Thursday 4 July 2024

Thursday's Serial: "Babes in Toyland" by Glen MacDonough (in English) - the end.

 

ACT III

SCENE 1: Court yard of the palace of Justice.

Opening March: Tom Tom, Piper children, lady and male advocates. Populace on stage at opening. March of Court officials.

Tom - (on steps R) Hear ye! Hear ye! If one Master Alan be among ye, he is for the last time summoned to appear before the Court Royal to say why he shall not be condemned to die!

Bo-Peep - What has Master Alan done?

Tom - He is said to have slain the Master Toymaker. After his arrest he escaped.

Boy Blue - Was he alone guilty?

Tom - Many believe the Toymaker was killed by a band of strange beings who were seen rushing from the shop. The police can find no trace of them.

(Chorus exits to repeat of March. Tom Tom joins children)

Bo Peep - Oh, Tom Tom, how did Alan get himself in such a scrape?

Tom - I don't know. But it's very serious.

Red Riding Hood - Can we do anything to help him?

Tom - Help him in his flight, if you meet him. (enter Jane)

Jane - Tom Tom!

Tom - Jane! where in the world have you been? (they embrace)

Jane - All over looking for you.

Tom - And I've been doing the same! What a lucky day!

Jane - For us, but not for Alan.

Tom - Poor fellow, he is in trouble. Any news of him?

Jane - None. Contrary Mary is with him and they're trying to get out of Toyland together!

Tom - Without passports that will be hard to do.

Jane - Who accuses him of the Toymaker's death?

Tom - Only your uncle Barnaby!

Jane - The wicked old man! He's taken our money, now he wants our lives!

Tom - The Toymaker was the King's favorite subject. He has ordered the Court Royal to convict him without a hearing. But I must go. The Court is in session!

Jane - I will await you at the courthouse. You won't be long?

Tom - I'll count the minutes til I'm with you. I'm so glad I have you again. (Jane throws a kiss to him and exits.)

SONG NO. Tom. "MY CASTLE IN SPAIN" (Tom Tom exits end of song)

(after song Alan, Grumio, Jill and Mary enter up R. Alan is in comedy disguise, whiskers etc)

Alan - So far all right, nobody recognizes my disguise.

Mary - You can't blame them.

Jill - You don't look a bit like the police description.

Alan - No-one ever does.

Mary - Now for the last obstacle, the passports.

Grumio - There's the office, but the passport clerk is busy. You'll have to wait a few minutes.

Alan - Remember both of you, if anybody questions you about us, you're to be dumb!

Jill - We'll just be our own natural selves. (joins Grumio, they exeunt left)

(Uncle Barnaby enters unseen at back left, recognizes Mary and Alan)

Mary - If we get safely out of Toyland, where shall we go? (Barnaby exits R. at back)

Alan - To our home first. Then we'll get married and go abroad.

Mary - Where?

Alan - To a far away country that Jane and I visited after our shipwreck.

Mary - Is the country you're talking about a nice one for -- for young married people?

Alan - When young people marry they go to a place that's usually called Maple Heights. Because it's surrounded by willow trees.

Mary - Willow trees? We could plant a bed of onions right next to them and have weeping willows.

Alan - It's called the heights because it's on a prairie.

Mary - I know the place, the renting agents says it's five minutes from the station... that is if you travel by aeroplace.

Alan - Then a kind business man builds them a semi-colonial cottage on weekly payments. And after you've been married forty years then the Bond and Mortgage company takes it over.

Mary - And I suppose they fall in love just as we do, and they exchange all sorts of beautiful vows.

Alan - Before marriage?

Mary - And after?

Alan - It's quite the same as here and everywhere else.

SONG: "BEFORE AND AFTER":

(dialogue after 1st verse)

Alan - So you're keeping a budget? All I brought in the last year was one necktie. You have ordered 14 dresses, four pairs of shoes, one squirrel coat, without consulting ne.

Mary - Well, I have to wear them don't I?

Alan - Yes but I have to pay for them, don't I?

Mary - No, you don't. I haven't asked you for a single cent for a whole year. I have had everything charged.

(dialogue after 2nd verse)

Mary - How many times have I asked you not to read the newspaper at the breakfast table!?

Alan - What else is there around here interesting?

Mary - You never dared speak to me like that before we were married.

