LYRE AND LANCET. (A Story in Scenes.) PART XV.-TRAPPED! SCENE XXIV.-A Gallery outside the Verney Chamber. Undershell (to himself, as he emerges from a back staircase). I suppose this is the corridor? The Boy said the name of the room was painted up over the door... Ah, there it is; and, yes, Mr. SPURBELL's name on a card. The door is ajar; he is probably waiting for me inside. I shall meet him quite temperately, treat it simply as a- (He enters; a waste-paper basket, containing an ingenious arrangement of liquid and solid substances, descends on his head.) What the devil do you mean, Sir, by this outrageous ? All dark! Nobody here! Is there a general conspiracy to insult me? Have I been lured up here for a brutal(SPURRELL bursts in.) Ah, there you are, Sir! (With cold dignity, through the lattice-work of the basket.) Will you kindly explain what this means ? Spurrell. Wait till I strike a light. (After lighting a pair of candles.) Well, Sir, if you don't know why you're ramping about like that under a waste-paper basket, I can hardly be expected to Und. I was determined not to remove it until somebody came in; it fell on my head the moment I entered; it contained something in a soap-dish, which has wetted my face. You may laugh, Sir, but if this is a sample of your aristocratic Spurr. If you could only see yourself! But I'd nothing to do with it, 'pon my word I hadn't; only just this minute got away from the hall.... I know! It's that sulky young beggar, BEARPARK. I remember he slipped off on some excuse or other just now. He must have come in here and fixed that affair up for me-confound him! Und. I think I'm the person most entitled to- But no matter; it is merely one insult more among so many. I came here, Sir, for a purpose, as you Spurr. I was surprised myself to find what a lot they thought of it; but, bless you, they're all as civil as shopwalkers; and, as for the ladies, why, the old Countess and Lady MAISIE and Lady RHODA couldn't be more complimentary if I'd won the Victoria Cross, instead of getting a first prize for breeding and exhibiting a bull bitch at CRUFT'S Dog Show! Und. (bitterly, to himself). And this is our aristocracy! They make a bosom friend of a breeder of dogs; and find a poet only fit to associate with their servants! What a theme for a satirist! (Aloud.) I see nothing to wonder at. You possess precisely the social qualifications most likely to appeal to the leisured class. Spurr. Oh, there's a lot of humbug in it, mind you! Most of 'em know about as much of the points of a bull as the points of a compass, only they let on to know a lot because they think it's smart. And some of 'em are after a pup from old Drummy's next litter. I see through all that, you know! Und. You are a cynic, I observe, Sir. But possibly the nature of the business which brings you here renders them "He suddenly comes face to face with his own reflection." Und. It is usual, Sir, for people to come to a place like this provided with evening clothes of their own. Spurr. I know that as well as you do. Don't you suppose I'm unacquainted with the usages of society! Why, I've stayed in boarding-houses at the seaside many a time where it was de rigger to dress-even for high tea! But coming down, as I did, on business, it never entered my head that I should want my dress suit. So when I found them all as chummy and friendly as possible, and expecting me to dine as a matter of course,-why, I can tell you I was too jolly glad to get hold of anything in the shape of a swallowtail and white choker to be over particular! Und. You seem to have been more fortunate in your reception than I. But then I had not the advantage of being here in a business capacity. Spurr. Well, it wasn't that altogether. You see, I'm a kind of a celebrity in my way. Und. I should hardly have thought that would be a recommenda tion here. Spurr. That's the rummest thing about it. I haven't heard a word about that yet. I'm in the veterinary profession, you know. Well, they sent for me to some blooming horse, and never even ask me to go near it! Seems odd, don't it? see Und. (to himself). I had to go near the blooming horse! Now I begin to understand; the very servants did not expect to find a professional vet in any company but their own! (Aloud.) I-I trust that the horse will not suffer through any delay. Spurr. So do I; but how do I know that some ignorant duffer mayn't be treating him for the wrong thing? It may be all up with the animal before I get a chance of seeing what I can do! Und. (to himself). If he knew how near I went to getting the poor beast shot! But I needn't mention that now. Spurr. I don't say it isn't gratifying to be treated like a swell, but I've got my professional reputation to consider, you know; and if they're going to take up all my time talking about Andromeda Und. (with a start). Andromeda! They have been talking about Andromeda? To you! Then it's you who Spurr. Haven't I been telling you? I should just jolly well think they have been talking about her! So you didn't know my bull's name was Andromeda before, eh? But you seem to have heard of her, too! Und. (slowly). I-I have heard of Andromeda-yes. [He drops into a chair, dazed. Spurr. (complacently). It's curious how that bitch's fame seems to have spread. Why, even the old Bishop- But, I say, you're looking rather queer; anything the matter with you, old