OUR TRIP TO BLUNDERLAND

OUR TRIP
TO
BLUNDERLAND

OR

BY
JEAN JAMBON

WITH SIXTY ILLUSTRATIONS BY
CHARLES DOYLE

THIRD THOUSAND

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MDCCCLXXVII

All Rights reserved

The nursery has its share of my day, in such fashion that little people may not think big people created to stop fun and to be a throttle-valve on animal spirits. But there are romps and romps, some being beyond an adipose six-foot-two. Hence this story. Perhaps it will prove acceptable at cooling times in other nurseries, as it was in ours.

It may be thought that in introducing a certain little lady ALICEnce has been taken. But royal personages are public property. Will he that crowned queen Alice deign to accept the two little pages devoted to her as proof that it is held an honour to follow in the train of Carrollus Primus? Forbid it that this one should lose his head, or be facile, except in conjunction with princeps. Long live Carrollus Le Wis! for if he failed us, who could be got in lieu is a question. Never was there one greater at the feat of putting things on a child’s footing, and to have but half his understanding of how to do it is the sole ambition of one

Jambe On.

little boys (whose names you must not know—so, choosing something like them, they shall be called Norval, Jaques, and Ranulf) had been reading all about Alice, and the strange, funny things she saw and did when fast asleep.

IF WE COULD.

“I wonder,” said Jaques, “if I could ever get to sleep like her, so as to walk through looking-glasses, and that sort of thing, without breaking them or coming up against the wall!”

“Oh,” said Ranulf, “wouldn’t it be nice if we could! Only the funniest thing is how she got through the wall. I don’t see how being asleep would help her to do that.”

Norval, the eldest, broke in—“Oh, you big stupid! she didn’t go through it; she only thought she did.”

“Well, then,” said Jaques, “I want to think it too. Last night when I was in bed I tried to go to sleep, and to get through the wall; but when I fell asleep I forgot all about it, and dreamed that I was sick, and that the doctor gave me a big glass of something horrid.”

“Ah, but,” said Norval, “that was because you tried. Alice didn’t try, you know. She knew nothing about being asleep till she woke up.”

“Well, I didn’t know I was asleep till I woke up, either,” answered Jaques.

Ranulf looked very wise, although he was the smallest, and said, “Perhaps if Alice was here, she would tell us how to do it.”

HOW TO DO IT.

“Of course I would,” said a sweet voice behind them; and, turning round, who should they see but little Alice herself, looking exactly as she does on page 35, where she is getting her thimble from the Dodo?

“Oh, how awfully jolly!” cried Norval; “will you help us?” He was very much surprised, not at seeing Alice, but at not being surprised.

“Indeed I will,” said she, “although I don’t know, you know, whether boys can manage it.”

Ranulf was just going to say, saucily, “A great deal better than girls, I should think,” when Norval, who was older, and knew better how to behave, checked him, and said—

BY ORDER.

“But, Alice, dear, surely if it’s done by going to sleep, boys can do that as well as girls.”

“Well, so they can,” said she; “but then, you see, everybody who goes to sleep doesn’t get to Wonderland.”

“Oh, but perhaps,” said Jaques, “if you will go to sleep too, you will come with us, and show us the way.”

“Ah! I can’t do that to-day,” said Alice, looking very grave; “for, you see, when I came to you I was just going to give Dollys their dinner—such a nice dinner! cake and currants; and it would be cruel to leave them looking at it till I came back.”

Now Norval suddenly remembered that he knew some boys whose uncle was a Director at the Aquarium, and who, when he could not go with them and pass them in himself, gave them a written order; so, turning to Alice, he said—

“Oh, but if you would give us a pass, it might help us.” And sitting down at the writing-table, he wrote in stiff letters, imitating the papers he had seen, and laying the pass before her, said, “Now, write ‘Alice’ there ever so big, and put a grand whirly stroke under it.”

Alice obeyed, and the pass was ready.

“Now then,” said she, “you had better go to sleep.”

Norval threw himself down on a sofa; Jaques and Ranulf coiled themselves up on the rug.

SHUT UP.

Norval could not resist the temptation to keep one eye half open, that he might see what Alice did. But she, noticing this, held up her little forefinger, and said, “Come, come, that won’t do.” Thus rebuked, Norval shut his other eye.

“Now, all go to sleep at once,” said Alice.

PLAGUEY BOYS.

“I’m nearly asleep already,” said Jaques.

“Oh!” said Norval.

“No!” said Ranulf.

“That’s talking, not going to sleep,” said Alice.

All was still for a little, then Jaques half uncoiled himself and looked at Ranulf.

Ranulf uncoiled himself and looked at Norval.

Norval raised his head, and looked at Jaques.

On finding that they were all awake, the three burst out laughing.

“That’s laughing, not going to sleep,” said Alice.

Down they all flopped again, and then Alice, to help them, said, “Hushaby baby, on the tree-top!”

“I’m not a baby,” said Ranulf, much offended, as he was nearly six.

“I’m not on a tree-top,” said Jaques.

“You’ve waked me up,” said Norval.

WE’LL BE GOOD.

“That’s chattering, not going to sleep,” said Alice.

“I’m sure I must be asleep now,” said Norval.

“So am I,” said Jaques.

“And me too,” said Ranulf.

“That’s talking nonsense, not going to sleep,” said she. “I see it’s no use; Alice’s way won’t do with wild rogues like you, and I really must go back to Dollys.”

“What are we to do?” said Norval; “we can’t fall asleep. Don’t you think we could get to the funny places you went to without going to sleep?”

“Will you do what I tell you?” asked Alice, holding up her little forefinger in a dignified kind of way.

Jaques had some misgivings about compromising his position as a small lord of the creation by agreeing to do what a little girl told him; but his anxiety to see some wonders prevailed, and they all said that they would obey.

“Shut your eyes, then, and don’t open them till I tell you, and perhaps something will happen.”

AN EYE-OPENER.

Norval rolled down from the sofa to the side of his brothers. Then all squeezed up their eyes quite tight, and although they heard a curious rumbling noise, did not open them.

“That’s right,” said Alice; “you would have spoiled everything if you had peeped. Boys who don’t do what they are told spoil everything, and themselves besides. Now you may look!”

They had squeezed their eyes so tight that it took ever so long to get them unfastened. Jaques got his open first, and saw that little Alice was gone.

“Oh, Alice, where are you?” he cried.

A distant voice replied, “Off to Dollys!”

OVER THE SLEEPERS.

Just as he was going to say, “What a shame, when I squeezed so hard!” Norval and Ranulf got their eyes open, and before Jaques could speak, they gave a wild shout, “Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” Jaques’ head had been looking the wrong way, but when he turned round he saw what the others had seen—

THREE BICYCLES,

FUNNY BOBS.

only they were rather different from other bicycles, as, in place of the small hind-wheels, there were funny little fellows, made up of a head and three legs; and as they stood on one foot, with the other two in the air, and their noses thrust through the end of the bar, they looked very comical. Still more funny was it when the boys went forward to look closer, and the little three-legged men made them a bow, which they did by touching their caps with one leg, bobbing forward on another, and back again. The wheels and treddles were made of gold, the seats were lined with crimson velvet, and the little men had blue tights and silver caps and shoes; so everything looked very smart. The boys could not understand how the bicycles stood upright without anything to hold the wheels, and began talking about them, wondering whether they could move of themselves. They had scarcely spoken of this, when, as if to show off their powers, the little men began to turn round on their three legs, and move slowly about the room. They steered their way among the furniture most cleverly, and at last as each stopped beside one of the boys they all touched their caps, and bobbed from one leg to another, as before.

“Are we to get up?” said Jaques, timidly.

OFF THEY GO.

Bob went all the little men.

“Does that mean yes?” said Norval.

Bob.

“But where are we going?” said Ranulf.

“To Wonderland, of course,” said Jaques.

“All right,” said the other two, and they all scrambled up on the bicycles.

The moment they were seated, the three little men gave a shrill whistle, as a railway engine does before it starts, and off they went at a tremendous pace. The boys had barely time to think how hard the drawing-room wall would be, when the whole party went straight through it as if it had been, like circus hoops, filled in with paper. Norval went across the library and out at the window, but papa did not seem to notice him; he only got up and closed the sash, as if he had felt a draught. Jaques passed through the butler’s pantry, but the butler only scratched his ear, as if something had tickled him. Ranulf shot at a slant through the nursery, clutching a penny trumpet off the table as he passed, but nurse only gave a shiver, and said, “Deary me, I do feel so queasy queer!”

DISTANCE LENDS.

They were going so fast, that Norval, looking round the moment they were outside the house, saw papa’s head, not bigger than a black pin’s, looking out of a window, that seemed smaller than a halfpenny stamp; and Jaques caught sight of Oscar, the house dog, who looked like a comma with its tail wagging. Besides, they kept mounting up in the air as well as going on, so that the fields looked no bigger than the squares of a chess-board, and the trees between them, in their autumn tints, like rows of brass nails on a green-baize door. Before they could count fifty, the world itself, when they looked back, was like one of those funny worsted balls that show a number of different colours. The little men were spinning so fast that their silver caps, blue hose, and bright shoes ran into circles, till they looked like silver wheels with a blue enamel ring on them.

“Isn’t it funny that we aren’t frightened?” said Jaques.

FAST IDEAS.

“I think we would be if we had time,” said Norval (who was the thinking one of the three), “only we are going so fast that there’s no time to be frightened.”

“Perhaps it’s because we’re asleep like Alice, after all,” said Ranulf, looking very wise.

“Oh no; because you see when people are asleep they are still, and we are going so fast that it would be sure to wake us,” replied Jaques.

“But we can be still and go fast all the same, can’t we?” said Ranulf.

“Oh no, you silly!” said Jaques.

“Oh yes,” said Ranulf; “because we can go still faster; and if we can go still faster, why can’t we go still fast?”

“Oh yes, to be sure,” said Jaques; “and besides, of course, a man can be fast and still at the same time, for if he is made fast with rope he must be still.”

“And we are going fast still,” said Norval, as the bicycles flew on; “but I don’t see yet how we can be still and fast both.”

A STEADY SWELL.

The three seemed likely to get into a regular muddle about this, when their attention was suddenly called off by Jaques catching sight of something that looked first like a new threepenny-piece, and in another second like a big shining tin plate.

“What’s that?” said Jaques. While he was saying this, it had grown as big as a drum.

“Perhaps it’s a giant’s dish,” said Ranulf. It was now as big as a circus.

“It’s getting too big for that,” said Jaques. By this time it was as large as a race-course, and in another second it was too great to be like anything.

CRUSTY CRESCENT.

Norval, who had been thinking, was just going to say, “Perhaps it’s the moon,” when the Man in the Moon put his head out at one side, and looking as grumpy as possible, called out—“Hi, you rascals! what do you want here?” He had evidently been wakened out of a nap by the whirr of the bicycles, for he wore a big red nightcap, and had got only one eye open.

“We aren’t rascals,” said Jaques; “if you say that, we’ll tell papa.”

“Oh,” said Norval, “are you the fellow that came down too soon?”

NEARLY MOON-STRUCK.

Ranulf broke in—“I think you’ve got up too soon this morning. By the bye, did you ever find the way to Norwich?”

The Man in the Moon got quite red with rage at this, opened his other eye, and aimed a blow at Ranulf with a big stick.

“Ha!” said Jaques, “that’s one of the sticks you gathered on Sunday, you villain!”

As his arm made the blow, it came nearer the boys; and the stick, which had looked only like a porridge-stick, got as big as Nelson’s Monument. Ranulf would have been knocked to pieces, but the little man at the back of the bicycle gave a sudden dart to one side; the Man in the Moon overbalanced himself, and if his wife had not caught him by the legs he would have tumbled off the moon altogether. In struggling to get on again his red nightcap fell off, and a breeze of wind carrying it away, left it sticking on one of the moon’s horns.

They were now getting so near the moon that they began to wonder how they were to pass it.

KEEP YOUR SEATS.

“Jump over, to be sure,” said Jaques.

“Oh, that would be a tremendous jump!” replied Ranulf.

“Not at all,” said Norval; “you know the cow jumped over the moon, so it can’t be very difficult after all.”

