose to go to Waterloo to-morrow, don't be swindled into "booking" your place at the BelleVue, to-day, for the "booking" does not ensure you any particular seat, or indeed, any seat at all, and it may rain, in which case you will probably not go at all. Brussels is a charming little Paris with fine public buildings, statues, fountains, cafés chantants, theatres, music-halls, arcades, tasty shops full of charming little Parisian absurdities, and everything that can make a three weeks' sojourn delightful to visitors from grimy London. Indeed, if it were not for its immediate proximity to the field of Waterloo, it would be unexceptionable. But Waterloo! Isn't that a pull-back? When you go to Brussels, have the moral courage to resist the temptation of mounting those attractive four horse stage coaches with the guards who wind their horns. They are gay things to look at, but they will carry you through as desolate and dispiriting a day as you ever spent. They will rattle you over noisy stones and to descend and inspect a monstrous building in which are erected strait dusty roads to the village of Waterloo, where you will be ordered tablets to the memory of the killed at Waterloo. You will pay halfa-franc for this privilege, and will then be taken on to the farm of the HAYE-SAINTE on the field of battle. Here you will be given in custody to a guide, who will give you a tramp of about five miles over ploughed and otherwise disfigured land, and who will give you in a peculiar dialect of his own, what you presume to be an account of the (Andy, Patrick, and Shaun's immediate friends apply for the office of great battle; but why, why he should take the trouble to invent a executioner.) Music "The sprig of Shillelagh!" ACT III. SCENE.-Ballybetagh Castle. SHAUN discovered in a dungeon. He breaks open a window and climbs up by the ivy until he reaches the tower, where he finds FANNY POWER advising ARRAH when she is a widow to marry the O'GRADY. ARRAH consents. The O'GRADY and Mc CoUL and peasantry enter from opposite sides and begin to fight. When the battle is at its height, MR. MICHAEL FEENEY, who since the last act has been promoted to the office of Secretary of State, enters with one policeman, who takes the contending parties into custody. The O'GRADY is offered his liberty, which he accepts gratefully. The O'GRADY then makes an offer of his hand, and the prospect of an Irish throne to FANNY POWER, who rejects him and seeing that MR. MICHAEL FEENEY is the man most likely to get on in the world, proposes to him and is accepted. THE PEASANTRY (falling on their faces to Michael Feeney).-Long life to the O'Feeney! Music" The Exile of Erin." CURTAIN. language of his own in order to describe it to you, when he could do it satisfactorily in his native French, is a problem which will, I suppose, never be solved. He will make you look at a museum of Waterloo curiosities; he will make you ascend a preposterous artificial mound hundreds of feet high, and surmounted (goodness only knows why) by themselves on that memorable day, but surely they were not the the Belgian Lion! We all know how the braves Belges distinguished prominent feature of the action. Then you will tramp over more ploughed land to Hougoumont, and there you will have the option of paying half-a-franc to go into the chapel, or of being abused for a quarter of an hour by a foul-mouthed old virago, the apparent propriedown on the road to the village of Waterloo (at least it did with me, tress of the place. Then you will rejoin your coach which will break and I am not heavy) where it will be repaired, and, after three hours' jolting over the detestable road to Brussels you will be deposited at your hotel, dusty, dispirited, and utterly disgusted. At least, I was. I think that the interest of Brussels culminates in the Market Place, hours of London. Here the counts Egmont and Horn were beheaded which is as curiously picturesque a spot as you will find within fourteen in 1558, by the detestable Alva, and here are two statues erected to their memory a few years ago. As a work of art they are admirable. Stolen fruit is sweet; the cigar is never so fragrant as when smoked in a railway carriage in MR. DAYMAN'S district, and lace is never so prized as when it is smuggled at enormous personal inconvenience and considerable risk of a police-court exposé. I suppose that it is to the inherent love of doing what we ought not to do that I must attribute a longing to visit a continental gambling place whenever I am on the Continent. So as I am within three hours or so of Spa, to Spa I intend to go. The pleasure of doing wrong is enormous, even when it is tempered by the possibility of a serious punishment, but when wrong-doing is legitimised, not to say encouraged, by an enlightened Christian government its attractions are positively irresistible. gambling watering place, the best of us become gamblers, and if there existed such an institution as a place at which murder passed unpunished, the bost of us would become murderers. At least I should, but then I am a At a SNARLER. |