Alan - Well, before we were married you never came down to breakfast looking the way you do!

Mary - Mother always said you were a brute. Oh, why did I ever marry you?

Alan - So you're beginning to wonder too?

(dialogue after 3rd verse. Lights down. Then Alan and girl discovered at right of stage)

Girl - So your wife is always quarrelling with you?

Alan - Yes, every time I go out, she accuses me playing cards with my friends.

Girl - It was nice of you to take your secretary out, have a few cocktails and then go dancing...but how will you explain it to your wife?

Alan - There's only one way out of it - and that is to tell her the truth! Goodnight!

(lights out. Then Alan discovered at left with his wife)

Mary - And where have you been?

Alan - My dear I'm going to tell you the truth. I wanted a little relaxation, so I took my secretary out and we had some cocktails, and then we went to a night club.

Mary - Don't you try to fool me. You've been playing cards again! (slaps his face. Alan & Mary exeunt after song. Barnaby enters reading a paper)

Barnaby - So Alan objects to being tried by a court of nine judges? And he petitions to ask for an appointment of fifteen. He doesn't realize it's unconstitutional.

Mary – (enters and see Barnaby) Oh, it's you, is it?

Barnaby - (sneeringly) It's a fine morning for a wedding, Mistress Mary.

Mary - Whose wedding?

Barnaby - Ours. I'll be short and sweet with you, Mistress Mary! There's a marriage bureau next to the court-room-- (points off) and we'll be married there at once, or...

Mary - Or what?

Barnaby - I'll hand Alan over! (pointing L.) He's in there. I know his disguise. In a moment the Court Royal will condemn him for killing the Toymaker.

Mary - You wouldn't betray him?

Barnaby - (snivelling) It's my duty! He has disgraced the family. He's an assassin! But for your sweet sake I'll let him escape. (Mary tries to break away) No, you won't warn him. (Gonzorgo and Roderigo dressed as executioners, with brazier, ropes, pincers, enter from court-room with large legal document) What you have there?

Gonzorgo - A warrant to execute Alan, your scamp of a nephew!

Barnaby - (to Mary) You shall decide. Will you take his life, or my name?

Mary - Let me see that warrant! (reading) Rack--hot irons--pincers for my Alan! (throws warrant aside) Is it is to save Alan, I'll agree. Take me to the marriage bureau! (seizes Barnaby and rushes him off stage)

(enter Jane R. Piper and children on R. & L.)

Miss Jane - (seeing Gonzorgo and Roderigo) Why, when did you two start out as plumbers?

Gonzorgo - We're not plumbers, we're executioners. We know nothing about the business, it was influence and this is a political appointment.

Jane - You look like you belong to the Black legion!

Roderigo - We're amateurs at this rope business, but we'll soon get the hang of it! (exit Roderigo)

Jane - Has the court sent for you?

Gonzorgo - It has. We shall shortly fill our first order.

NOTE: (If you do not wish to do the song "We Won't Be Happy Till He Gets It" and you have no number to replace this, here is the lyrics of a song which could be set to music, and beginning with 3-8 dialogue would run:)

Jane - It will be Alan. But you will be cursed if you do anything to hurt him.

Gonzorgo - Cursed? Lady, we've been cursed by hard luck all our lives.

Jane - You don't know what hard luck is. I think one of my ancestors must have been Calamity Jane!

SONG: "MEET ME ON THE HARD LUCK MOON", Gonzorgo, Roderigo, and Jane

Gonzorgo - Oh, ever since I was a kid no matter what I said or did, You'd always find me in an awful boat.

Roderigo - And every photograph of me off in the background you would see Somebody always leading off my goat.

Gonzorgo - I'm great big mister easy mark, and life for me has been no lark I'm quite unhappy, sad as I can be.

Jane - Good luck for me has been real slow, and I have had my share of woe, Just like an undertaker's jubilee.

Chorus: Meet me under the hard luck moon,

Down by the lemon tree.

Where the blackbirds keep on singing,

Hoodoo songs off key.

Where skies are blue,

And breezes sigh,

In such a mournful tune,

We'll have a grand old kill-joy time,

Under the hard luck moon.

(all three dance with ensemble.)

Jane - It will be Alan. Boys and girls, this coward will kill Alan. Don't let him. (Pipers threaten Gonzorgo)

Simon - We won't. We will never let you live to do this.