The bicycles began to move a little slower, and the boys thought they were going to stop, but it turned out that the little men were only gathering themselves together, like good hunters, for the spring; for in a moment they gave a whistle, as a train does when it goes into a tunnel, and the bicycles bounding up, went right over the top of the moon, the boys keeping their seats in a way that it would be well if some Members of Parliament could imitate.

ECHO ANSWERS.

As they passed, the Man in the Moon, who had come up after his nightcap, shouted, “Don’t you come here again!” and picked up a stone as big as four hayricks to throw after them. But before he could do so, his wife, who had come behind him, and who had a nose as big as a ship’s long-boat, eyes like paddle-boxes, and a mouth like the entrance of a harbour, seized him by the arm, boxed his ears, and said in a voice loud enough to be heard hundreds of miles off—

“Would you hurt the dear little things, you old villain?”

“Old villain! ’ld villain! villain! ’illain! ’lain! ’lan! ln!” cried the echoes in the stars.

The Man in the Moon dropped the big stone on his own toes, and muttering, “Petticoat government again!” pulled his nightcap over his ears, shrugged his shoulders, and went home meekly to breakfast.

“I wonder if we’re going the same way the cow went!” said Ranulf; “if we are, perhaps we may get a drink of milk—I’m so thirsty.”

“And a beefsteak,” said Jaques; “for I’m hungry.”

“Faugh!” said Norval; “what would papa say if he heard of our eating cow-beef in Fairyland? and as for milk, if she runs as fast as we do, she must be run dry long ago.”

MIST-ERIE.

The pace was now greater than ever, so that the stars flew past them like sparks from a smith’s anvil. They had been going through darkness for some time, when they perceived a dim light in front; and soon they saw that it was a grey cloud, into which the bicycles plunged, moving more slowly, till they came to a walk. While they were in the cloud, the boys felt that they had come to ground; and in a minute or two they passed through it, and found themselves in a very bleak, cold-looking place—no grass, no trees, no flowers, nothing but stones and sand, and an old woman walking in front of them, thick fog enveloping all round. Ranulf was almost going to cry, it looked so dreary; but Norval told him to remember that papa often said, “Whatever happens, don’t cry, but be brave boys; things are always made worse by crying.” So he gave three big gulps and was all right. But they began to think in themselves that if they had known Fairyland was like this, they would have preferred to stay at home. They had little time to reflect, however, for the old woman tripped her foot against a stone and fell down on her nose, which was very long. The boys jumped at once to the ground, forgetting all about Fairyland, and rushed to the old woman to help her up.

BEAK ON ROCK.

“Poor granny!” said Jaques, “are you very much hurt?”

“Verily muchly,” said she, in a squeaky voice, that sounded like the noise which a piece of paper stuck over a comb makes.

A PICK-ME-UP.

It was so funny that they all felt inclined to have a laugh; but they kept it down, and helped the old lady up. Her nose was so long that their handkerchiefs were too small to tie it up, so they fastened them together and bandaged it as well as they could. They were going back to the bicycles, when she said—

“Don’t go away, dears.”

Norval said, “We wanted to get on to the nice part of Fairyland, but if you would like us to stay till you feel better, we will.”

“Yes, of course we will,” said Jaques; “won’t we, Ranny?” And Ranulf gave a big nod.

TRANSFORMATION.

FAIRY-EST OF ALL.

Then the old lady, patting Ranulf on the head, replied, “You want to get to the nice part of Fairyland? So you shall, for those who are kind are sure to get what is nice and pleasant at the proper time.” While speaking, she seemed to get enveloped in a kind of mist, through which the boys could only trace her figure dimly. To their great surprise, the fog that was all round and above them began to weave into lines; and these plaited themselves together quickly, till they formed a vast trellised dome. Then light began to break through, and the dark bars became transparent gold. Lovely plants rose from the top of the dome, twining themselves in and out all the way down. Each had hundreds of buds, which, as they reached the ground, burst into leaves and flowers in dense profusion—here a thread of blue, here of red, here of white, which, mingling with the golden trellis, produced a charming effect. The ground, which had been rough and stony, smoothed itself into stripes of silver sand. The stones became precious ones of all colours, and ranged themselves along the stripes of silver, making beautiful, shining walks. In the plots between the walks, the most lovely grass appeared, soft and delicate, like velvet; and from each there rose a crystal fountain, playing waters of different bright colours; while all around richly laden fruit-trees sprang up, with many splendid-coloured birds on the branches, which began to fly in all directions, whistling and singing most sweetly. All this time the mist remained round the old woman, only turning to a beautiful rose colour. When the fountains and trees were rising, the boys gazed in wonder and delight. Ranulf proposed to pluck some fruit and eat it, but Norval said they must not do that without leave. Presently the rose-coloured mist began to get thin, and, clearing away, they saw a beautiful form appearing—a regular real fairy, standing perfectly still in the middle of the canopy, shining so bright that though everything else was beautiful, she was the loveliest of all, as she stood in the midst of a bouquet of flowers formed of glittering jewels. For there was a bright shining in her face that outshone all else—a something so beaming, so winning, so unlike anything to be seen in the world of every day, that you must just try to think of what cannot be thought of, before you will get any idea of it. Her robe was dazzling white, and the swan-like neck and rounded arms vied in delicate beauty with the strings of gorgeous pearls that formed the only sleeves of her shining dress. The slender waist was circled by a band of glittering precious stones, and her skirt, falling to the knee, was one blaze of silver light, the fringe at the edge sparkling with brilliants. A tiara of diamonds crowned her head, and lovely golden hair hung below her waist.

MANNERS.

Jaques’ mouth and eyes opened wide, and Ranulf showed two large dimples in his cheeks as these wonders came to view. Norval was the first to remember what he was about, and said, “Come along, boys; we must go and shake hands, you know, and say, How do you do?” So they all went forward. As they came near, a lovely smile broke over the fairy’s face, and she held out her hand, saying, “I am so glad to see you, dear boys; and still more to see that you know how to behave like little gentlemen.” Her voice was clear as a silver bell, and her hand very curious to touch, but so nice. She went on, as she stooped down and smoothed Ranulf’s hair, “You will see every day the advantage of being good and brave. Do you know what would have happened if you had not helped me, when I was the old woman?”

BELLE FROM BELDAM.

“Oh, but you couldn’t be the old woman,” said Ranulf, looking up admiringly in her face.

“Indeed I was, dear,” said she; “I just wanted to see whether you were unselfish, kind boys, so made myself very ugly and ridiculous. But do you know what would have happened if you had not picked me up?”

“No-o-o-o,” said they all, shaking their heads.

“My servants would have whirled you back faster than you came, and dropped you on the rug again.”

“What servants do you mean, please?” said Jaques; “we didn’t see any.”

LIKE A BIRD.

“I will show you,” said the fairy, giving a light bound to the ground, and walking across towards the bicycles, which were modestly standing at one side of the bower. She had shoes of transparent glass, with buckles of lovely sapphire; but what astonished the boys most was, that the glass was not stiff, but obeyed the movement of her beautiful feet, so that her motion was splendid, the foot curving gracefully down as she stepped, reminding the boys of one of the large stately-moving birds they had seen at the Zoological Gardens. They gazed at her in amazement, as she smoothly glided; and she, observing their surprise, said, smiling—

“So you admire my shoes. I get them from the same man who supplied my sister fairy with those she gave to Cinderella. He’s the very best maker in Fairyland.”

A PAGE OF PAGES.

As she came near the bicycles, the little men made their bow as they had done to the boys, and then raising themselves off the ground, whisked round two or three times in the air, as if in great delight. The fairy tapped each of them with her wand, and at once they became handsome pages, older and bigger than Norval, dressed in dark-blue doublets and velvet caps, with pretty ruffs round their necks that looked transparent like glass; and, with their light-blue tights and silver shoes, they were very smart. Each stood leaning on the great gold wheel, which was all that remained of the bicycles.

“Oh,” said Jaques, “we didn’t know they were real; we half thought they were only funny machines like men,”—and turning to the other boys, added, “Must not we say ‘Thank you’ to them for all their trouble?”

“Of course,” said Norval; and each went up to his own page, and said, “Thank you very much.”

“That’s right,” said the fairy; and the pages smiled and made a bow—just an ordinary bow, not whirling round as they had done before, for, of course, pages cannot turn over of themselves.

DINNER IS SERVED.

“And now you must be hungry, dears, after your long journey,” said the fairy, giving a graceful wave of her hand towards the three pages. In an instant they were down on one knee with the golden wheels supported on their heads, like three lovely Dresden-china art tables, while their caps, which they tossed on the ground, grew and shaped themselves into silver stools. And how it came about the boys never could make out, but there was a neat little dinner laid out on the top of each wheel; and still more curious, each boy had his own favourite dish, only nicer to look at and better to taste than they had ever had it before. While they feasted, low strains of music sounded sweetly through the air, and a chorus of many voices, clear as the crystal brook, but gentle as its murmur, sang[1]—

GOOD ADVICE.

1.

“Boys of earth, be brave, be true,

Linger not at vice’s call;

Cords of love are drawing you,

Chains that guide but not enthral.

Break them not, their fragile lines

Draw with strength the willing heart

To the life that ever shines;

Angels weep to see them part.

2.

Let the cords of love entwine

Round the heart-strings day by day;

Let the threads of silver shine,

Guiding by the narrow way.

Watch, lest thorns of pleasure’s bower

Tangle in their tender strands;

Guard, lest Mammon’s subtle power,

Fray and loose their gentle bands.

3.

Worldling’s life is love’s decay,

Pleasure’s slave hath joyless end;

Squander not life’s fleeting day

In the paths that downward tend.

Follow truth and yield to love,

Bravely keep the narrow way;

Truth shall greet you from above,

Love shall bring to endless day.

4.

Truth and love endure for aye,

Silver love in truth shall hide,

Golden truth for love doth stay—

Truth the bridegroom, love the bride;

Sun’s strong beam to moon’s soft ray,

Truth and mercy met in one,

Blend in everlasting day,

And again the work is done.”

When the boys had dined, which they did with exceptional ease, as their knives and forks did not require to be handled, but performed their work neatly and deftly of themselves; and when the table-napkins had unfolded themselves, and touched their lips with deliciously scented water, the last strains of the song died away; and the fairy, who had herself sung the final verse in tones most winning, so that the boys had crept close to her, nestling under the caress of her arms, stooped down and kissed them tenderly.

WHERE NEXT?

“And now,” said she, “I know you want some fun, and quite right too. Those who go steadily in the right road are well entitled to a little diversion, and can enjoy it better than the boys who choose crooked paths. Now, where would you like to go?”

WONDERFUL BLUNDER.

“Oh,” said Norval, “we have a pass from Alice to let us into Wonderland.”

“Ah! Alice; I have heard of her, or rather I’ve heard her. She was the little girl that grew so big, was she not?”

“Yes.”

“Well, when she got big, her voice got big too, and it was heard all over Fairyland.”

“But are there more places than one in your country?” asked Norval.

“Oh yes, dear, of course there are; we have Elfland, and Bogieland, and Spriteland, and Wonderland, and Blunderland, and many others. But let me see your pass.”

Norval produced it from his pocket.

“Why,” said the fairy, “this is not for Wonderland; it’s for Blunderland.”

And so it was, beyond all doubt, as may be seen by looking at this copy, faithfully and literally taken from the original writing:—

A PRETTY PASS.

“Oh, how stupid!” said Norval. “When I was writing it I said to myself, I will try not to make any blunder in spelling; and I must have written Blunder from thinking of it. What are we to do?”

“Never mind,” said the fairy; “there is plenty of good fun to be got in Blunderland, and you may just as well go there as anywhere else. So now good-bye, and I hope you will enjoy yourselves.”

PLACE AUX DAMES.

Once more the lovely hand was waved—this time the arm in its graceful curve taking in every part of the palace of gold and flowers—when instantly a thousand fairies stood in one vast circle around, and gracefully bent low before their queen. Then with a bound each took her place opposite one of the trellises of the bower, standing with the right foot pointed, and waited for the signal to begin the dance.

BELLES AND BELLS.

STARRING IT.

