THE NEW YEAR'S DAY DREAM.
Reading edition
A Tennysonian Fragment from the Popular Pantomime of "Harlequin Harcourt, the Sleeping Beauty, and the Financial Fairy Prince."
["The Revenue Returns," says the Daily News, "for the expired three quarters of the financial year show that a sum of close upon £62,000,000 has been paid into the Exchequer. The Chancellor of the Exchequer's estimated revenue for the whole year was a little over £94,000,000. This is regarded as an indication of the revival of trade, and the promise of a substantial surplus for the next Budget."]
The Arrival.
All blessèd boons, though coming late, To those who wait them issue forth, For skill in sequel works with fate, And draws the veil from hidden worth. He comes, great keeper of our tin, He is no Tory Hurlo-Thrumbo! A fairy Prince, with triple chin, And heavy-footed as poor Jumbo! He comes, scarce knowing what he seeks, Though he has heard of Sleeping Beauties. He hath been dreaming many weeks Of Income Tax, Stamps, and Death Duties. He'd charmed the party with his talk Of Graduation; now grey fear Knocks at his ribs, his cheek's like chalk, With thoughts of Revenue for the Year. More close and close his footsteps wind, The next year's Budget on his heart. From Stamps and Liquor will he find Big plums? Will rich taxpayers "part"? Here's sleeping Trade! "Lor! what a lark!" He thinks. "To wake her—were a spree! A kiss may lift those lashes dark; She can't resist a buss—from Me!"
The Revival.
A touch, a smack! A boxèd ear. There came the sound of a smart slap. The Fairy Prince, with cry of fear, His hand unto his cheek did clap. The Sleeping Beauty gave a gape, A wide-mouthed yawn, a long-drawn stretch. He rubbed his chins. "This is a jape! I knew my style the girl would fetch!
I trust those Revenue Returns.
She does revive! Be mine the praise!
By Jove, though, how my left ear burns!
I told 'em that I'd do the trick
With my new fakement, the Death Duties.
Come, Miss, wake up! Revive, dear, quick!
You sleepiest of Sleeping Beauties!"
At last sweet slumbering Trade awoke, And on her couch her form upreared. The Prince smiled, rubbed his chins, and spoke. "Ah, Wilson's prophecy is queered. He swore that you would not revive, In his Cassandra-like Review, But don't sit yawning! Look alive! Or men will swear I've humbugged you!"
"All right!" said sleepy Trade. "But still My joints feel somewhat stiff or so. Say, have you passed that Irish Bill You schemed—how long was it ago?" The Chancellor subdued a curse, Which scarce would serve for a reply, But dallied with his well-filled purse, And smiling, put the question by.
A TALL ORDER.
["The Emperor William is to have the Grand Order of the Imperial Chrysanthemum (the Japanese Garter) to add to his collection, 'in recognition of the services rendered by German officers to Japanese officers in instructing them in military and naval science.'"—Daily Chronicle.]
Oh, the Fatherland, the happy Fatherland, With fresh happiness will hum, When their Emperor shall the Order wear Of the Jap Chry-san-the-mum! He's "a daisy" now, as the world doth know; But, oh! won't he be thrice happy, When he sports the badge of the Golden Flower Of the cute and grateful Jappy? If John Chinaman in the little Jap Has most surely caught a Tartar, Jap learned to war 'neath the Teuton Star, So will send him the Jap "Garter." Bull has given him tips, and has built him ships, But the Jap don't badge J. B. No! Peace and War, like most other things, Are now "made in Ger-ma-ny"!
"Sentiment" for Old-fashioned Play-goers.—"May that confounded 'Woman with a Past,' who monopolises the Present, have no Future!"
A WINTER'S TALE.
Benevolent Person (recognising an old protégé). "Rogers, I'm sorry to see you in this condition! I understood you had taken the Pledge!"
Rogers. "You're qui' ri', Sir. Only y' see the Water's frozen 't the Main down our Street!"