Gonzorgo - Young man, don't you dare lay hands on an officer of the law!

Jane - Prepare a chair for him. (Gonzorgo is placed on high chair) We are going to make it warm for you.

Song:"HE WON'T BE HAPPY TILL HE GETS IT." (Jane and Pipers with Chorus. With possible Specialty of Gonzorgo, Roderigo. and Jane. All exit at the end of Number)

(enter Barnaby followed by Mary)

Barnaby - Now, Mrs. Barnaby, we'll hear your sweetheart's sentence.

Mary - I've just heard mine. (enter Alan with crowd. Enter Tom Tom on stage of house)

Tom - (reading from document) Hear ye! Hear ye! The Court Royal herewith finds the outlaw, Alan, guilty of the Master Toymaker's death and orders that he be executed in the manner prescribed by law, when found....

Barnaby - I'll do my duty as a good citizen and a relative as well. There is the criminal! (tears whiskers from Alan's face. A general start and exclamation)

Alan - Who is this villain?

Barnaby - Your unhappy uncle! Take him, he has disgraced me enough. Now, let the sentence be carried out.

Tom - Wait!

Alan - Yes, wait! (to Barnaby) You give me back my whiskers! (tries to seize them)

Tom - (reads) I have not finished. He shall be executed in the manner prescribed by the law when found--unless he takes advantage of the law which gives every condemned man the right to plead the benefit of widow."

Mary and Alan - The benefit of widow?

Tom - An ancient law of Toyland, meant to assist deserving class of subjects.

Alan - What is the benefit of widow?

Tom - Any widow, may claim a condemned man for her second husband, and he shall be free as long as he supports said widow and saves her from becoming a charge upon the state.

Alan - And may the victim choose the widow?

Tom - Some have preferred the gallows. Do you claim the benefit?

Alan - (moves toward Mary) No, I'll die rather than marry anybody but Contrary Mary.

Barnaby - (grinning) If you mean Mrs. Barnaby, you're a little bit late.

Alan - (astonished) You? Mrs. Barnaby?

Mary - Alan, he recognized you, but he swore to let you escape if I married him at once!

Alan - I'll plead that benefit. Bring on your widows. I'll marry and live!

Tom - Let the court heralds summon the widows of our city.

Mary - (to Alan) Courage, somebody will surely choose you.

Alan - It's so undignified. I feel like a prize at a grab bag party.

Tom - Don't despair, old man, some widow will surely find you worth taking.

Mary - (indignantly) You needn't speak of him as though he were a marked down remnant.

Alan - To think that we're parted forever!

Mary - Not forever. (looking at Barnaby) The joyful day may soon arrive when they'll expect me to wear crape for that!

Alan - A joyful day indeed! I'll ride with you in the first carriage, and on the way to the cemetary I'll propose to you!

Barnaby - Then here's where I give up smoking and go in for physical culture. As soon as I've engaged places on the coach, my dear, we'll depart upon our honeymoon. (exits L. chuckling) Remember, the sentence will be carried out if a widow does not choose you in fifteen minutes.

Alan - Don't worry. I'm liable to be killed in the rush! (exit chorus)

Tom - I'll hurry them along. (exits up R)

Alan - All right. Tell the widows I'm the latest thing in imported husbands!

Mary - Alan, will you do me a teeny-weeny favor? As you've got to marry in order to live, I wish you'd marry to please me.

Alan - How can I marry somebody else to please you?

Mary - Don't marry anybody who'll make you forget me.

SONG, if required. Used or not, then continue)

Mary - But remember, if a dashing widow should claim you, don't accept.

Alan - No.

Mary - But if one with a bad temper, and a squeaky voice should claim you, it would make me feel very restful.

Alan - How about me, I need a little rest myself.

Mary - Every time you looked at her, I know you'd think of me!

(Tom Tom enters right)

Tom - The merry widows are here, although they are not all so merry.

Mary - Are they pretty?

Tom - They're a group of dreams.

Mary - I'll leave you. Remember, nothing attractive, nothing that will take me from your thoughts! For one second. (exits L. To a strain of music the widows enter.)

Tom - Here they are, my boy! Now turn on your best personality.

Alan - If they're going to propose to me, I won't know what to say, except this is all so sudden.

Tom - Don't hesitate, girls. The one who speaks first gets him. (enters into Courthouse.)