The queen, with many a graceful turn, circled round the glittering ring of dazzling fairy brightness, waving one hand outwards to this fairy and the other inwards to that; and though there were a thousand of them, and she thus, in soft floating dance, went round all, yet it seemed to be done almost in the time that the eye could follow her; then with a bound she once more stood in the centre of the great bouquet, and having slowly drooped in a deep long curtsey, acknowledging the reverence of her subjects, sprang to her full height on tiptoe, and threw her hand above her head, holding a rose that she had worn at her breast, which burst out into the form of a star, scintillating with light of most dazzling brilliancy. This was the signal,—and in a moment, ching, ching, ching, ringa, ringa, ring, went the million little silver bells upon the skirts of the fairies, as they floated in graceful measure hand in hand. Then each laying hold on one of the supports of the dome, they raised it up, and danced round, carrying the canopy with all its myriads of flowers with them, faster and ever faster, till the eye could scarce follow the ever-shifting shades of dazzling colour,—the light from the queen’s hand, varying ever and anon, changing the whole scene from dazzling brightness to crimson glow, from green gold of sunset to soft purple of fading twilight.

The boys stood gazing in mute wonder and delight at the graceful motion of the queen and her fairies, having never seen any dancing but at a ball at home, where people rushed about, elbows meeting ribs, and strips of tulle and tarlatan torn and scattered about; or at a spectacle, where a pantomime fairy seemed trying to jerk off her shoes.

GOOD-BYE.

Presently the rapid thrilling ching-a-ring of the bells—through whose chiming a melody not to be described, but wonderful in its sweetness, caught the ear—became slower, the fairies to whom the queen had waved her hand outwards turned round, facing those to whom she had waved inwards; and out and in they glided, ever faster and faster, the trellis-work of the canopy unplaiting as they went, till the last crossing being undone, the fairies ranged themselves on opposite sides, the bars making one long, brilliant, golden-arched bower, the end of which seemed small in the far distance. Then the queen, with a merry smile that had something half-roguish in it, kissed her hand once more to the boys, saying—

“Remember!
Brave and True;”

and before they had time to think what was going to happen, the bouquet shaped itself into a magnificent chariot, the three golden wheels set themselves one in front and one at each side, the pages sprang up behind, and gliding like a flash down the golden bower, the chariot was lost to view.

A SIGNAL SURPRISE.

The boys were just going to set off running after it, when a tremendous

WHEEEEEEUuuuuuu-UGH

sounded from an approaching train, the station bell rang close to their ears, and a gruff voice above them shouted, “Train for Whackbury, Flogland, Dunbrown, Sillybilly, and Blundertown.” Not that it sounded like this, for it was spoken precisely as on all railways at home, and sounded just

“Train frwabryflugglindenbrunnsilblunblurtun.”

EYE READY.

But that matters as little on fairy railroads as elsewhere. When the boys looked up they saw that the voice came from a policeman, about as tall as a three-storey house, and no thicker than a Maypole, standing with his arms sticking straight out, and who had an extra eye to safety, blazing red, both in front and at the back of his head. Just as they looked up, one arm flopped down to a slant, and an eye winked funnily from red to green, so that he was a caution to look at. The train now appeared dashing out of the tunnel (golden and bright no longer), going so fast that the boys thought it must pass the station, and were horrified when they saw the porters busily throwing down a quantity of black things like two-foot-long tadpoles on to the rails, and then, a little further on, a big, round, black ball.

STOP THESE BUFFERS.

“What’s that for?” said Jaques.

“Well, them’s stops. We goes about as fast as thought, so we checks and pulls our trains up the same way as they do trains of thought, with commas and colons.”

And sure enough the train, after crashing through the commas, came to a stand just as two funny little buffers, whose heads stuck out in front of the engine, seemed on the point of being black-balled by the full stop. It is true that the commas seemed not to be placed with any care, but just dropped down on the lines anyhow; still in this the system varied in no way from the mode in which commas are scattered about the lines of other great works as well as railways. In fact it seems to be the rule, that commas come as they like; and if they come upside down they can bring any amount of material to one work from another—a new proof that one of the greatest powers of the age is commars.

A BLOWING UP.

As the train came to a standstill, the policeman’s eye winked suddenly back from green to red, and his arm flew up again, while he shouted—

“Smash’ll, smash’ll, smash’ll.”

“Change furcrotnchipucklgublboranquklin;”

by which he meant, “Change for Crowtown, Cheepcackle, Gobbleboro’, and Quackland.”

The boys’ attention was called to the engine, by the station-master coming up in a rage to the driver, and stamping his foot on the ground, shouting, “Here’s the ninth day this week that you have come in punctually, when you know that it is against the rules. You must have a blowing up.”

“All right, sir,” said the driver, meekly; and mounting the engine, he quietly took his seat upon the safety-valve.

ANOTHER.

The boys, who had bought a little steam-engine with the savings of pocket-money carefully hoarded for many months, knew something of the danger of this proceeding from the printed directions sent with their engine, and Norval cried out, “Oh, don’t do that, or there will be a burst!”

“All right, little un,” said the driver, “it’ll get me hup in the world.”

As he spoke he was shot into the air as high as the tall policeman’s head, and the boys shut their eyes in horror, thinking he must be killed. But on opening them again, to their surprise they saw him at his post, quietly buttering a piece of bread with wheel-grease, and taking a drink out of the engine’s oil-can.

“Are you not hurt?” asked Jaques, anxiously.

“Yes, ’urt in my feelin’s. It’s wery ’ard hafter getting so ’igh to have to come down to this agin; but we must take things has they comes or goes, has the man said when ’is ’ead flew hoff on bein’ axed to do so.”

A POT-BOILER.

The engine did not appear to be more damaged than the driver by the explosion, and on looking at it, the boys were surprised to see that its boiler was shaped like a porridge-pot, with an immense porridge-stick stirring it by steam. There was a tender behind, which kept the engine up; for, as the driver said, in answer to one of the boys, “We keeps ’im coaled to keep ’im ot. My hengine begins to ’eat up when ’ee’s swallered two tons. In fact it’s with this coal ’ere that ’is bile is riz.”[2]

“And what have you got in the pot?” asked Ranulf.

JUGGED ’ARE.

The driver, who had just taken another pull at the oil-can, so long and full that the fireman had to beg him to leave some for the wheels, replied, “Don’t ye ax souperfluous questions.” But the fireman, picking up a big spoon like a warming-pan, plunged it into the pot, and held it down to Ranulf, saying, “There, you’ll find that ’ere souperfine stuff.”

“It ain’t ’are soup at all,” said the driver; “what are yer talkin’ about?”

“That’s just as well,” said Norval, “because one can’t live on air, of course.”

“I dunno that,” said the driver; “jugged ’are’s wery good stuff for dinner.”

“Oh, but,” said Jaques, gravely, “if we got nothing but a jug of air for dinner we would be just full of wind.”

He thought to himself, just as he said this, that perhaps this was the right thing for a driver of a puff-puff, as they called railway-engines in the nursery, but he did not like to say so.

TICKETS FOR SOUP.

After Ranulf had tasted the soup, Norval and Jaques had some, just as the porter came along the train calling out, “All tickets for soup ready, please; tickets reade-e-e-e. All tickets for soup ready, please.”

“But we haven’t got any tickets,” said Ranulf.

“Then,” said the porter, “where’s your fare?”

“Well, we had fairy fare a little ago.”

“But I mean railway fare,” said the porter.

“Oh,” said Norval, “we’ve just had it too, and first-class fare it was; at least it was fair fare.”

“All right,” said the porter; “but any boy who travels without his fare, or his ticket for soup, will be breeched for breach of the company’s pie-laws, remember that.”

STOUT PORTER.

He tried to look very fierce as he said this; but as his body looked like a barrel, with three big X’s upon it, and his head was a large pewter-pot, the boys could not help laughing, which Norval excused by saying, “I beg your pardon, but you do look so dumpy.”

“In coorse I does,” said he. “Porters no good that bean’t stout, you know.”

“Oh, but you’re so stout!” said Jaques.

“No, I ain’t So’s stout,” said he; “I’m Dublin stout.”

TURKEY CHANGING.

“If you’re doubling stout,” said Norval, “that’s as stout as can be, isn’t it?”

“No, it ain’t. I’m more than that already. Don’t you know treble X when you see him?”

“Oh yes, I know now,” said Jaques. “I’ve heard papa say that X is an unknown quantity; and you’re three times him, are you?”

FOWL LANGUAGE.

The porter was off by this time at the door of a carriage, looking at tickets, so he gave no answer; and the boys’ attention was called off by the passengers that were changing for Crowtown, Cheepcackle, Gobbleboro’, and Quackland coming along the platform to cross the line. First came Sir T. Urkey, of Gobbleboro’ Hall, in a white hat, a red handkerchief sticking out from below it, a brown coat, and tight leggings. Next followed Mr Shanty Cleary, his wife Henny, and half-a-dozen little cheeps of the old block following. Mr Shanty Cleary’s head presented a most combical appearance, and all the young Clearys of the male gender took after their father in this respect. Last came M. U. S. Covy Drayck, Esq., the tails of whose coat curled up in a very funny way, and who carried his head very high, as if the whole country belonged to him, although he was rather bandy-legged and very flat-footed. He seemed altogether inclined to play the swell; and as they passed the boys, bobbed his head to one of the Miss Clearys, and said, “Oh you little duck!”

“Duck yourself,” said Mrs Cleary, with a most indignant sweep of her head; “my daughter’s no duck, Mr Imperence.” Mr Shanty Cleary himself stepped forward, with his head as high as he could; and looking as cocky as possible, was just opening his mouth to say something severe, when Sir T. Urkey turned back and said, “What’s the matter?”

“He’s giving my chick cheek,” said old Cleary.

“He’s trying to crow over me,” said Mr Covy Drayck.

“Come, Drayck, don’t be a goose,” said Sir T., “and behave yourself. You’re no chicken now, you know.”

IMPUDENT QUACKERY.

“Who asked you to interfere?” said the other, throwing back his neck as far as it would go, and waddling up to Sir T. in a most defiant manner.

Sir T. got purple in the face, and swelled out under his brown coat with rage, his red handkerchief slipping loose, and a long end of it hanging over his nose, nearly to his waist. He rushed at Mr Drayck, with his coat-flaps trailing on the ground, and tried to speak, but nothing came out except a gub-gubba-gubble-gubble-gubble. Mrs Cleary, seeing there would be a fight, screamed out, “Police! police!” as loud as she could. The tall policeman gave a horrible wink, showing the white of his eye, at which signal two other constables seized the ill-behaved Mr Drayck by the neck, and began to drag him to the engine.

POTTED.

“What do you mean, you rascals?” said Mr Drayck.

“Means to pot you for breach of the pie-laws.”

“Where’s your warrant?” said Mr Drayck.

“Our pots is all Warrens,” said a constable, as they chucked him in.

“There,” said he, “you can commit breach of the peas in there if you like; they won’t split on you, for they’re all split already.”

“Take your seats,” shouted the guard (who had a whistle instead of a nose, and a big turnip fastened to his belt to tell the time by), as he ran up to the boys, “and mind you don’t get in right side first.”

“Why?” said Jaques.

“Because if you gits in right side afore, you’re sure to be left behind.”

The boys went along the platform to look for a carriage. The first they came to had a crown of a hat nailed on its side, and below in large letters—

EXHASPIRATING.

’ERE

AGAIN.

Looking in they saw a king in a long robe, standing before a number of square holes (over each of which there was a letter of the alphabet), with an armful of letters, which he was cramming into the different holes. The H’s seemed to be very troublesome, for they were constantly getting dropped, and those that he managed to force into their place the boys saw slyly slipping out, and gliding into the holes of the vowels, so that, struggle as he might, he could not get them right. Once he caught an H with a corner of an I, just as it was trying to get in beside the O’s.

“Oh ho!” said he, “is that what you’re after?” seizing him firmly. But the H was determined, if he could not be where he ought not, that he would be dropped; and as the king held on tightly to him, over they both rolled together, the king tripping on his long robes, and coming down in a most undignified position. The H’s that were on the ground could do nothing, but those that had got in beside the vowels shouted with laughter.

A DROP SCENE.

“Ha, ha, ha!” came from A pigeon-hole.

“Hee, hee, hee!” from E.

“Ho, ho, ho!” from O.

Those that had got in beside the I’s laughed in a Hi key. The H’s that were in the U pigeon-hole alone remained silent, as they could only have called out Heu, which, as it means alas! they were not in the Humour to use.

