CONFESSIONS OF A DUFFER.

II. THE SOCIAL DUFFER.

Ir my Confessions are to be harrowing, it is in this paper that they will chiefly provoke the tear of sentiment. Other Confessors have never admitted that they are Social Duffers, except Mr. MARK PATTISON only, the Rector of Lincoln College; and he seems to have flattered himself that he was only a Duffer as a beginner. My great prototypes, J. J. ROUSSEAU, and MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF, never own to having been Social Duffers. But I cannot conceal the fact from my own introspective analysis. It is not only that I was always shy. Others have fled, and hidden themselves in the laurels, or the hedgerows, when they met a lady in the way- but they grew out of this cowardly practice. Often have I, in a frantic attempt to conceal myself behind a hedge, been betrayed by my fishing-rod, which stuck out over the top. The giggles of the young women who observed me were hard to bear, but I confess that they were not unnatural.

Shyness is a fine qualification in a Social Duffer, and it is greatly improved by shortness, and, as one may say, stupidity of sight. I never recognise anyone whom I know; on the other hand, Í frequently recognise people whom I never saw before in my life, and salute them with a heartiness which they fail to appreciate. Once, at an evening party, where the Princess BERGSTOL was present, a lady, who had treated me with hospitable kindness, I three times mistook her; once for an eminent novelist, once for a distinguished philanthropist, and once for an admired female performer on the Banjo I carried on conversations with her in each of these three imaginary characters, -and I ask you, is this the way to shine in Society? You may say, Wear spectacles"-but they are unbecoming. As to an eye-glass, somehow it irritates people even

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more than mere blindness does. Besides, it is always dropping into one's soup.

People are always accosting me, people who seem vaguely familiar, and then I have to make believe very much that I remember them, and to wait for casual hints. The more I feel confident that I know them, the more it turns out that I don't. It is an awful thing to stop a hansom in the street, thinking that its occupant is your oldest College friend, and to discover that he is a perfect stranger, and in a great hurry. Private Views are my particular abomination. At one such show, seven ladies, all very handsome and peculiarly attired, addressed me in the most friendly manner, calling me by my name. They cannot have taken me for either of my Doubles,-one is a Cabinet Minister, one is a dentist,-for they knew my name, The MACDUFFER of Duff. Yet I had not then, nor have I now, the faintest idea who any one of the seven was. My belief is that it was done for a bet. The worst of it is when, after about five minutes, I think I have a line as to who my companion really is, then, my intelligent features lighting up, I make some remark which ruins everything, congratulate a stockbroker on getting his step, or an unmarried lady on the success of her son in the Indian Civil Service examination.

that I am just a Duffer; a stupid, short-sighted, absent-minded child of misfortune.

All these things do not make my life so pleasant to me that I, the MACDUFFER, should greatly care to dine out. Ah, that is a trial. First, I never know my host and hostess by sight. Next, in a summer dusk, I never know anybody. Then, as to conversation, I have none. My mind is always prowling about on some antiquarian hobby-horse, reflecting deeply on the Gowrie Conspiracy, or the Raid of Ruthven, or the chances in favour of PERKIN WARBECK's having been a true man. Now I do object to talking shop, I am not a lawyer, nor yet am I an actor: I do not like people who talk about their cases, or their parts. It would be unbecoming to start a conversation on the authenticity of "HENRY GORING'S Letter." Then I never go to the play, I do not even know which of the Royal Family is which: modern pictures are the abominations of desolation to me; in fact, I have no conversation-openings." A young lady, compelled to sit beside me, has been known to hum tunes, and telegraph messages of her forlorn condition to her sister, at the opposite end of the table. I pitied her, but was helpless. My impression is that she was musical, poor soul! When I do talk,