Alan - Well, ladies, the auction bargain sale is going to begin. Here I am, the answer to any widow's prayer. Will anyone start off the bidding. (turns to first.) How about you, lady?

1st Widow - Do you think that all marriages are happy?

Alan - All marriages are happy, it's the living together after marriage that causes all the trouble.

1st Widow - Before we were married, my husband said he would die for me. And after marriage he was kind enough to do it!

Alan - Ah! Lady Dracula speaking! I hope I don't get an offer from you.

2nd Widow - My next husband must be strong, silent, full of grit, -- able to bear the burden of the day! He will not hear a word said about me, and he will utter no unkind word.

Alan - What you want is a deaf and dumb coal heaver!

3d Widow - When I was married I didn't do as well as I expected. And to tell you the truth I don't think he did either. I've been married twice, but I think every widow's entitled to her third.

Alan - I think you're frank anyway, and you seem to have an even temper.

3d Widow - Yes, my temper's even, always the same --very nasty!

Alan - I believe you're deliberately falsifying it. How did your last husband happen to die?--

3rd Widow - Oh, I suppose he thought it was the best way out!

Alan - I hope you don't claim me. (turns to 4th Widow) How about you, lady?

4th Widow - The first month I was married, we lived in a bungalow, called "Ye Lovey Dovey Cot"

Alan - I suppose you changed that afterward to "Ye Battling Arena".

5th Widow - My husband was a dentist with a sense of humor. But he pulled too many good ones.

Alan - He must have been very easily tickled.

5th Widow - Yes, he was so ticklish, he couldn't touch his ribs - he had to have them dry-cleaned. But he left me a large fortune.

Alan - Step into my office, I want to talk to you. (takes her aside. Converses pantomime. Widows surround Alan, and he walks to steps, they follow him) I'll take all your offers into consideration. And you may hear from me later. -- But I doubt it. (exits into court house)

1st Widow - The trouble with you merry widows is, you make love in slow waltz time. You'd better all pop up and start to swing.

THE WIDOWS DANCE (The Merry Widow Waltz played in swing-time was done by Abe Lyman and Paul Whiteman and is very effective) They dance to an exit.

(Tom Tom enters followed by Alan from court house)

Tom - Gone! Alan, the widows have gone without claiming you!

Alan - Guess I didn't appear to be as advertised. (Gonzorgo and Roderigo enter up L)

Gonzorgo - (with pincers) Shall we proceed?

Tom - Wait till I return. There's one more chance! (exit up R)

Gonzorgo - (to Roderigo) I wonder if he'll help us.

Roderigo - Try him.

Gonzorgo - (to Alan) We're in a very embarrassing position.

Roderigo - And you only can save us from becoming perfectly ridiculous. When we start to execute you, everybody is liable to laugh at us.

Alan - I won't!

Gonzorgo - If they find we're not regular executioners, we'll lose the job.

Alan - How can I help you?

Gonzorgo - Since you've got to leave this cold, hard world, will you allow us to send you our way? (touching warrant) It'll be so much pleasanter than this.

Alan - I'll go your way.

Roderigo - Wise boy. Now what would you like in the way of a farewell luncheon. It'll be your very last. Have anything you like.

Alan - I'd like a dish of strawberries.

Roderigo - But strawberries won't be in season for 6 months!

Alan - That's all right, I'll wait.

Roderigo - No, now is your time. But I can give you a glass of strawberry wine.

Roderigo - With a dash of this in it. (Shows black phial)

Alan - (taking phial) Why, it's poison!

Roderigo - Four drops of that in your wine...

Roderigo - Just before you start for the scafford...

Roderigo - And you'll go into a dreadless sleep.

Alan - Go ahead! I haven't anything to lose. Except my life. (Judges, Attendants, widows chorus enter. Jane also)

Jane - Alan, are you living yet?

Alan - Yes, but in a few minutes, I will be not yet. (Tom Tom enters up R. with Widow Piper)

Tom - Stop! Here's another widow! Mother, make Alan our step-father and save his life!

Piper Children - Go ahead ma!

Widow Piper - I can't. It's too late. I'm married.

Tom - Married? You said you'd never marry anybody but a hare!

(enter Marmaduke. he goes to Widow)

Widow - And here he is!

Mary - And what made him a hare?