The king made no attempt to rise, and looked as if he was much the worse of the drop he had had, and in great need of a Pick-me-up; so Norval put his foot on the step to get in and help him, but the king, observing his intention, waved his hand and said majestically—

“Royal Male.
NO ADMITTANCE.”

It was evident, however, that he was in great distress, for he called out “Oh!” several times, only the boys could not understand why he put other letters before it, so that it sounded like, “g. p. oh! g. p. oh! g. p. oh!”

“Get out of the way,” said a voice behind them; and a gorgeous officer, but who, strangely enough, wore canvas bags, and the orders on whose breast were money-orders, stepped in beside the Royal Male.

“Who’s that?” asked Jaques.

WIFE-BEATING.

“That’s General Pustoffus; we calls him G. P. O. for short; it’s him as looks after the Royal Male. He’s a queer sorter chap he is, the Royal Male. He takes up ’is ’ole time a pullin’ letters out of bags, and shoving ’em into ’oles; and when’s he’s tired o’ that, he takes them out of ’oles and shoves ’em into bags. And, besides that, there’s never a letter he gets that he doesn’t give the Queen’s ’ead a bang.”

“What a shame!” said Ranulf.

“Ay, it be a shame,” said the guard. “If you or me was to lick our wife we’d get six months; but this ’ere Royal Male, he doesn’t mind ’er ’ead gettin’ licked and stuck fast in a corner, and ’ee’s always a stamping on it, and making her face all black. And I’m sure a patienter lady never was, for though her ’ead’s being bumped all day, she never says a word. He don’t hold the Queen’s ’ead worth more nor a penny to a hounce, he don’t. But come on, or the train will be hoff.”

PUFFY PIGGY.

The next was the smoking-carriage, and the smoke was pushing out so hard at the door, that the moment the handle was turned it flew open, so that it took the united efforts of the guard and porter to get it shut again, the cloud coming out as thick as gutta percha. Norval looked through the window, and saw a pig puffing away at an enormous cigar.

“What a bore! It’s no use trying to go in there,” said he.

“I thought papa said smoking was a bad habit,” said Ranulf.

“Well,” said the porter, “ain’t ’ee trying to cure hisself?”

SAMPLING.

“I’d ha’ thought,” said the guard, “that amount of smoking would ha’ cured him already.”

The pig, hearing the talk, opened the window and handed out a slice of himself on a plate, saying, as he did so, “There, you see yourselves I am not half cured yet, so don’t bother me any more. What can’t be cured must be endured.” He gave such a puff of smoke as he said this, that Ranulf sneezed a loud “H-a-a-a-m.”

A FALSE START.

“No, I am not ham,” said the pig.

“Bacon, then,” said Jaques.

“So I do mean to bake on,” said the pig, “in the smoke here, and when I am ham I’ll let you know; so don’t take it for grunted till I tell you.”

He shut the window again.

“Why can’t he talk correct, and say ‘When I ham ’am’?” said the guard, as, the pig closed the window.

The next carriage was empty; and no wonder—for it was the sleeping-carriage, and was snoring so loud that even the wooden sleepers below wouldn’t stay quiet, and were anything but chary of their raillery. When Jaques looked in it only spoke in its sleep, and said, “Are we far from Wakefield yet?”

“Very far, I should think,” replied Jaques.

They all laughed at this; and unfortunately the guard, in laughing, let his whistle-nose go off.

STEAD IS THE CURE.

This made the driver start the train; just as the pig opened the window of the smoking-carriage again, and handed out another slice, saying, “A rasher individual than this pig would have made his eggsit as a cure at once, but you see I’m no’[3] a ham yet; steady’s the word for a perfect cure.”

This long speech gave time for a tremendous cloud of smoke to escape, so that the train got out of the station under cover of it, before the guard or the porter knew that it was off.

“’Ere’s a go!” said the porter.

“It’s more like there’s a go,” replied Norval.

“Yes, there’s a go, and here’s a stay,” said the guard. “We must get on somehow. What shall we do?”

“Ax old Sammy Fore, ’ee’s your man,” said the porter, pointing to the signal policeman.

“Vy, vot could ’ee do?”

“’Ee? ’ee’s the very man for movin’ people on, yer knows; ’ee’l be hable to run yer in to the train yet.”

POLICEMAN XPRESS.

They all hurried across to the policeman, and begged him to take them on.

“Do you see anything green in my eye?” said he.

“Sometimes,” said Jaques, “when you wink.”

“Then you won’t this time,” said he. “Don’t you know that I’m a fixed signal? If I were to leave here, I shouldn’t be found when I was wanted.”

“Just like other policemen,” said the guard, “so that wouldn’t make no difference. Come, don’t be a fool; take us on.”

“Couldn’t we go by special train?” said Norval, who was by way of being very knowing about railways.

“Special train be blowed!” said the guard; “let’s go by special constable. We’ll soon hovertake the train by p’liceman Xpress.”

“No, you shan’t,” said the policeman; “I sticks to my beat.”

COOKS FOLLOWERS.

“If you sticks so hard, you’ll grow to the spot,” said the guard, sulkily.

“Then I’ll be a beetroot,” said the policeman.

“So you are, with your red and green.”

The policeman seemed determined not to help them, when the guard at last said, in desperation, “If anything happens to that ’ere train, it’ll be a pretty kettle of fish, for there’s a Cooke’s excursion in it.”

“Cooks and fish!” shouted the policeman; “why didn’t you say so before? If there’s cooks in the train, I’m your man. Come on; cooks without followers is no good; let’s after ’em at once.”

So saying, he whipped up Jaques and Ranulf under one arm, and Norval under the other, and bidding the guard hold on by his coat-tails, started off after the train. His long legs went over the ground at a tremendous pace, and as they flew by, the people in the houses rushed out to behold the sight of a policeman running, for they are generally slow enough, as everybody knows. One old ploughman scratched his head as they sped past, and muttered, “A’ve offen ’eard as how p’licemen’s never in an ’urry, but that un goes like an ’urricane, he do.”

“Yes,” said another old man, “police rates are as slow as they’re heavy generally.”

VAN DRIVING.

When they had gone several miles in as many seconds, the policeman caught sight of the train, and rushed on faster than ever. But suddenly he gave a terrible yell of pain; and no wonder—for he had bumped his shin against a bridge crossing the line, which he had not noticed, as he was watching the train. He staggered, blundered on a few strides of 300 yards each, and at last fell heavily forward, and his head went bang through the van of the train, which had come to a standstill, driving it all the way to the next station, which was about half a mile off. When the policeman fell, the little fellows ran great risk of coming to smash; but at the back of the train there happened to be two obliging buffers, who, as the shock of the fall made the policeman’s arms fly up, caught the boys, and with the aid of one or two back springs, brought them safely to the ground.

“Thou’st roon thyself in this time, lad,” said the guard; “it be looky for oi that I warn’t in the van, or there ’ud a been two brakes in it instead of one.”

MOVE ON, THERE!

The policeman vouchsafed no reply, but gathered himself up with a most dignified air. One of his red eyes looked rather the worse for his tumble; but being a glass one, it did not matter much, as it could be easily replaced. He stuck his arms straight out once more, and said, majestically, “Move on, there!”

The guard being anxious to get to the train, needed no further urging, but set off with the boys for the station. After a little, he got so out of breath that his nose was beginning to whistle again, and he had to hold it for the rest of the way, lest it should cause the train to start off without them once more.

SLOW-PACED PROCEEDINGS.

The boys, going forward to get into a carriage, found the people all jammed up by large pieces of pasteboard, like the advertising placards carried by two men in the streets, which turned out to be tickets. They could not be got out at the doors without a great deal of bending and squeezing and struggling, which tore and broke them; and as the officials insisted on carefully pasting up each ticket as it was got out, the collecting promised to be a very long affair.

“Why are the tickets so big?” said Jaques to the station-master, who had used up a paste-pot as large as a drum. They had a paste-pump in the station that was kept constantly going, like a battery.

“Well, you see, my little man,” said he, “people were always losing the small tickets, so we thought they would take care of big ones; and we have not had any mistakes since.”

“But doesn’t it take a long time?” said Norval.

“Well, ye-e-e-ss. We generally take about three hours and a half to get things square,—I mean the tickets, for they makes a sad hash of them getting them out; but then things is square when we’ve done, you see, and that’s the great point.”

CLOSE QUARTERS.

Norval, who was beginning mathematics, wondered how a point could be great, and how a square could be a point; but he did not like to trouble the station-master, as he was so busy with the tickets, which, when they were all mended and collected, made a pile that blocked up half of the station.

A number of Sillybilly people came to the station to get into the train for Blundertown. It was already so full that the boys were obliged to squeeze themselves up in corners, till Ranulf called out, “Oh, I can’t bre-e-eathe!” and Norval had to take him on his knee. When the Sillybilly people came up, the guard ran along the train, calling out, “Plenty of room! plenty of room! Every one sit on his own knee, and there’s plenty of room!”

The passengers got very angry at this, and shouted out all sorts of cross replies to the guard.

GENERAL JAM.

“There’s no need to do that,” said one.

“It’s not an easy position,” said another.

“There’s no necessity for it,” bawled a fourth.

“It’s packing us like negroes,” said a fifth.

“It’s the ne plus ultra of mismanagement,” said a sixth.

Those who tried to do it always found that they got on somebody else’s knee instead of on their own, which, as it turned out, came to much the same thing, as the moment anybody rose to try to sit down on his own knee, a Sillybillier popped down on his seat.

WISIBLY SWELLIN’.

There was no need for hurry, as the train was only 22 hours and 49 minutes behind time; so, after everybody had with great difficulty got in, and they were packed so tight that the sides of the carriages were bulging out, the station-bell rang for 19 minutes, to show that the train was going to start. Then the guard unscrewed his whistle-nose, wiped it carefully with his pocket-handkerchief, and screwed it on again. It so happened that he fastened it with the wrong end out; and when he blew, he only whistled into himself, so that the driver could not hear; and he had to get the station-master to give him a slap on the back with one of the big tickets, to make the whistling that had stuck in him come out. The train then started, but as there was a bridge just beyond the station, and the carriages were so swelled, it had to be stopped again till the porters had roped the carriages like trunks, to press the sides in and let them pass.

FREE AND EASY.

The process made things so tight, that several persons called out, “Oh dear!” At this the porters only laughed, and said, “Dear? it’s the cheapest thing you get in twenty-four hours—you get it for nothing.”

The train having at last got fairly started, a big fat man, with a jolly broad face, who seemed to get happier and happier the closer the squeeze became, said in a wheezy voice—

“I move that we have a Free-and-Easy.”

“Move! that’s a good one,” said a voice from a corner. “Proposing to move is all very well, but how will you get it done in a squash like this?”

“Well,” said the jolly man, “there’s nothing like trying.”

“No; except trying circumstances, like ours just now.”

“We must have a chairman,” said the jolly gentleman.

“Here’s what you want,” said Norval; “I saw him getting in.”

PERE LA CHAISE.

Everybody looked towards Norval, but in the crowd they could see nothing but a broad, flat, smiling face.

“Why he more than another?” cried several.

“Well, if you could see him, you would know,” answered Norval.

Instantly there was a shout—“Clear off, and let us look at him.”

Tightly as they were squeezed, they notwithstanding made a tremendous push back from the man beside Norval, till the ropes round the carriage creaked again. Sure enough, there he was—a chair beyond all doubt, looking as inviting as possible.

“He’s just what we want for a Free-and-Easy,” said one, “for he’s an easy-chair!”

SUPPORTING THE CHAIR.

“Come along, be our chair, old boy,” said another.

“All right,” said he; “but remember, if I agree to act, I won’t be sat upon by anybody else; everybody must support the chair.”

“All right; we will, we will!” was heard from every side; and those next him whipped him up on their shoulders—from which elevation he grinned a great broad smile.

Everything seemed likely to go right, when a grumpy individual, whom the crush to clear the chair had flattened up against the side of the carriage, till he looked like half of himself, said in slow tones, as if he had only breath for a letter at a time—

“I b-eg-g to mo-o-ve a cou-nt-er mo-shn.” Such sighs went from him as he spoke, that it was no wonder he was much reduced in bulk. His words were received with jeers of derision on all sides.

