For Sail or Return.
Auth. Very good. Edwin's father was an Arctic explorer. Write under sketch, "The old man had many a startling adventure in the silent land of eternal snow." Go on.
Pub. Here is, seemingly, a quarrel to the death, in the time of Charles the Second. Ball-room, with Cavaliers and their Ladies. Central group, a fight with swords. Can we do anything with it?
Auth. Why, certainly. Edwin excites the jealousy of Angelina's cousin Reginald. The latter calls out the former at a fancy-dress dance. Label it—"Captain de Courcy was too impatient to wait until the ball was over, but challenged his rival as the company were on the eve of going down to supper." Drive on!
Pub. This seems rather a puzzle,—a ship sinking in mid-ocean.
Auth. The very thing. Edwin having lost all his money on the Stock Exchange, goes to Australia for more gold. Label—"The storm was terrific, and the Belgravia had much difficulty in weathering this gale of almost unprecedented violence". Next, please!
Pub. Why here are some sketches of Venice, St. Petersburg, China, and North Wales.
Auth. I can take them en bloc. Edwin and Angelina, before they return home, go upon a honeymoon. Work them all in. Anything else?
Pub. A man being shot by a company of French soldiers. Is that of any use?
Auth. First-rate fate for the wicked Reginald. Goes to France during the Franco-German War as a Special Correspondent, and is shot as a Prussian spy. Couldn't be better. Anything else?
Pub. A village crowd looking at a representation of "Punch and Judy."
Auth. Obviously a recollection of Edwin's schooldays. Label it—"Sometimes he would join the crowd, watching an exhibition of perambulating puppets." Anything else?
Pub. A man being thrown from his horse into a brook.
Auth. All right! Angelina first falls in love with Edwin when nursing him after an accident in the hunting-field. Label it—"His horse swerved, and Edwin was thrown with great violence into the water." Anything else?
Pub. A man with a dark lantern looking, I think, at a mile-stone.
Auth. Reginald, before his death in France, tries to enter burglariously the dwelling-house of his hated rival. Label—"The misguided wretch paused for a moment while he examined one of the mile-stones." Anything further?
Pub. Only two. Which shall we have, a happy or a wretched ending?
Auth. Either you please. One's as easy as the other. What are they?
Pub. First a man dying in the prairie is threatened by a vulture.
Auth. Evidently Edwin. You see, we have already disposed of the wicked cousin. What is the other?
Pub. Oh, the conventional thing—bridal party in a village church. I wish we could use both.
Auth. So we can. Cut down bridal block, and punch out enough of sky in prairie to make room for it. Then give the legend, "And Edwin died happily, for in his vision he saw his love once more as he had hoped to see her. With his last breath he blessed her as she stood beside him at the altar." That will do, and then I can finish off with, "Who knows they may not meet again? The End."
Pub. And now I want to ask your opinion about some trade advertisements. I want to know if we can work them in?
[Scene closes in upon arrangements of a business-like character.
THE KISS.
(By a Jubilant Juryman.)
[Kissing the Book is now to be dispensed with as part of a Juryman's duties.]
Lip to lip is pleasant altogether,
But there is no charm in lip to leather
All the bards who've sung of osculation,
Down from Ovid to song's last sensation,
Could not lend romance, or even sense,
To the Court's poor labial pretence,
Always meaningless, and most unpleasant.
Here the past is bettered by the present.
Kissing is the due of Love and Beauty,
Dull and dismal when 'tis made mere duty.
Mere lip-loyalty to Love means little—
But to Truth? 'Tis not worth jot or tittle!
When from lip to lip in cold formality
Passed the grubby cover, in reality
Binding kissing made no oath more binding
Nor more easy Justice's clear finding.
Therefore, thanks to common sense,—long missing—
That makes obsolete one form of kissing!
"THERE AND BACK."
First night at Covent Garden of new Opera, Irmengarda, by Chevalier, not Chevalier Coster, but Chevalier Emil Bach. In this plot the women of a besieged city are allowed to leave it, carrying whatever is most precious on their backs—but this one Bach can't carry Irmengarda, which is, however, not too, too precious, but is supportable. Sir Druriolanus Operaticus "gives a Back," and it's "Over!" First Act, while performing, is promising; second very much after, or behind the first. House full. Everybody good, specially Valda and Abramoff. Mr. Armbruster conducted the Mascagni-cum-Wagner-&-Co. music. Everybody happy, specially Bach himself, who was not backwards in coming forwards, and bowing his acknowledgments.
By the way, as in Act III. the King enters "a-riding a-riding," this Opera may be distinguished from any of Bach's future works by being called The Horse-Bach Opera. Not to exhaust the punning possibilities in the name of the composer, it may be incidentally noted that, original and fresh as every air in this Opera may be, yet this present work consists entirely of "Bach Numbers." No more on this subject at present.
Last week of Opera by night at Covent Garden, as the Garden is turned into a Race-course for The Prodigal Daughter's steeplechase, and Drury Lane is wanted for the Pantomime. Sir Druriolanus has his hands full—likewise his pockets. "So mote it be!"
TO MY PARTNER.
"Miss Red Sash"—my programme can't even relate
Your name, and I know nothing more
Of your tastes. Do you talk of high Art—or the state
Of the floor?
Has Girton or Newnham endeavoured to clog
With stiffest of science your brain;
Or are you prepared to discourse of the fog
And the rain?
Do politics please you? Uganda, perhaps,
Or the Cabinet crisis in France?
Or would you remark that a great many chaps
Never dance?
Is Ibsen your idol, with plays that are noise,
Some say nauseous; is he a sage?
Or are you contented to see a live horse
On the stage?
You love Paderewski, and would not be false
To your faith in Brahms, Grieg, Wagner and
Co.; or you are awfully pleased with this valse,
And this Band?
I'll fan you, and hear if you then will repeat
Facts on currents of air, or simoom;
Or simper, and smilingly speak of the heat
Of the room.
A Good "Second".—A Dutch Oyster.
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