Widow - He dined at a night club, and he dared to go without tipping the waiter. (BARNABY enters)

Barnaby - Now, Mary my dear--what's this?

Alan - The end of your nephew.

Barnaby - Too bad, too bad. I'm very sorry. (all turn away from him) It was my duty. I had to do it. I really had to...Such treatment is hard to bear... (his eyes fall on the tray with the wine glass)

Without help. At such a time as this I need encouragement. (taking glass, drains it) Oh! Oh!

(All turn. He falls into the arms of Gonzorgo and Roderigo... who carry him off stage)

All - What's the matter?

Alan - He has drunk the wine that was intended for me.

(Tom Tom enters)

Tom - Mrs. Barnaby you're a widow!

All - A widow?

Tom - Excessive grief has taken Uncle Barnaby from us.

Mary - Then Alan is saved! I am a widow, and under your laws I claim him as my husband!

Alan - Mary!

FINALE.

END OF PLAY.

Wednesday 3 July 2024

Wednesday Good Reading: "The Fawn and His Mother " by Aesop (translated into English)

 

A young Fawn once said to his Mother, "You are larger than a dog, and swifter, and more used to running, and you have your horns as a defense; why, then, O Mother! do the hounds frighten you so?" She smiled, and said: "I know full well, my son, that all you say is true. I have the advantages you mention, but when I hear even the bark of a single dog I feel ready to faint, and fly away as fast as I can."

                           No arguments will give courage to the coward.

Tuesday 2 July 2024

Tuesday's Serial: “Lavengro” by George Borrow (in English) - XXI

 

Chapter 41

decease of the review—homer himself—bread and cheese—finger and thumb—impossible to find—something grand—universal mixture—publisher

 

Time passed away, and with it the Review, which, contrary to the publisher's expectation, did not prove a successful speculation. About four months after the period of its birth it expired, as all Reviews must for which there is no demand. Authors had ceased to send their publications to it, and, consequently, to purchase it; for I have already hinted that it was almost entirely supported by authors of a particular class, who expected to see their publications foredoomed to immortality in its pages. The behaviour of these authors towards this unfortunate publication I can attribute to no other cause than to a report which was industriously circulated, namely, that the Review was low, and that to be reviewed in it was an infallible sign that one was a low person, who could be reviewed nowhere else. So authors took fright; and no wonder, for it will never do for an author to be considered low. Homer himself has never yet entirely recovered from the injury he received by Lord Chesterfield's remark that the speeches of his heroes were frequently exceedingly low.

So the Review ceased, and the reviewing corps no longer existed as such; they forthwith returned to their proper avocations—the editor to compose tunes on his piano, and to the task of disposing of the remaining copies of his Quintilian—the inferior members to working for the publisher, being to a man dependants of his; one, to composing fairy tales; another, to collecting miracles of Popish saints; and a third, Newgate lives and trials. Owing to the bad success of the Review, the publisher became more furious than ever. My money was growing short, and I one day asked him to pay me for my labours in the deceased publication.

'Sir,' said the publisher, 'what do you want the money for?'

'Merely to live on,' I replied; 'it is very difficult to live in this town without money.'

'How much money did you bring with you to town?' demanded the publisher.

'Some twenty or thirty pounds,' I replied.

'And you have spent it already?'

'No,' said I, 'not entirely; but it is fast disappearing.'

'Sir,' said the publisher, 'I believe you to be extravagant; yes, sir, extravagant!'

'On what grounds do you suppose me to be so?'

'Sir,' said the publisher, 'you eat meat.'

'Yes,' said I, 'I eat meat sometimes; what should I eat?'

'Bread, sir,' said the publisher; 'bread and cheese.'

'So I do, sir, when I am disposed to indulge; but I cannot often afford it—it is very expensive to dine on bread and cheese, especially when one is fond of cheese, as I am. My last bread and cheese dinner cost me fourteenpence. There is drink, sir; with bread and cheese one must drink porter, sir.'

'Then, sir, eat bread—bread alone. As good men as yourself have eaten bread alone; they have been glad to get it, sir. If with bread and cheese you must drink porter, sir, with bread alone you can, perhaps, drink water, sir.'