“Counter-motion!” said one; “how can you get a movement out of shop-fixtures?”

PRESSED TO WITHDRAW.

“I wa-s a cou-nt-er-jum-per onc-ce, bu-t I a-ad-mit I’m a fi-xt-ure n-ow; bu-t th-at’s be-cau-se th-is is a pa-ack-d meet-t-ing.”

Nobody felt able to deny that the meeting was packed, so there was a dead silence. The chairman, however, with admirable tact, took up his adversary on his own ground, and said—

“We don’t want any of your pax, so just hold your peace.”

“If you don’t,” said somebody, “we’ll turn you out.”

“Th-ere w-ill be ro-om to tu-rn the-n; I w-ish yo-u wo-uld do it no-w, fo-r I fe-el tu-rn-ing di-zzy.”

“Turning dizzy! really now, you must be a clever party if you can do that,” said one.

“You had better withdraw your motion,” said the chairman, blandly; “everybody seems against you.”

“Ev-er-y-bo-dy-’s pr-ess-ing a-gai-nst me, if th-at’s wh-at y-ou mea-n.”

“Well, then, we’ll admit that you do it under pressure,” said the chairman, cheerily; “we will press you a little more if you wish, but I should think it was a case of jam satis.”

SINGING SMALL.

“Sic, sic; I fee-l ve-ry so-so,” said the grumpy man; “go-t a s-ing-ing in my ea-rs.”

“It’s more than we have,” said the chairman; “but for you we would have had it long ago—you’ve kept all the harmony from us; but now for a song. Who’ll sing?”

Nobody seemed to like to be first, and there was silence for a minute, when, to the astonishment of everybody, himself included, Ranulf’s little voice was heard saying, “I will.”

NURSERY RHYMING.

HIP, HIP, HIP.

“Bravo, new edition of the Little Songster! sing away!”[4]

1.

We are three jolly boys, you see,

Hurrah! hurrah!

We are three jolly boys, you see,

Hurrah! hurrah!

Norval and Jaques and Ranny—that’s me—

As lively as so many crickets are we,

And we wish you all a jolly good health, we do!

And we wish you all a jolly good health, we do!

2.

The fairy told us to be good,

Hurrah! hurrah!

The fairy told us to be good,

Hurrah! hurrah!

To be cheery and bright, not sulky or rude—

We nodded our noddles, and said we would;

And we mean to try, oh, ever so hard, we do!

And we mean to try, oh, ever so hard, we do!

3.

She said we never should tell a lie,

Hurrah! hurrah!

She said we never should tell a lie,

Hurrah! hurrah!

So we’ll rather go without pudding or pie,

If it can’t be got without telling a lie,

For we mean to hold on tight to truth, we do!

For we mean to hold on tight to truth, we do!

4.

She bid us keep our temper, too,

Hurrah! hurrah!

She bid us keep our temper, too,

Hurrah! hurrah!

So we shall try to put on the screw,

To keep it down whatever we do,

For we mean to be jolly, whatever turns up, we do!

For we mean to be jolly, whatever turns up, we do!

5.

In fact, we’ll follow her advice,

Hurrah! hurrah!

In fact, we’ll follow her advice,

Hurrah! hurrah!

To keep ever free from folly and vice,

And to choose the ways that are noble and nice,

Brave, true gentle men, whatever we say or do!

Brave, true gentle men, whatever we say or do!

6.

Fail we must, but we’ll try again,

Hurrah! hurrah!

Fail we must, but we’ll try again,

Hurrah! hurrah!

For we know, if we work with might and main

And a trusting heart, we’ll not strive in vain;

So we mean to hold on, true to the end, we do!

So we mean to hold on, true to the end, we do!

There was great cheering, and cries, “Bravo, little un!” when Ranulf finished, and the chairman said—

COMPANY ADVICES.

“The fairy gave you very good advice, so never forget it. Beware of bad surroundings. Life’s like a railway journey—a great deal depends upon your company not being too fast, and your having a good carriage, and good couplings. If you maintain a manly upright carriage, and don’t couple yourselves by bad ties, keeping truth and modesty for your safety—chains, you’ll get on well enough; but if your life carriage gets shaky, and your connections loose, and you get bad buffers about you, you will be apt to come to grief.”

The boys listened attentively as the chairman spoke, and it is to be hoped that neither they, nor any other boys who read this, will forget what he said.

In the meantime, the people seemed not to be able to get Ranulf’s tune out of their heads, and began to find their own words to carry it on. From one corner came—

A MEDLEY.

“A spoon of wood is the thing at night,

Hurrah! hurrah!

A spoon of wood is the thing at night,

Hurrah! hurrah!

Just swallow it dry, it will clear your sight,

To see an invisible green so bright!

Oh! we’re all jolly tight on our way to Blundertown!

Oh! we’re all jolly tight on our way to Blundertown!”

“Stuff and nonsense!” said another, and then he went off himself:—

“Spoon-meat may be good enough for thee,

Hurrah! hurrah!

Spoon-meat may be good enough for thee,

Hurrah! hurrah!

But there’s nought like a plank of a hare-soup tree,

Or fresh-roasted ices to make you see

Saw your way through a milestone of brick, you see;

Saw your way through a milestone of brick, you see.”

“Shut up!” cried some one from the back of the carriage—“for

“Milestones aren’t good looks at all,

Hurrah! hurrah!

Milestones aren’t good looks at all,

Hurrah! hurrah!

It’s easy to see through a stone mile’s squall,

If your eyes are sour and your temper tol-

Erably like a lump of chalk, you see;

Erably like a lump of chalk, you see.”

This seemed to drive a man who had been sitting quiet almost frantic with excitement, and off he went—

“Chalk and stones, and spoons and trees,

Hurrah! hurrah!

Chalk and stones, and spoons and trees,

Hurrah! hurrah!

If your eyes aren’t made from a skim-milk cheese,

What on earth is the good of talking of these?

For you can’t whey what you are talking about, you see;

For you can’t whey what you are talking about, you see.”

A MORAL.

“Last verse, and moral,” said the chairman, with great gravity—

“Such noble thoughts improve the mind,

Hurrah! hurrah!

Such noble thoughts improve the mind,

Hurrah! hurrah!

They belong to the true philosophical kind,

And the moral is plain to be seen by the blind;

For it just is this—that a vile un is fiddle-de-dee;

For it just is this—that a vile un is fiddle-de-dee.”

HEADS AND TAILS.

When the noise was at its height, Norval said to the chairman, “It seems to get greater nonsense at every verse.”

“To she bure it does,” said he; “you are etting ginto Blunderland, and hings don’t thappen there as dey tho in pother laces.”

“Yes, indeed,” said an old gentleman; “look out at the floor and you will hear with your own toes what cruel of a place this is.”

AGES OF MAN.

Neither he nor the chairman could help speaking thus, being in Blunderland; but Norval guessed that the old gentleman meant he was to look and see what kind of a place the train had got into, so turned and gazed out at the window. The first thing he saw was a man riding with his face to the horse’s tail, holding the reins like the tiller-ropes of a boat, which was rather difficult, as he had top-boots on his hands. A little further on came an old man who had a string tied to his leg, the other end of which was held by a pig in a poke-bonnet and a stylish shawl. Next he saw a very old man with short trousers and a pinafore, a satchel over his shoulders, and a slate hanging at his side, at whom a boy not older than himself, in a green coat with brass buttons, and a white hat, carrying a gold-headed cane, was looking through an eye-glass. Jaques had joined Norval, and suddenly called out, “What are they doing in that field?”

“Oh,” said the chairman, “they are tigging the durnips.”

What they were really doing was emptying carts of large stones on the field.

SHAKERS.

“Seeding sow for flint-soup,” said another.

“Flint-soup would be hard fare, I think,” said Jaques; “and besides, how can soup grow?”

“Doesn’t it grow cold sometimes?” said the chairman.

Poor Jaques was quite dumbfoundered. He was sure there was some nonsense about it, but he couldn’t make it out. However, there was no time for more discussion, as the train began to move very strangely, going along with a series of jumps that shook everybody.

“Treasant plavelling now,” said the chairman, smiling sweetly, as the train gave a bump that nearly shook his head off.

“What does it mean?” said Norval.

“Blunderingshire lines are all thade mat way,” said the chairman; “it’s a strittle lange at first, but it will get used to you.”

Bump, bump, bump went the train.

“Oh,” said Norval, “I hope there won’t be an accident!”

“Accident!” said the old gentleman, “what an absurd idea to get into anybody’s backbone! That would be just the same as common pailways.”

“What’s a pailway?” said Ranulf.

“Down the hill, the same as Jack and Jill, I suppose,” said Norval.

A LA GLACE.

At this point the train went crash through the end of the station—which was all filled in with glass down to the ground—sending the pieces flying in every direction. Nobody seemed to care the least for this; and as the boys looked surprised, the chairman said, “We don’t go in for class with gare here as they do on French lines. What’s the use of glass being so seasily mashed if you don’t break it?”

“It’s a gery vood arrangement, because it pets leople know there’s a train coming,” said one gentleman.

“Yes, and she’s an ice arrangement, for she bakes the station warm,” said the old gentleman; “fills him with shivers, you know.”

TAKE NO NOTICE.

The boys were getting completely puzzled, but there was no time for explanation, as the train stopped almost immediately, and everybody made a rush to get out. You never saw anything so funny as the station was. The big advertisements on the sides were either upside down or had their fronts to the wall. Only a few boards were hung right, and these were as follows:—

Any of the Company’s Servants
receiving Fees or Gratuities, will
have the Amount doubled
on applying at the
Improper Department.

By order of the Mismanager.

It is requested that any want of attention
by the
Company’s Thumblers and Chaindroppers
be reported to
THIS BOARD.

Be fair to Pickpockets.

Porters are cautioned
NOT
to show Civility to Passengers on any
Pretence whatever.
Infringement of this Rule
will be preceded by
Instant Dismissal.

POLITICAL PLATFORM.

MAN-TRAPS.

WAYWARD.

The great clock, instead of using his hands to show the hours, kept putting them to his nose at everybody that looked at him, and the big station-bell stuck out his tongue most impudently. The mess that took place on the platform was extraordinary—one point which Blunderland railroads have in common with common ones. The porters were tremendously busy picking their teeth and discussing the affairs of the nation, and smiled blandly to those who asked them to do anything. When at last they did move, their proceedings were of the strangest. One took hold of a lady and dragged her along the platform, singing out, “Whose baggage is this?” Another seized two fashionable young ladies, put them on his truck, and accosting an old dowager, asked, “Are these your traps, mum?” A third picked up two children by the legs, swung them over his shoulder, and asked their father, “Shall I put the small things inside the cab, sir?” The boys, seeing what a mess things were in, ran off to get out of the station as fast as they could, for they heard the station-master say that he thought they were lost luggage, and had better be locked up. They made first for a large placard marked “The way out,” with a hand pointing on it, but found that it led into a stone wall.

ALL A BOARD.

“Everything seems to go by contrary here,” said Norval; “let us take the direction that seems least likely.” So seeing a placard marked “No passage this way,” they went straight down the archway opposite it, and found themselves outside the station at once, and in a broad roadway. The foot-pavement was in the middle of the street, and the road on either side of it next the houses, which would have been very inconvenient had it not been that, as in Blundertown things are quite different from other towns, the roadway was beautifully clean. On the opposite side of the street from the station there was a building which, from its grand proportions and ornamental style, the boys thought must be a palace. As they stood looking at it, a black board, such as they had often seen used at school for writing sums on, made its appearance at the door and gravely walked down the steps. The board had two arms, one hand grasping a pointer, and the other a piece of chalk and a towel. It came forward, walking very clumsily with its wooden feet, and the whole appearance was so ridiculous that the boys could not help laughing. The board seemed to see this somehow, raised his piece of chalk and wrote on himself,

“Do you know who I am?”

SELF-IMPORTANT FRAME.

The boys confessed they did not. The board raised the hand with the towel and wiped himself, and then wrote,

“I am the School Board,”

pointing to the words with a grand sweep of the stick, as much as to say, “What do you think of that?” They were not at all overawed by this great announcement, and the ridiculous flourish of the pointer made them look at one another and laugh again. At this the board looked blacker than ever, and angrily wiping himself wrote,

“You must make a bow to the board.”