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things become actively intolerable. I have no tact. To have tact, is much like being good at Halma, or whist, or tennis, or chess. You must be able to calculate the remote consequences of every move, and all the angles and side-walls from which the conversational ball may bound. It is needless to say that, at whist, I never know in the least what will happen in consequence of the card I play; and life is very much too short for the interminable calculations of chess. It is the same in conversation. I never know, or, if my subconsciousness knows,

I

never remember, who anybody is. I speak to people about scandals with which they are connected. I frankly give my mind about Mr. DULL'S poems to Mr. DULL'S

sister-in-law. I give free play to my humour about the Royal Academy in talk with the wife of an Academician of whom I never heard. I am like Jeanie Deans, at her interview with Queen CAROLINE, when, as the MACALLUM MORE said, she first brought down the Queen, and then Lady SUFFOLK, right and left, with remarks about unkind mothers, and the Stool of Penitence.

Thus you may see me forlorn, with each of my neighbours turning towards me the shoulder of indignation. I do not blame them, but how can I help it? It is the Fairy's fault: the curse has come upon me. WILLIAM BUFFY, the Statesman, has a great clan of kinsfolk. Did I ever express my views about WILLIAM BUFFY, but one of Clan Buffy was there, to be annoyed? When I find out what has occurred, I become as red as any tomato, but that does nobody any good.

Oh, I am a Pariah, I am unfit to live! In a savage country, to which my thoughts often wander, I would stumble over every taboo, and soon find myself in the oven. As it is, I stumble over everything, stools and lady's trains, and upset porcelain, and break all the odds and ends with which I fidget, and spill the salt, and then pour claret over it, and call on the right people at the wrong houses, and put letters in the wrong envelopes: one of the most terrible blunders of the Social Duffer. Naturally, in place of improving, MACDUFFER gets worse and worse: every failure which he discovers makes him more nervous: besides he knows that, of all his errors, he only finds out a small per-centage. Where can he take refuge? If Robinson Crusoe had been a social Duffer, he and Friday would not have been on speaking terms in a week. People think the poor Duffer malignant, boorish, haughty, unkind; he is only a Duffer, an irreclaimable, sad, pitiful creature, quite beyond the reach of philanthropy. On my grave write, not MISERRIMUS (though that would be true enough), but

MR. BAYLY'S COAST-SPECTRE.

"IT is scarcely credible that, at this moment, the elaborate telegraphic system of this country has little or no connection with our Lighthouses and Coastguard Stations." So said, quite recently, the Illustrated London News in an excellent article, appropriately entitled, A Flagrant Scandal." It is scarcely credible, and creditable not at all. "Shiver my timbers!" cries Mr. Punch (in a nautical rage), "if there is a purpose for which JOHN BULL should eagerly utilise his 'telegraphic system,' it is for the saving of his sailors' lives." Mr. ROBERT BAYLY, of Plymouth, wrote a letter to the Times, giving some instances in which lamentable loss of life was solely due to the inability of the Lighthouse-keeper or Coastguard to communicate in time with the nearest life-boat station." Think of that, ye British Gentlemen, who sit at home at

ease.

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Aren't you ashamed of yourselves at the very thought of it! Well may "T. LAWRENCEHAMILTON, M.R.C.S., late Honorary President of the Fishermen's Federation," say, in an indignant letter to Mr. Punch: "Perhaps ridicule may wake up some of our salary-sucking statesmen, and permanent, higher, over-paid Government officials, who are legally and morally responsible for the present state of chaotic confusion in which these national matters have been chronically messed and muddled." Perhaps so, my valiant M.R.C.S. And, if so, that "ridicule" shall not be wanting-on Mr. Punch's part, at least. Here goes, for once:

IMPORTUNATE MR. BAYLY.

A SONG OF A SHAMEFUL SEA-COAST SCANDAL.
AIR-" Unfortunate Miss Bailey."
A Captain bold, of British birth, might bless
his stars and garters,

That if he must be wrecked at all, it should be near home quarters;

But Britons' conscience smites them when we hear of lives lost daily

For want of-some electric wires! So says

stout ROBERT BAYLY.