fellow? Und. (faintly). Nothing-nothing. I-I feel a little giddy, that's all. I shall be better presently. [He conceals his face. Spurr. (in concern). It was having that basket down on your head like that. Too bad! Here, I'll get you some water. (He bustles about.) I don't know if you're aware of it, old chap, but you're in a regular dooce of a mess! Und. (motioning him away irritably). Do you suppose I don't know that? For heaven's sake, don't speak to me! let me alone!... I want to think I want to think. (To himself.) I see it all now! I've made a hideous mistake! I thought these CULVERINS were deliberately- And all the time- Oh, what an unspeakable idiot I've been!... And I can't even explain!... The only thing to do is to escape before this fellow suspects the truth. It's lucky I ordered that carriage! (Aloud, rising.) I'm all right now; and-and I can't stay here any longer. I am leaving directly -directly! Spurr. You must give me time to get out of this toggery, old chap; you'll have to pick me out of it like a lobster! Und. (wildly). The clothes? Never mind them now. I can't wait. Keep them! Spurr. Do you really mean it, old fellow? If you could spare 'em a bit longer, I'd be no end obliged. Because, you see, I promised Lady RHODA to come and finish a talk we were having, and they 've taken away my own things to brush, so I haven't a rag to go down in except these, and they'd all think it so rude if I went to bed now! Und. (impatiently). I tell you you may keep them, if you'll only go away! Spurr. But where am I to send the things to when I've done with 'em? Und. What do I Stay, here's my card. Send them to that address. Now go and finish your evening! Spurr. (gratefully). You are a rattling good chap, and no mistake! Though I'm hanged if I can quite make out what you 're doing here, you know! Und. It's not at all necessary that you should know. I am leaving immediately, and-and I don't wish Sir RUPERT or Lady CULVERIN to hear of this-you understand? Spurr. Well, it's no business of mine; you've behaved devilish well to me, and I'm not surprised that you'd rather not be seen in the state you 're in. I shouldn't like it myself! Und. State? What state ? Spurr. Ah, I wondered whether you knew. You'll see what I mean when you've had a look at yourself in the glass. I daresay it'll come off right enough. I can't stop. Ta, ta, old fellow, and thanks awfully! [He goes out. Und. (alone). What does he mean? But I've no time to waste. Where have they put my portmanteau ? I can't give up everything. (He hunts round the room, and eventually discovers a door leading into a small dressing-room.) Ah, it's in there. I'll get it out, and OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. put my things in. (As he rushes back, he suddenly comes face to face Und. (to himself, distractedly). He mustn't find me here! Yet, where Ah, it's the only place! [He blows out the candles, and darts into the dressing-room as TREDWELL enters. Tred. The boy's right. He is in here; them candles is smouldering still. (He relights one, and looks under the bed.) You'd better come out o' that, UNDERSHELL, and give an account of yourself-do you 'ear me?... He ain't under there! (He tries the dressing-room door; UNDERSHELL holds his breath, and clings desperately to the handle.) Very well, Sir, I know you're there, and I've no time to trouble with you at present, so you may as well stay where you are till you're wanted. I've 'eard o' your goings-on from Mr. ADAMS, and I shall 'ave to fetch Sir RUPERT up to 'ave a talk with you byand-by. [He turns the key upon him, and goes. Und. (to himself, overwhelmed, as the Butler's step is heard retreating). And I came down here to assert the dignity of Literature! 66 In the 64 she never liked, thinkProfessor TYNDAL is more from most aspects, she particularly admires her literary style. There is a passage in the book where she plaintively apprehends that, lost OUR GEORGE DU MAURIER is in analagous case to that of a importance of her writing; this in volumes that bristle with such in admiration of her style, readers may miss the true purpose and dramatic character of whom he may possibly have heard. M. Jour- monstrosities as dain one day happed upon the discovery that he had been talking thence," the latter a favourite foible of Miss COBBE's style. "compared to," disapproved of," and "from prose all his life without knowing it. Mr. DU MAURIER has lived second volume there are some attempts at what was naturally through half a century master of an looked for, to wit, reminiscences of people the present generation exquisite style, and only now makes would like to meet. But the burly, complacent figure of the diarist the discovery known to the world. intervenes just as they come into view. She tells us what she said Plain indications of the fact were to them, not, what we are burning to hear, what they said to her. given in Peter Ibbetson. But in re- On the whole, looked at through Miss COBBE's spectacles, they were spect of style and in other matters, a poor lot. Of RENAN she writes, The impression he has left on Trilby, just published by OsGOOD, me is one of disappointment and short-falling." Short-falling is MCILVAINE & Co., is a prodigious im-"style" of the athletic order, and, my Baronite vaguely surmises, is provement. That a man who has the opposite of high jumping. As to poor CARLYLE, Miss COBBE "never made