SPLITTING WITH LAUGHTER.

“Oh, all right!” said Jaques; and they all made a low mock bow, shaking with laughter. When they raised their heads after bowing, they saw that the board was wiped again, and that it wrote,

“If you do that you will break me.”

“How can laughing break you?” said Norval.

“Solvuntur risu tabulæ.
Boards are broken with laughter.—

Free translation.”

wrote the board.

“Well, then, we won’t any more,” said Norval; and they all kept down their laughter as well as they could.

THE MEAN QUANTITY.

“That is kind,” wrote the board. “We too often have splits in our School Boards; but as you have stopped, I feel sound again.”

“Feel sound! surely you can’t do that; hear it, you mean,” said Jaques.

Board.—“You mean what? Finish your sentence. Boards are generally thought extravagant, and not mean.”

Jaques.—“I don’t mean you’re mean. I mean you mean——”

Board.—“If you are doing a verb, it is—

Jaques.—“But I did not intend to say that you were mean or meanest; indeed I didn’t.”

Board.—“You said mean, didn’t you?”

Jaques.—“Yes.”

Board.—“And you did mean to say mean.”

Jaques.—“Yes; but——”

Board.—“Stop. You did mean mean when you said mean.”

Jaques.—“Yes, but I didn’t mean——”

WHINE FROM THE WOOD.

Board.—“Stop. If you did mean mean, how can you say that you didn’t mean?”

Jaques.—“But when I say mean, I don’t mean the mean that you mean. You mean mean something; it’s unfair.”

Board.—“Not by any manner of means. You need not put on an indignant mien in addition to all the other means.”

Jaques.—“But I mean to say that I did not mean to say the mean that you mean, when you say mean, but did mean the mean that isn’t mean.”

Board.—“Take care, young man; you will become a hopeless prodigal if you don’t look better after your means.”

How long this kind of thing might have gone on it is impossible to tell; but it was put an end to by a little boy coming out of the school, and taking the School Board by the ear, saying—

“What are you idling your time here for, sir? be off into school at once.”

“Oh dear, sir! please, sir,” whined the board, as he piped, or rather pipeclayed, his eye, “I won’t do it any more, sir. Let me off this time, sir; ah, you might, sir!”

PRATING AND RATING.

The boy let the board go, and it immediately walked its chalks into school, wiping its eyes with the towel. He then turned to our heroes, and said politely—

“These School Boards are a perfect nuisance, what with the power of rating they have got, and the power of prating they assume, things are coming to a pretty pass.”

In this our heroes thoroughly agreed with him.

“Perhaps you would like to step in and see our mode of tuition.”

They were quite proud at the idea of being treated as visitors, like the grown-up ladies and gentlemen who came to their own school, and said they would like it very much, so the boy led the way to the building.

Norval, thinking that a visitor should ask questions, said—

“What branches do you teach?”

THE MODERN SCHOOL.

“Oh, all kinds,” answered the boy. “Growing branches, green branches, lopped branches, rotten branches, branches of the service, railway branches, railway switches, courteous boughs, sprigs of nobility, and many others. Do you twig?”

“But what things do you teach?”

“We don’t teach them at all. Putting pupils up to a thing or two is not approved of.”

“But I mean what is your division of subjects?”

“We don’t cut up subjects here; we have no anatomical class.”

“But,” said Norval, who had seen an education report in a newspaper, “do you follow any standard in your teaching?”

“No, there’s no flagging with us. We try to keep in advance in our training; we go in for the truck system, so as to keep in the van.”

They were now entering one of the class-rooms, so that Norval’s questioning was brought to a close, leaving him quite as wise as he was before, for which it is to be hoped he was sufficiently grateful.

FRICASSEE.

The grammar lesson was going on, and in the course of a few minutes they had illustrations of various moods—dull moods, sulky moods, cheerful moods, rude moods, and good moods. They also learned a new point in grammar—that there are an indefinite number of cases. Norval objected when this was stated; but the teacher, who had a dominiering look, though an M A ciated Fellow, met his objection at once.

“Beg pardon, sir; we do not in our modern school submit to the teaching of old-fashioned grammars. We stick to facts, sir—to facts. Thomas, prove to the gentleman that there are more cases than are stated in the old grammars.”

Thomas, who went by the nickname of Soft Tommy—being bred though not born a duffer—tried to look crusty, and did not rise.

“Case No. 1, a case of obstinacy,” said the teacher, with a grand air. “Then there are sad cases, strong cases, long cases, card-cases, cases of conscience, cases of instruments, cases of divorce, dressing-cases, hard cases, puzzling cases, pencil-cases, cases of brandy, cases of collision, packing-cases, caucases, ukases, ca-sas——”

VIRUMQUE CANO.

How long he might have gone on nobody can tell; but the small boy that acted as conductor, seizing a cane, began belabouring the teacher with it most vigorously. The master seemed to take this quite as a matter of course (as indeed the class did also), and calmly brought his speech to a close, saying, in a voice broken by sobs, “and lastly, for the present, a case of discipline.”

The smallest boy in the class now walked boldly forward, and said—

“We’ve had plenty of your cases, and, in our present mood, decline going on with this intense sort of nonsense. Give us some history; come on, old boy!” Saying this, he gave him a poke in the ribs.

KNOTTY ARGUMENTS.

Our heroes could hardly help feeling a considerably uncomfortable sensation at the thought of what would have happened behind them had they behaved to their teacher at home as the class were doing; but instead of this one acting as they would have expected, he turned and said—

“I beg your pardon, young gentlemen, if I have detained you too long at grammar.”

“Well, well, take care it does not happen again,” ran in a murmur through the class, as the boys produced their history books.

“Now then, old stick in the mud!” said the top boy to the teacher, “read us that jolly bit about the battle, and don’t make any mistakes, or you’ll catch it.” As he said this, he and all the other boys pulled out their handkerchiefs, and made them up with knots.

ARMA CANO.

The reading began; and the teacher, probably from fear, made every now and then some trifling blunder. Whenever this occurred, the whole class rushed on him and belaboured him with the knotted handkerchiefs. Our heroes were at first afraid he would be seriously hurt; but as, being a Board teacher, he paid no more attention to the blows than if he had been made of wood, they soon began rather to enjoy the scene. The history lesson was as follows:—

FOOLISH FEEDING.

COMMON-COUNCIL SCREWS.

“Hannibal, at the head of the invincible Roman legions, which had just got their rout,[5] marched on Poke Stogis. His infantry was augmented by an Amazon corps from the new British Woman’s Rights League, the special feature of which was, that it allowed talking in the ranks, and, indeed, used gossip and scandal as potent means of defeating its foes. The cavalry, who were greatly improved in musketry since one General Shoot had got the command, were mounted on highly-mettled steeds, cast by the Board of Ordnance, and splendidly broken, especially about the knees. On nearing Poke Stogis, Hannibal was met by General Wattyler, who commanded the king’s troops. Hannibal, true to the traditions of the house of Hapsburg, rode in a Magna Carta—a war-chariot invented by King John when his subjects were taking liberties—while the General bestrode a 50-inch bicycle that had been presented to him by Ptolemy on the occasion of the opening of the Fiji water-works, at which the General, who was a freemason, had, in Scotch parlance, proved himself a very wat tyler indeed. The inhabitants of Poke Stogis, as is usual in tropical countries, regaled the troops on both sides with gooseberry-fool, after which the battle commenced in a field, and in earnest. After two hours’ hard fighting, during which splendid reinforcements arrived in Hansom cabs from Connecticut and Pondicherry, and after tossing up a halfpenny to decide which army they should join, went half to one side and half to the other, an adjournment took place for luncheon, and another repast of sponge-cakes and ginger-beer was provided by the energy of the Major and Common Council of Poke Stogis, who, with that true nobility which is the best evidence of genuine rank, drew the corks with their own hands. These additional draughts added greatly to the strength of both sides, and comforted the combatants much, as they knew that those of them who might fall in the battle had their bier already provided for them. Before resuming hostilities, each commander addressed his troops in a few soul-stirring words. But small fragments of these celebrated speeches have been handed down to the present day; yet these are so valuable, that it is thought well here to reproduce them. Their noble sentiment and stirring patriotism may well cause them to be engraven upon the hearts of the rising generation. Lest any words unworthy of the rest should be inserted, it is thought preferable to leave blanks where the actual expressions are not known. Hannibal said—

PRAVE ’ORDS.

... on this occasion, it is with ... indeed, I may say ... ten thousand ... indeed, less and less ... may I not say ... words would fail me ... brave soldiers of the ... enemy ... victory is ... nay was ... perhaps may be ... disgrace ... shall add no more....

“If these disjointed fragments convey so much, well might it be asked, What may not the rest have been? The reader must answer this for himself. Of General Wattyler’s speech still less has been preserved. In fact, but for forty-nine h’s, which the pious affection of the citizens of Poke Stogis collected, and preserved in carbolic acid, history would be a blank regarding it. All honour to the men who spared no labour to preserve to a grateful posterity these valuable records of a warrior and a hero. When the memory of thousands of greater places is lost in futurity, the glory Poke Stogis has haitchieved in handing down to us the droppings of a great warrior’s lips will be blazoned on the scroll of fame.

WARM WORK.

“The battle having recommenced, was so hotly contested that the thermometer rose to 549 degrees of Fahrenheit, and 272 men on one side perished, drowned in the surging tide of battle; while 74 of the opposing troops were roasted (although it was Friday) before the slow fire of the enemy. Both sides won a decisive victory, and captured the whole of the enemy’s artillery. A noble pillar, 1 foot 7½ inches high, still marks the spot on which Hannibal and Wattyler adjusted the terms of the general order to the troops, thanking them in the name of King Cole (not the old one, but Parrot Cole, surnamed the Chatterer) for the glorious stampede by which they had turned the fortunes of the day. The event was celebrated in Poke Stogis by a grand illumination, in which seven bunches of dips, four boxes of Bryant & May’s matches, and two rows of fusees were expended—an extravagance not often perpetrated by a corporation so careful of the public money as that of Poke Stogis. The people shouted till they were hoarse,—they belonging to the class that cheers though not inebriates.”

LIGHT CONDUCT.

This concluded the history lesson, and the school was then exercised in prose composition. Want of space forbids the production of more than a single specimen of the papers written; but the following is a fair one:—

Theme.—Cloe’s parents desire to wed her to Strephon, the eldest son of a noble house, and bid her accept his suit. She, being in love with Alexis, the younger son, secretly meets him. They are discovered. Cloe is rebuked for her heartlessness, and Alexis languishes in a prison.—Moral.

AWFULLY NICE.

STOLEN SPOONS.

“In such a state from heat so great, Alexis groaned and Cloe moaned, as through the wood, in loving mood, they made their way, till close of day; when homeward turning with cheeks just burning, to ’scape a shower they sought a bower, in which they rested and playful jested, and did discuss, promiscuous, their hopes and fears for future years, till moon uprose and did disclose, ’neath graceful skirt, drawn up from dirt, her ankle neat near two great feet, to anxious Pa, who cried, ‘Ha, ha! I’ve found you out;’ then with a shout, flew on her swain and called his train, who held the stripling in their grip, and made him sleep in dungeon deep; while pretty Cloe wept in woe, as angry mater did soundly rate her, rustling with fuss, calling her, ‘hussey, brazen jade, wer’t not afraid? how couldst thou do’t? Lean to the suit of younger son, devoid of money! Secret wooings! Hein! pretty doings!’”

“Moral.—This may suffice as good advice, to lovers to keep skirts from view, and draw their toes well in sub rosa, when in bower at evening hour, and making spoons by light of moons.”

A BORED TEACHER.

When the prose composition was over, the teacher was about to commence another lesson, but the small boy who had been so active with the cane before, coolly walked up to the desk, took the teacher’s watch out of his pocket, and holding it up called out—

“Mischief-class hour!”