However, I got paid at last for my writings in the Review, not, it is true, in the current coin of the realm, but in certain bills; there were two of them, one payable at twelve, and the other at eighteen months after date. It was a long time before I could turn these bills to any account; at last I found a person who, at a discount of only thirty per cent, consented to cash them; not, however, without sundry grimaces, and, what was still more galling, holding, more than once, the unfortunate papers high in air between his forefinger and thumb. So ill, indeed, did I like this last action, that I felt much inclined to snatch them away. I restrained myself, however, for I remembered that it was very difficult to live without money, and that, if the present person did not discount the bills, I should probably find no one else that would.

But if the treatment which I had experienced from the publisher, previous to making this demand upon him, was difficult to bear, that which I subsequently underwent was far more so: his great delight seemed to consist in causing me misery and mortification; if, on former occasions, he was continually sending me in quest of lives and trials difficult to find, he now was continually demanding lives and trials which it was impossible to find; the personages whom he mentioned never having lived, nor consequently been tried. Moreover, some of my best lives and trials which I had corrected and edited with particular care, and on which I prided myself no little, he caused to be cancelled after they had passed through the press. Amongst these was the life of 'Gentleman Harry.' 'They are drugs, sir,' said the publisher, 'drugs; that life of Harry Simms has long been the greatest drug in the calendar—has it not, Taggart?'

Taggart made no answer save by taking a pinch of snuff. The reader, has, I hope, not forgotten Taggart, whom I mentioned whilst giving an account of my first morning's visit to the publisher. I beg Taggart's pardon for having been so long silent about him; but he was a very silent man—yet there was much in Taggart—and Taggart had always been civil and kind to me in his peculiar way.

'Well, young gentleman,' said Taggart to me one morning, when we chanced to be alone a few days after the affair of the cancelling, 'how do you like authorship?'

'I scarcely call authorship the drudgery I am engaged in,' said I.

'What do you call authorship?' said Taggart.

'I scarcely know,' said I; 'that is, I can scarcely express what I think it.'

'Shall I help you out?' said Taggart, turning round his chair, and looking at me.

'If you like,' said I.

'To write something grand,' said Taggart, taking snuff; 'to be stared at—lifted on people's shoulders—'

'Well,' said I, 'that is something like it.'

Taggart took snuff. 'Well,' said he, 'why don't you write something grand?'

'I have,' said I.

'What?' said Taggart.

'Why,' said I, 'there are those ballads.'

Taggart took snuff.

'And those wonderful versions from Ab Gwilym.'

Taggart took snuff again.

'You seem to be very fond of snuff,' said I, looking at him angrily.

Taggart tapped his box.

'Have you taken it long?'

'Three-and-twenty years.'

'What snuff do you take?'

'Universal mixture.'

'And you find it of use?'

Taggart tapped his box.

'In what respect?' said I.

'In many—there is nothing like it to get a man through; but for snuff I should scarcely be where I am now.'

'Have you been long here?'

'Three-and-twenty years.'

'Dear me,' said I; 'and snuff brought you through? Give me a pinch—pah, I don't like it,' and I sneezed.

'Take another pinch,' said Taggart.

'No,' said I, 'I don't like snuff.'

'Then you will never do for authorship; at least for this kind.'

'So I begin to think—what shall I do?'

Taggart took snuff.

'You were talking of a great work—what shall it be?'

Taggart took snuff.

'Do you think I could write one?'

Taggart uplifted his two forefingers as if to tap, he did not, however.

'It would require time,' said I, with a half sigh.

Taggart tapped his box.

'A great deal of time; I really think that my ballads—'

Taggart took snuff.

'If published, would do me credit. I'll make an effort, and offer them to some other publisher.'

Taggart took a double quantity of snuff.

 

 

Chapter 42

francis ardry—that won't do, sir—observe my gestures—i think you improve—better than politics—delightful young frenchwoman—a burning shame—paunch—voltaire—lump of sugar

 

Occasionally I called on Francis Ardry. This young gentleman resided in handsome apartments in the neighbourhood of a fashionable square, kept a livery servant, and, upon the whole, lived in very good style. Going to see him one day, between one and two, I was informed by the servant that his master was engaged for the moment, but that, if I pleased to wait a few minutes, I should find him at liberty. Having told the man that I had no objection, he conducted me into a small apartment which served as antechamber to a drawing-room; the door of this last being half open, I could see Francis Ardry at the farther end, speechifying and gesticulating in a very impressive manner. The servant, in some confusion, was hastening to close the door; but, ere he could effect his purpose, Francis Ardry, who had caught a glimpse of me, exclaimed, 'Come in—come in by all means'; and then proceeded, as before, speechifying and gesticulating. Filled with some surprise, I obeyed his summons.