his mark in pencil should, on shared the admiration felt for him by so many able men." GEORGE taking up his pen, disclose possession BORROW, who wrote The Bible in Spain. of the rare gift of style, strikes the ing him more or less a hypocrite.' literary person with more marvel even in favour, since, in reply to the gift of one of Miss COBBE's instructthan is evoked by discovery of a new novelist who can construct a plot and ive books, the Professor wrote an acknowledgment, the exquisite One other delineate character. Mr. DU MAURIER irony of which his correspondent evidently does not see. partial concession is made in a passage sublime in its fatuousness. has rich endowment of all these gifts, Speaking of one of her books, of which the fortunate reader will find which shine on every page of Trilby. a full summary in the first volume, Miss COBBE says, "It was very He has, moreover, given us a new favourably reviewed, but some of my fellow Theists rather disapthing quite apart from the run of English novels. HENRI MURGER was the front the COBBE coat of arms and motto. The family may, we proved of the tribute I had paid to Christ." The volumes bear on before him with a deathless book in which life in the Quartier Latin is are assured, be traced back through four centuries, and, even in the powerfully and tenderly portrayed. present degenerate days, is highly connected. Whilst the great heart of the people is considering whether it Mr. DU MAURIER'S chapters on student shall throb against the House of Lords or whether it shall forbear, life in Paris need not fear comparison Mr. SWIFT MACNEILL, Q.C., M.P., has delivered at that ancient with La Vie de Bohème, which is institution what the Marchioness was accustomed to describe as " praise of the kind Sir HUBERT STANLEY hoarded. Beyond that, wonner." Titled Corruption is the alluring style of the neatlygrowing out of it, is the boldly conceived, firmly-drawn, and charm-bound volume issued by FISHER UNWIN. There is, my Baronite ingly coloured character of Trilby, with her curious entourage, her varied life, and her tragic end. Little Billee, in whom some will says, a touch of artistic genius in the contrast between the plain, find revived lost memories of a dear friend, is a charming personality, unassuming calico binding of the book and the blood and thunder that rolls through its pages. It is "the sordid origin of some Irish whilst Taffy and the Laird are live men. With such wealth of material and such felicity of touch, Mr. DU MAURIER might well have Perhaps if he were solely responsible for the work, its startling that Mr. SwIFT MACNEILL undertakes to set forth. peerages foregone the temptation of allowing Little Billee to hold forth on statements might be dismissed as coloured by fervid fancy. He, theological subjects to his dog, at a length inevitable in the pulpit, however, supports himself with the dictum of Mr. LECKY, "the but a little out of place as an interlude in a novel. This passage majority of Irish titles are historically connected with memories not supplies a jarring note in an otherwise almost perfect symphony. of honour but of shame," and illustrates it by extracts from.conOne turns with eagerness to the Life of Frances Power Cobbe, fidential letters of Lords Lieutenants of Ireland, recommending more especially when it bears the honoured imprimatur of BENTLEY. gentlemen for the peerage. Altogether an interesting withdrawal Miss COBBE has lived long, enjoying full opportunity of seeing things of the curtain dropped before passages in the history of Ireland on and people. She ought to have written a good book. "Instead of which," as the judge once said, she presents a slovenly-written, illdigested mass of miscellaneous matter, including whole chapters devoted to digests of her published works. Pleased with herself Accompanying Trilby. the eve of the Union. Signed and approved in the Baronite Office by THE JUDICIOUS BARON DE BOOK-WORMS. He. "I'VE GOT TO TAKE YOU INTO DINNER, MISS TRAVERS-AND I'M RATHER AFRAID OF YOU, YOU KNOW! MRS. JOLIBOIS TELLS ME YOU'RE VERY CLEVER!" She (highly amused). 'How ABSURD! I'M NOT A BIT CLEVER!" He (with sigh of relief). "WELL, DO YOU KNOW, I THOUGHT YOU WEREN'T!" UNREST! "The lady sleeps! O, may her sleep, As it is lasting, so be deep." BELLONA sleeps! If sleep it be Our DEBORAHS now invoke not war, An awesome hush is o'er the earth, Of our best manhood taking ti'he. What dreams are thine? That restless hand What rattle of the war-dogs' chain SYMPATHY. SCENE-In front of Mrs. R.'s house. Mrs. R. (paying Cabman). You look all right to-day. Cabman. Ah, mum! my looks don't pity me. I suffer from a tarpaulin liver. Mrs. R. (correcting). A torpedo liver you mean. [Cabman accepts the correction, and an extra shilling. LESSONS IN LAUGHTER. ["Instead of the many educational extras in our Board Schools, why should there not he some elementary class devoted to the development of humour?"-Mr. James Payn, in the "Illustrated London News."] WHY not, indeed? This resplendent suggestion of Carefully training the humorous sense Cannot, nay, must not, be burked by a question of Practical parents, or shillings and pence. Down with arithmetic. spelling, or history, Books that are stupid, and arts that are trite, Rather we'll turn to each novelist's mystery, Study the volumes our humorists write. Those who at present look sadly their task |