In a moment the air was full of shouts and yells, slates and books, satchells and ink-bottles. Norval and his brothers were quite picklish enough to feel tempted to enjoy the fun; but seeing that the mischief was going far beyond what ought to be joined in, he seized Jaques and Ranulf, and made for the door. Fortunately for the boys, the teacher was between them and the class on their way out; and two ink-bottles, five pieces of india-rubber, a blotting-blad, and a handful of slate pencil, that came flying in their direction, were stopped by the body of the master, who, being a Board teacher, was not, as the boys expected, floored by the missiles, but beamed pleasantly as if all was oakay, and the sensation so dealicious, that he wood like some more treemendously. Just as the boys were getting out at the door, the whole class rushed upon the teacher, and made him fast to the wall with his own nails, where he stuck with a plank look on his plane face, as if he was now bored through and through. Somehow the whole thing seemed to everybody engaged to be so ordinary an occurrence that the three boys felt no alarm, as they would have done under other circumstances; and as they got out and shut the door, had a hearty laugh at the ludicrous scene they had witnessed.

MIXED STORES.

NO SHOP.

On reaching the street they began to stroll through the town, amusing themselves by looking in at the shop-windows. There was plenty of food for merriment, as things were mixed up in a very curious way. The contents of one window were, a leg of mutton, the Children’s Friend, a bottle of senna, six farthing dips, two bunches of radishes, an oyster, a wooden leg, and a stuffed goose. In another, over which was painted upside down “Rafé and Cestaurant,” there were a millstone, a wooden shoe, three india-rubber goloshes, a can of train-oil, two white hats, a brass knocker, and a dead cat. A shop marked “Pluggist, licensed by the Packulty,” exhibited a drum, two sucking pigs, a magic-lantern, five cocked-hats, a green cotton umbrella, two packs of cards, a tin soldier, and a frying-pan. The notices in the windows were also very queer. One said, “No credit given, except without security. Any person paying ready money will be handed over to the police.” Close beside this was another: “Price down from 5s. to 7s. 9d. each.” The boys thought either sum would have been rather dear, as the ticket was upon a common peg-top, such as they had often bought for twopence. Another label bore, “Try our Totalfailure Mixture, strongly remmocended by the Boil College of Imposicians.” It would take too long to speak of all the funny things they saw; besides, it is always bad taste to talk too much “shop.” If any one would like to hear more on that subject, he has only to address a polite note to

Messrs Norval, Jaques, Ranulf, & Company,
The Nurseryfun Works,
Skrumpshustown,

enclosing five thousand stamps, when he will receive by return of post a copy of the most amusing shop-label they saw in Blundertown. If he considers the price too high, let him remember the poet’s query—

AUGHT OR NAUGHT.

“What is aught but as ’tis valued?”

and if he thinks the answer is Naught, he can judge himself what is the difference, if N y.

LADY PAS LAIDE.

Affairs in the street were quite as queer as in the shops. While the boys were looking in at a window, a silvery voice behind them called out, “Stalest Tellacrams—Last week’s paper at double price;” and turning round they saw a young lady, dressed in perfect taste, the only blunders about her being that she had no hair on her head but her own, which was neither dyed nor bleached, nor combed down over her eyes à la pet terrier, and that she walked like a human being, not as ladies in the ordinary world do, with their heels perched up on things like a couple of inches cut off the legs of a chair, and wearing their dresses so tight, that their knees seem to be tied together with tape. A footman followed her, who had the calves of his legs in front, and the tie of his cravat at the back, and whose neck was not at all stiff, but shook like a shape of calves-foot jelly. He carried a quantity of newspapers, wrapped in scented envelopes. Instead of getting pennies for her newspapers, the young lady, whenever anybody took one, curtsied low, and kissing her hand, gravely gave them a penny, saying, “Thanks, thanks—a thousand, thousand thanks; Telegraphina will never forget your kindness.”

CORDIAL BUMPERS.

The people, when they met in the street, instead of passing, walked straight up to each other, bumped one another heavily, and then went on smiling as if all was right. While Norval was gazing after the pretty young lady with the newspapers, an old dame, with a reticule on her head and a bonnet full of apples in her hand, made straight at him. Norval got out of the way, and she nearly fell on her nose, the apples rolling out on the pavement.

ANCIENT THOMAS.

“What a rude old man, to be sure!” said she, scowling at Norval.

“I only got out of the way, ma’am, if you mean me by old man,” said he.

“And what’s the use of people who are not in the way when they are wanted?” said she. “Old men like you——”

“I’m not an old man,” said Norval, interrupting.

“When were you born?” said the old lady, snappishly.

“Eight years ago,” said Norval.

“Then you’re eight years old.” Norval did not see any answer to this, and she went on, “Does your papa ever tell lies?”

“No,” said Norval, indignantly.

“Doesn’t he call you his little man sometimes?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re old and you’re a man, so you’re an old man.”

Norval did not quite see it—“I don’t feel old,” he said.

“How can I know how you feel,” replied the old lady, “when you won’t bump me? Oh!” she added, screwing up her lips and clasping her hands, “I do love a bumper! Is your name Tom?”

“No,” said Norval.

SCARCELY APARIENT.

“That’s a pity; there’s no bumper like an old Tom; he’s a noble spirit, always ginoowine.”

“I can’t follow you,” said Norval.

“And did I say I wanted you to follow me? Gals have no followers here; I only wanted my regular bump.”

Norval having a grandfather who was fond of phrenology, had picked up a smattering, and was just going to say that he thought it was only silly people that wanted regular bumps, when suddenly the old lady called out, “Where are my pears? there were four of them.”

Jaques and Ranulf, who had picked up the apples, had been standing ready to hand them back to her ever so long.

“I beg your pardon,” said Jaques, “they are apples.”

“I say they’re pears,” said the old lady, testily. “How many have you?”

“Eight,” said Jaques.

“Well, and isn’t that four pairs? I always like to buy them pared; it saves knives and trouble,” said she. “It’s a pity that a boy like you should be a beggar.”

“I’m not a beggar,” said Jaques.

“Didn’t you beg my pardon?”

“Yes.”

“Those who beg are beggars, that’s sure,” said she.

COURTEOUS.

Just at this moment a policeman came up. He took off his helmet, and making a low bow, said, “I heard the word beg. May I take the great liberty of inquiring whether any one has thought proper to beg? and if so, from whom, and for what? If for anything real, good and well; but if merely from politeness or courtesy, then to be visited with the utmost severity of the law.”

Jaques, who had always been taught fearlessly to speak the truth, said at once, “I begged the old lady’s pardon,” half doubting what would happen. To his great surprise the policeman turned round sharp on the old lady, and asked, “Did this boy beg your pardon?”

“Yes,” said she.

“Then, madam, with peelings of the deepest fain, it is my duty to inform you that you must at once be led to the court.”

“The court!” screamed the old lady; “it has been my ambition for fifty years to be courted, and now it has come at last.”

“It has, madam; you are now about to be presented at court by the aid of the police. Will your Majesty deign to proceed?”

XPLAINING.

“Majesty!” said she; “I can’t understand it.”

“Let me endeavour to make it plain,” said the constable, with a wave of his hand like a professor lecturing. “Will your gracious Majesty deign to inform me whether I am correct in saying that this boy begged your pardon?”

“Yes.”

“And would your Highness further permit me to inquire whether it is or is not a fact that begging is contrary to law?”

“Yes.”

“May I also be suffered humbly and respectfully to put the question, whether anybody can pardon people for breaking the law, except the Queen?”

EVERY INCH A QUEEN.

“No.”

“Then I reverentially request permission of your gracious Majesty to point out that as you were asked to pardon when he broke the law, you must be the queen.”

“But I’ve got no crown,” said she, quite puzzled.

“I must be condescendingly excused for venturing to differ from your Serene Highness. If you will feel for it, you will find you have a crown to your head.”

“Why, so I have,” said she, and suddenly drawing herself up, and assuming an air of most ridiculous dignity, added, “What, ho! bring hither my sceptre.”

The boys could scarcely keep in their laughter, and the difficulty increased when the policeman produced his baton, and going down on one knee handed it to the old lady, who immediately aimed a fierce blow at his head, crying,—

“Down with every one that has a crown except myself!”

The policeman mildly replied, “Your Majesty, I haven’t got a crown in the world; my missus doesn’t allow me more than 4 and 9 a-week for pocket-money.”

A BOUNDING JOY.

“Just as well for you; those who are limited to four and ninepence can feel proper respect for a sovereign,” said the old lady; “now for our court.” So saying, she began to perform a most wild minuet de la cour, the policeman beating time with his hands. Then ordering him to take off his greatcoat, she fastened it on as a train, and set off for the court.

RUNNING MELODY.

The policeman went first, playing a grand march on a Jew’s harp, which he produced from his pocket. It was as big as a fire-shovel, but this did not matter, as he had a mouth reaching from ear to ear. The old lady followed, holding her baton-sceptre up, and with her long, sharp chin cocked so high in the air that you could have hung a hat upon it. The policeman’s music made her quite lively, and she began to sing, with a chorus to each verse, which ran thus,—

Hey tiddy-iddy-tiddy,

Hey tiddy-iddy-tiddy,

Hey tiddy-iddy-tiddy,

tum-tum-tum.

during the singing of which she skipped about from one side to the other in a most lively manner.

SOVEREIGN SPECIFICS.

I never thought to see

The day I queen should be;

It’s come at last, however,

You well may cry—“I never!”

Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.

Nor I, but still it’s poz,

However strange, because

Policeman says ’tis so;

X is ’xact, you know.

Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.

Our reign shall last so long,

You’ll need umbrellas strong;

Woe to the minion’s skin

Who sports a gingham thin!

Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.

A sovereign we shall be,

Ruling land and sea

In straighter lines than youc

Ould find in copy-book.

Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.

We’ll have a Parliament

Cake and wine event

Every day or two,

Invites select and few.

Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.

To have a feast of rea

Son at our royal tea;

Likewise a flow of soul,

By Punch from royal bowl.

Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.

And nominate a Prime

Minister of rhyme;

Pros and Cons shall banished be,

Except conundrums after tea.

Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.

Look out for famous sport,

For we are going to court;

So bachelors beware,

And let no caitiff dare

Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.

Refuse our royal suit

Of livery, and put

On his own airs instead,

Or off shall go his head.

Hey tiddy iddy tiddy, &c., &c.

BAND-DITTY.

Each time the old lady took up the chorus, she skipped about from one side to the other with a briskness that did her credit; and as she marched and tripped along the street, the policemen she passed joined the procession, each producing an instrument from his pocket, so that soon the old lady had a band before her, playing most vigorously on the following:—

• A Jew’s Harp.
• A Penny Trumpet.
• Three Threepenny Fiddles.
• A Handbell.
• Two Twopenny Flutes.
• A Mouth Accordion.
• A Triangle.
• A Pair of Bones;

BATONS D’ORCHESTRE.

and the inspector led the band, with his hat fastened to his waist-belt, keeping them to their beat by drumming in a spirited manner on the crown of it with a pair of batons.

DECIDED HITS.

The boys tried very hard to find out what the tune of the verses was, but could make nothing of it. All the melody seemed to rest in the chorus instead of running through the song. The people in the streets, however, were evidently greatly delighted with it, as, the moment the procession came within hearing, they all stood still and began gravely to beat time with their sticks and umbrellas, those who had none wagging their heads up and down, like China mandarins. The boys laughed heartily when they saw several dozen umbrellas, sticks, and heads solemnly waving about, while the policemen squeaked and croaked, banged and tinkled, on their instruments, and the people slowly turned round their backs and bowed low to the houses as the old lady passed. Whenever she, in skipping about, came near any of the people who were bowing, she took a rise out of them by administering a sound whack with the baton-sceptre, which knocked them down, shouting, “Rise, Sir What’s-your-name Thingammy,” which the poor fellows did with a very beknighted look. Presently they arrived at a large building, at the door of which the policemen turned aside to let the old lady enter, and having played a final flourish, repocketed their instruments. The old lady on reaching the door turned round, and finding the policeman who had given her the baton waiting, she grasped it firmly, saying—

A THUMPING GAL.

“I’ll give it to you,” and, suiting the action to the utterance, she brought it down bang as hard as she could, as he bowed low, so that he fell flat on the pavement.

“Rise, Sir Charle——”

“Stop, stop!” he cried; “don’t turn a day constable into a knight.”

GIVE AND TAKE.

“Back to your beat,” said she, majestically.

“I think it’s rather beat to my back,” replied he, although, curiously enough, he did not appear at all discomposed or hurt.

“Take yourself up.”

“We take others up, not ourselves; besides, you’ve battened me down.”