Ah, BOB BAYLY! Importunate BOB BAYLY! At night, when he retires to rest, is BULL, the brave and clever,

Troubled with thoughts of Jack Tars lost for want of care? No, never. But sure, JOHN's nightcap would wag wild, his ruddy cheek wax palely,

If he only realised the tale as told by Mr. BAYLY.

Ah, R. BAYLY! Importunate R. BAYLY! Avaunt, BOB BAYLY! So will cry officials cold and steely,

Who do not wish to be disturbed while pottering genteely,

At their old business of Red Tape circumlocuting gaily, By tales of wrecks for want of wires, as truly [told by BAYLY. Oh, R. BAYLY! Importunate R. BAYLY! Importunate? And quite right too! This shame must once for all close, Or Punch will plant some stirring kicks on -well, somebody's small-clothes. The scandal's getting far too grave, alas! to sing of gaily,

But Punch in earnest will back up brave HAMILTON and BAYLY!

Go it, BAYLY! Be importunate still, BOB BAYLY!

See to it, Mr. BULL! Mr. Punch, echoing Importunate Mr. BAYLY and Indignant LawRENCE-HAMILTON, lays it upon you as one of the most urgent of New Year duties!

nature (ie., Press notices, &c.), until he has contributed to its capital.

It is the intention of the Promoters that the majority of the shares that be allotted to persons in or connected with the profession, so that there shall be no nonsense from outsiders. No promotion money will be paid to anyone. The only preliminary expenses will be those connected with law and stationery.

It is proposed to start the Journal at once, per contract. The Promoters are in communication with a gentleman who will make a first-rate Editor, and who will (they believe) be delighted to accept such an appointment if offered to him. Special arrangements will be made for the insertion of such advertisements Curtain Wigs on the Green" and

BANKERS. -The
Wild Time Bank, 66
late PUCK's Razors."
Limited.

SOLICITORS.-Messrs.
Box AND Cox,
Bouncer Buildings.
AUDITORS.-Messrs.
HEXTRA, SUPER,
NUMERY & Co.,
Mum Street, E.C.
SECRETARY (protem.).
-A. PLYACK TORR.
OFFICES.-In the Adelphi.

ABRIDGED PROSPECTUS.
This Company has been formed for the
purposes of establishing a thoroughly reliable
newspaper in the interests of the Drama, and
the shareholders belonging to the Theatrical
Profession of the United Kingdom.

1. To uphold every Shareholder's claim to Acting as an Art.

2. To secure the best possible criticism by enabling every shareholder to write the notices of his own performances.

3. To take cognisance of the literature that grows up around the Stage, especially criticism in other quarters.

4. To notice the Drama all the world over, when space permits.

5. To support the work of the Profession in general, and the Shareholders in particular. 6. To afford a means of exercising hobbies. 7. To contain Articles by any of the recognised critics ("distinguished writers of the day").

8. To serve as a Directory, or Vade Mecum, or Press-notes container for the benefit of the Shareholders.

Many leading theatrical lessees, managers, and actors, have expressed themselves strongly in favour of the necessity of establishing a paper, written by themselves, for themselves, to read. Without such an organ it is impossible that they can be adequately represented.

The need of such a journal has long been felt by those whose theatrical notices have been the reverse of satisfactory.

A large number of prominent players have promised to take shares, and advertise, not only in the advertisement columns, but in other parts of the proposed paper.

The price of the paper will be hereafter settled by the Directors, who feel that this is a mere matter of detail. The charge for advertisements will be very moderate, to suit the requirements of the shareholders.

Pictures and all sorts of clever things will be introduced when the capital is subscribed, but it's no use making promises until the bankers have got the money.