On entering the room I perceived another individual, to whom Francis Ardry appeared to be addressing himself; this other was a short spare man of about sixty; his hair was of badger grey, and his face was covered with wrinkles—without vouchsafing me a look, he kept his eye, which was black and lustrous, fixed full on Francis Ardry, as if paying the deepest attention to his discourse. All of a sudden, however, he cried with a sharp, cracked voice, 'That won't do, sir; that won't do—more vehemence—your argument is at present particularly weak; therefore, more vehemence—you must confuse them, stun them, stultify them, sir'; and, at each of these injunctions, he struck the back of his right hand sharply against the palm of the left. 'Good, sir—good!' he occasionally uttered, in the same sharp, cracked tone, as the voice of Francis Ardry became more and more vehement. 'Infinitely good!' he exclaimed, as Francis Ardry raised his voice to the highest pitch; 'and now, sir, abate; let the tempest of vehemence decline—gradually, sir; not too fast. Good, sir—very good!' as the voice of Francis Ardry declined gradually in vehemence. 'And now a little pathos, sir—try them with a little pathos. That won't do, sir—that won't do,'—as Francis Ardry made an attempt to become pathetic,—'that will never pass for pathos—with tones and gesture of that description you will never redress the wrongs of your country. Now, sir, observe my gestures, and pay attention to the tone of my voice, sir.'

Thereupon, making use of nearly the same terms which Francis Ardry had employed, the individual in black uttered several sentences in tones and with gestures which were intended to express a considerable degree of pathos, though it is possible that some people would have thought both the one and the other highly ludicrous. After a pause, Francis Ardry recommenced imitating the tones and the gestures of his monitor in the most admirable manner. Before he had proceeded far, however, he burst into a fit of laughter, in which I should, perhaps, have joined, provided it were ever my wont to laugh. 'Ha, ha!' said the other, good-humouredly, 'you are laughing at me. Well, well, I merely wished to give you a hint; but you saw very well what I meant; upon the whole I think you improve. But I must now go, having two other pupils to visit before four.'

Then taking from the table a kind of three-cornered hat, and a cane headed with amber, he shook Francis Ardry by the hand; and, after glancing at me for a moment, made me a half bow, attended with a strange grimace, and departed.

'Who is that gentleman?' said I to Francis Ardry, as soon as we were alone.

'Oh, that is ——' said Frank, smiling, 'the gentleman who gives me lessons in elocution.'

'And what need have you of elocution?'

'Oh, I merely obey the commands of my guardians,' said Francis, 'who insist that I should, with the assistance of ——, qualify myself for Parliament; for which they do me the honour to suppose that I have some natural talent. I dare not disobey them; for, at the present moment, I have particular reasons for wishing to keep on good terms with them.'

'But,' said I, 'you are a Roman Catholic; and I thought that persons of your religion were excluded from Parliament?'

'Why, upon that very thing the whole matter hinges; people of our religion are determined to be no longer excluded from Parliament, but to have a share in the government of the nation. Not that I care anything about the matter; I merely obey the will of my guardians; my thoughts are fixed on something better than politics.'

'I understand you,' said I; 'dog-fighting—well, I can easily conceive that to some minds dog-fighting—'

'I was not thinking of dog-fighting,' said Francis Ardry, interrupting me.

'Not thinking of dog-fighting!' I ejaculated.

'No,' said Francis Ardry, 'something higher and much more rational than dog-fighting at present occupies my thoughts.'

'Dear me,' said I, 'I thought I had heard you say that there was nothing like it!'

'Like what?' said Francis Ardry.

'Dog-fighting, to be sure,' said I.

'Pooh,' said Francis Ardry; 'who but the gross and unrefined care anything for dog-fighting? That which at present engages my waking and sleeping thoughts is love—divine love—there is nothing like that. Listen to me, I have a secret to confide to you.'