“Oh, you downy fellow!”

“Yes, you can’t get a rise out of me, that’s plain.”

“X plain yourself,” said she.

“No pretty Bobby-she should say,” said he.

“Move on!” cried she—“move on, siree!”

“Peeler of the State, I stands,” said he.

Suddenly some one rushed out at the door (knocking the old lady so that she tumbled over the policeman), and coming up to the boys said, “Are you judges of sweet things?”

“I should rather think so,” replied Jaques.

GETTING A WIGGING.

“Then come along at once,” said he; and before they had time to think, he hurried them upstairs into a room where three pompous-looking attendants in white coats and enormous black neckcloths dressed them up in grand robes, put immense full-bottomed wigs on their heads, and opening a door, pointed to three large chairs. The boys went in and sat down on the chairs, while everybody in the court rose up, making a low bow, and a crier called out—

“All persons, without any further ado before my Lords the Justices of Assize so small Boyer and Determiner, and Jug ale Delivery, draw beer and give to attendants.”

This announcement about beer might have appeared to be an aberration on the crier’s part, had it not been that, as is usual in criminal courts, there were plenty of queer mugs among the people in the building.

COURT BEAUTY.

The boys hardly knew what to think of their new position. Norval and Jaques were rather overawed by their robes. Ranulf had got between his brothers, and so was seated in the Lord Chief Justice’s chair. At first he looked as grave as a judge, which was just what he ought to have done in the circumstances; but after a little he glanced round at Norval, and seeing him in his wig, which came down to his waist, was just on the point of bursting out laughing, when the Clerk of Court, who wore green goggles as large as macaroons, peered over the Bench from below, saying, “If yer Ludship pleases,” and sat down again.

“I hope I do please,” said Ranulf. “Papa always bids us try to please.”

A SWEET THING.

“Your Lordship pleases me very much,” said a charming voice from the prisoner’s dock, in which stood a lovely lady, dressed in full Court costume, feathers and all, who kissed her daintily-gloved hand to Ranulf.

“But I thought we were brought here as judges of sweet things,” said Jaques.

The Clerk of Court peering over the bench again, said, “’Xac’ly so, m’ Lud; the sweetest thing in prisoners we’ve had for a long time, m’ Lud,” and sat down again.

“What is she charged with?” said Norval.

“P’tty lasseny, m’ Lud.”

“Pretty lasseny!” said Jaques aside to Norval. “I am sure she is guilty of that.”

“But,” said Norval, “what is she charged with doing?”

“Stealing a heart, m’ Lud.”

Norval, who had once been in court at a trial, thought the right thing to do was to take a note; so, seizing an enormous pen that was on the bench, he wrote, repeating aloud as he went on, “Prisoner charged with stealing a tart.”

QUEER QUERIES.

“The person who stole tarts was a knave, and I thought a knave was a man?” said Ranulf.

“Yes,” said Norval; “but you know the women want to do what the men do nowadays.”

“I’ve heard of their wanting rights,” said Jaques; “but stealing isn’t a right, it’s a wrong, isn’t it?”

“Never mind,” said Norval; “it won’t do to appear not to understand. Ranny, you’re the old judge, you know, because you’re in the middle, so you must ask the questions. You had better ask what the prisoner’s name is. Now, look grave,” said he, as he observed the dimples in his brother’s cheeks beginning to show again.

Ranulf pursed his lips up very tight, and then said, “I want to know what the pretty lady’s name is?”

“No, no,” said Norval; “prisoner.”

“I want to know the pretty prisoner’s name?” said Ranulf.

STEAK TART.

“No, no—just prisoner,” said Norval; “say it again.”

“Well, then, I want to know the just prisoner’s name?” said Ranulf.

“Just so, m’ Lud,” said the Clerk, bobbing up; “prisoner’s name is Victoria Lawsenj. Yer Ludship had better ask her to plead.”

Norval whispered to Ranulf, “Tell her she’s charged with stealing a tart. Ask whether she is guilty or not guilty.”

Ranulf looked as grave as he could, and said “Victoria Lawsenj, you are charged with stealing a tart——”

“Beg pardon, m’ Lud,” said the Clerk, starting up; “some m’stake, my Lud——”

Ranulf began again, “Victoria Lawsenj, you are charged with stealing a tart and some steak.”

“Must pray yer Ludsh’p t’ excuse me ’gain; yer Ludship said tart and steak.”

“Was that the wrong order?” said Ranulf, meekly; “then I’ll say steak and tart.”

NOTA DOUBT OF IT.

“But, m’ Lud, the steak is a mistake, and the tart is another.”

“Very well,” said Ranulf; “I’ll say that she is charged with stealing a female steak—cow-beef—and that the tart was not really a tart but a beefsteak pie.”

“But, m’ Lud,” said the Clerk; “really, m’ Lud, yer Ludship knows best, m’ Lud, of course; but, m’ Lud, I would suggest that your Ludship said tart instead of heart.”

Here Norval, remembering what he had seen in court, broke in, “But tart is right; it must be right—I’ve got it in my notes.”

This completely flabbergasted the Clerk, who gasped a feeble “M’ Lud,” and sank down in his seat in despair.

Jaques, practical as usual, whispered to Ranulf, “Never mind whether it’s a tart or a heart; just say, ‘You are charged with stealing a tart, or a heart, or something. Are you guilty or not guilty?’”

Ranulf took this advice; and turning to the lady, who was gracefully fanning herself, he asked her the question, only he got confused towards the end, and made it—“Are you gilded or not gilded?”

“Oh, my Lord,” said the lady, “there’s no gilt about me; I’m as true as steel.”

Up started the Clerk.

“Take down, m’ Lud, that she says it’s true she stole.”

“No, I didn’t; I only steeled,” said she.

“Steeeled!” said the Clerk, contemptuously; “how do you spell ‘steeeeled’?”

“S-t-e-e-l-e-d, you old goose!”

WHOLESALE SLAUGHTER.

“Yer Ludship sees how bad she is; her manner’s bad, her grammar’s bad, and her spelling’s bad. Your Ludship had better add another count for murder.”

“Murder of what?” said Jaques.

“The Queen’s English, m’ Lud.”

“That would be a great many murders, for there are more than thirty million English,” said Jaques, who had learned the population in his geography book; “how could she murder so many?”

The Clerk was quite puzzled at this, and tried to look as wise as he could, which was not very wise, but otherwise. There was a long pause, during which the prisoner ate an ice and drank a cool beverage that were brought to her by a powdered footman, after which she looked brighter and lovelier than ever, while everybody else in court was miserable with stuffiness and heat.

“Could not we have ices too?” said Ranulf, eyeing the tray eagerly.

The footman said nothing, but turning round made a low bow, walked up to the bench, and as the boys held out their hands for ices, gravely shook his head, made another low bow, and walked out.

BRUTAL BOXING.

By this time the Clerk had recovered himself, and a jury having been called, they were got into the jury-box. This was a matter of some difficulty, as the box was made without any door, and the jurymen were seized by ushers and thrown over the partition, tumbling in a confused heap. When the whole twelve had been thrown over, they presented a sorry spectacle of torn clothes and dusty faces. There were no seats in the box, but the ushers threw in some chairs on the top of the jurymen, who appeared to take all as a matter of course. The plaintiff was then called forward, and a large wooden box placed over him by the ushers, who padlocked it down and then sat on the top of it.

CASE FOR PLAINTIFF.

“Why do you lock him up?” said Jaques.

JACK IN THE BOX.

“Shall ’ave to beg yer Ludship’s pardon,” said the Clerk; “we don’t lock him up, we lock him down.”

“But why do you put him under a case?” said Jaques.

“To prevent him getting up case, m’ Lud.”

Jaques himself seemed rather shut up at this, and Norval, moved again by what he had once seen at a trial, said, “What is your name?”

“John,” said the voice, out of the box.

“It should be Jack, when he’s in a box, shouldn’t it?” said Ranulf; “and he ought to start up, oughtn’t he?”

“Oh, he will be sure to do that,” said the lady; “he always was an upstart, indeed he was, my dear—Lord, I mean,” said she, correcting herself with a smile.

“John What?” Norval went on.

“No, my name’s not John What,” said the voice from the box; “it’s John Doe.”

“That’s strange,” said Jaques; “I thought the case was about a heart, not about a doe.”

LONGITUDE.

“Yes, my Lud, but the charge is that she stole a Doe’s heart,” said the Clerk.

“Doe and hart, hart and doe; I don’t think I’ll ever understand it,” said Ranulf, with a sigh.

“P’raps if yer Ludship would keep in mind that in Doe versus Roe——”

“Oh dear, oh dear! here’s a roe now; that’s another staggerer,” cried Jaques.

“Never mind,” whispered Norval—“look solemn, and make believe you know all about it.”

The examination of John Doe then began.

“How long have you known the prisoner?”

“Various lengths. I have known her from 2 feet 3 inches long to 5 feet 7½ inches long, as she is now. But even now she is sometimes pretty short with me. I’ve known her so long, in short, that the longer I knew her the more I got to long after her.”

“Well, I don’t want to know anything about long after; I mean, when did you first come across her?”

“I cross her! I never crossed her in my life. She had her own way as long as I knew her; it was she that was cross with me.”

A TROUBLESOME TIME.

“But I want to know the length of your acquaintance?”

“Some of my acquaintances are long and some short.”

“How shall I put it? Tell me, once for all, when you first met her.”

“When I first met her? I met her when I least expected it.”

“Really this is intolerable. I want you to tell me what was the time at which your first meeting took place.”

“Wild thyme, I think; but I’m no botanist, you know.”

“Tut, tut! At what period of time was it?”

“It wasn’t a period of thyme, it was a bank of thyme.”

“Will you answer, sir? Give me the date of your first meeting.”

“We had no dates at our first meeting, only raisins; and we ate them all, so I cannot give you any.”

PUNY JUDGES.

“A fig for your dates and raisins! I wish I could get at the raison d’être of your answers. How can I put the question?”

“That’s just what I want to know. How can you put such stupid questions?”

LOUD LAUGHTER IN COURT.

“M’ Lud, what am I to do? I can make nothing of this witness.”

Norval, who had learned a little Latin, replied, “Do you mean that you can annihilate him?”

“No, m’ Lud, but I can’t make head or tail of him.”

“Never mind his head, and let him manage his own tail. Perhaps he’s a bit of a wag.”

“Very well, m’ Lud. Now, then, tell your story.”

“I’m not a story-teller. I always tell the truth.”

“Yes, yes, but come on with your own tale.”

“Tail! I haven’t a tail. I’m not one of your Darwin monkey-people.”

The lady in the dock gave such a merry laugh at this, that she infected the whole court. Ranulf went into such fits, that his wig slipped down to his chin, and an usher had to come up to the bench and slap him on the back to bring him round. Norval recovered first, and putting on as grave a face as he could, said to Jaques and Ranulf, “Don’t be silly; judges are always stern and grumpy, so we must be too;” and turning to John Doe, said, “What is your complaint against her? Did she steal your heart?”

“No, my Lord; it was her own heart.”

O’ER ME STEELING.

“Her own heart! How can that be? How could her own heart be stolen by her?”

“I never said it was stolen, my Lord, I only said she steeled it.”

“Surely that’s bad grammar, again,” whispered Jaques.

“But I want to know,” said Norval, “how could she steal what was her own?”

“Well, my Lord, you see I gave her my whole heart.”

“Gave it her? I thought you charged her with stealing it?”

“No, my Lord, never! It was her own she steeled.”

“Well, well,” said Norval, “go on; try to explain it in your own way.”

“This was the way, my Lord; I wanted her to be my sweetheart.”

OFFERING AMENDS.

“That’s right, my Lord,” said the lady; “and I was tart without the sweet, I admit.”

“Yes, my Lord, a regular Tartar; when I gave her my whole heart, she steeled hers against me.”

“True,” said the prisoner; “your Lordship must know he came with so much brass, that I could only meet him with irony, particularly as I fancied he was after the tin.”

Practical Jaques here broke in once more, saying, “Would it not put the matter all right if she gave you back your heart?”

“Oh, but, my Lord, I gave her my whole heart, and she’s broken it.”

“That need not be a difficulty,” said the lady; “I’ll soon put it together; I’m very good at a patchwork quilt.”