If there is a rush for shares (as anticipated), those who come first will have the preference. It may be stated that lots of people have promised to become shareholders which is satisfactory. But it is necessary to add that no one will be permitted to become a contributor to the paper even of the most interesting

as

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As the paper will be sent about largely, it should have a good circulation, and the Promoters give as a standing toast, "Success to the Advertisement Department!"

Under such brilliant auspices, both the Company and the paper (as the legal advisers, Messrs. Box & Cox would say) "should be satisfied."

In the event of no money being received, the amount will be returned without deductions.

CRIES WITHOUT WOOL.

No. 1.-"HALL THE WINNERS!" Or all the cries this world can boastA loud, unconscionable hostThere's one that I detest the mostIt haunts me o'er my morning toast, It scares my luncheon's calm and dinner's.

I

It dogs my steps throughout the week,
That cursed crescendo of a shriek;
cannot read, or write, or speak,
Undeafened by its howl unique,
That demon-yell of "Hall the Winners!"
I'm not, I own, a racing man;
I never loved a horse that ran,"
And betting is a vice I ban;
Still, to the sporting caravan-

Or good, or bad, or saints, or sinners-
I bear no malice; nor would take
A leaf from any books they make;
Why then, should they, for mercy's sake,
Pursue me till my senses ache

With that relentless "Hall the Winners ?"

If it were only but a few,
But Hall the Winners!"-why, the crew
Must winning be the whole year through!
Why can't a veteran or two

Retire in favour of beginners?
I'd rather welcome e'en the strain
Of "Hall the Losers!" than remain
A martyr frenzied and profane
To that importunate refrain

Of (There! they're at it!!) "Hall the
Winners!"

THE HONOUR OF THE BAR.

To the Editor of Punch. SIR,-As the London Charivari is recognised all the world, over as the universally acknowledged organ of the legal profession in England, will you permit me to make an explanation nearly touching my professional reputation. A few days since, a Correspondent to one of your contemporaries complained that the leading Counsel of the epoch were in the habit of accepting fees they never intended to earn. He more than hinted that we, Barristers were prone to receive cheques for briefs that we knew we would never attend to; that we were ready to be paid for being present in one Court, when we knew that we were sure to be engaged in another. And so and so on.

Now there can be but one interpretation to such a statement. I am reluctantly compelled to believe that some learned friend or other, annoyed at my increasing practice, has levelled this blow at me, with a view to lessening my prosperity. Will you let me say then, once and for all, I have never received fees for briefs to which I have paid no attention; that my presence has never been required in one Court when I have been professionally engaged in another? My Clerk, PORTINGTON, who has been with me for many years, will tell anyone interested in the matter, that I am most careful not to accept papers promiscuously. In conclusion, anyone who knows me will refuse to believe that I have ever accepted more business than that to which I have been able to give proper attention. It is not my custom to crowd my mantelpiece with papers appealing to me in vain for my consideration. At this moment I have not a single matter demanding my care, except a bundle sent in to me three years ago by a madman.

Believe me, yours most truly,

(Signed) A BRIEFLESS, JUNIOR. Pump-Handle Court,

January 18, 1892.

Too MUCH OF A GOOD THING.-Mr. Punch is glad to congratulate everybody on the improvement in the health of JOHN LAWRENCE TOOLE, comedian. It may be remembered that Mr. TOOLE, being at Mr. EDMUND ROUTLEDGE's house, and suddenly feeling unwell, was pressed by his kind host to stay there the night. He accepted and stopped about three weeks. Mr. J. L. ToOLE recommends the "ROUTLEDGE Treatment" to everybody. He is enthusiastic on the subject. So many persons have acted on his advice, and when and friendly way, apparently, have been calling on Mr. ROUTLEDGE, in quite a casual suddenly taken worse, that the benevolent publisher who feels deeply the necessity of showing these distressing visitors at once to the door, wishes it generally to be known that Open House" is closed as a Casual Ward," and that he is not at home to anybody except bona fide visitors who will give their written word, under penalties, not to be taken ill during their brief interview with him.

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