And then Francis Ardry proceeded to make me his confidant. It appeared that he had had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of the most delightful young Frenchwoman imaginable, Annette La Noire by name, who had just arrived from her native country with the intention of obtaining the situation of governess in some English family; a position which, on account of her many accomplishments, she was eminently qualified to fill. Francis Ardry had, however, persuaded her to relinquish her intention for the present, on the ground that, until she had become acclimated in England, her health would probably suffer from the confinement inseparable from the occupation in which she was desirous of engaging; he had, moreover—for it appeared that she was the most frank and confiding creature in the world—succeeded in persuading her to permit him to hire for her a very handsome first floor in his own neighbourhood, and to accept a few inconsiderable presents in money and jewellery. 'I am looking out for a handsome gig and horse,' said Francis Ardry, at the conclusion of his narration: 'it were a burning shame that so divine a creature should have to go about a place like London on foot, or in a paltry hackney coach.'

'But,' said I, 'will not the pursuit of politics prevent your devoting much time to this fair lady?'

'It will prevent me devoting all my time,' said Francis Ardry, 'as I gladly would; but what can I do? My guardians wish me to qualify myself for a political orator, and I dare not offend them by a refusal. If I offend my guardians, I should find it impossible—unless I have recourse to Jews and money-lenders—to support Annette; present her with articles of dress and jewellery, and purchase a horse and cabriolet worthy of conveying her angelic person through the streets of London.'

After a pause, in which Francis Ardry appeared lost in thought, his mind being probably occupied with the subject of Annette, I broke silence by observing, 'So your fellow-religionists are really going to make a serious attempt to procure their emancipation?'

'Yes,' said Francis Ardry, starting from his reverie; 'everything has been arranged; even a leader has been chosen, at least for us of Ireland, upon the whole the most suitable man in the world for the occasion—a barrister of considerable talent, mighty voice, and magnificent impudence. With emancipation, liberty, and redress for the wrongs of Ireland in his mouth, he is to force his way into the British House of Commons, dragging myself and others behind him—he will succeed, and when he is in he will cut a figure; I have heard —— himself, who has heard him speak, say that he will cut a figure.'

'And is —— competent to judge?' I demanded.

'Who but he?' said Francis Ardry; 'no one questions his judgment concerning what relates to elocution. His fame on that point is so well established, that the greatest orators do not disdain occasionally to consult him; C—— himself, as I have been told, when anxious to produce any particular effect in the House, is in the habit of calling in —— for a consultation.'

'As to matter, or manner?' said I.

'Chiefly the latter,' said Francis Ardry, 'though he is competent to give advice as to both, for he has been an orator in his day, and a leader of the people; though he confessed to me that he was not exactly qualified to play the latter part—"I want paunch," said he.'

'It is not always indispensable,' said I; 'there is an orator in my town, a hunchback and watchmaker, without it, who not only leads the people, but the mayor too; perhaps he has a succedaneum in his hunch: but, tell me, is the leader of your movement in possession of that which —— wants?'

'No more deficient in it than in brass,' said Francis Ardry.

'Well,' said I, 'whatever his qualifications may be, I wish him success in the cause which he has taken up—I love religious liberty.'

'We shall succeed,' said Francis Ardry; 'John Bull upon the whole is rather indifferent on the subject, and then we are sure to be backed by the Radical party, who, to gratify their political prejudices, would join with Satan himself.'

'There is one thing,' said I, 'connected with this matter which surprises me—your own lukewarmness. Yes, making every allowance for your natural predilection for dog-fighting, and your present enamoured state of mind, your apathy at the commencement of such a movement is to me unaccountable.'

'You would not have cause to complain of my indifference,' said Frank, 'provided I thought my country would be benefited by this movement; but I happen to know the origin of it. The priests are the originators, 'and what country was ever benefited by a movement which owed its origin to them?' so says Voltaire, a page of whom I occasionally read. By the present move they hope to increase their influence, and to further certain designs which they entertain both with regard to this country and Ireland. I do not speak rashly or unadvisedly. A strange fellow—a half-Italian, half-English priest,—who was recommended to me by my guardians, partly as a spiritual, partly as a temporal guide, has let me into a secret or two; he is fond of a glass of gin and water—and over a glass of gin and water cold, with a lump of sugar in it, he has been more communicative, perhaps, than was altogether prudent. Were I my own master, I would kick him, politics, and religious movements, to a considerable distance. And now, if you are going away, do so quickly; I have an appointment with Annette, and must make myself fit to appear before her.'