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"I intend to protect the principle of autocracy as firmly and unswervingly as did my late and never-to-be-forgotten father."-Czar's Speech, Jan. 29.

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LITTLE MOPSËMAN.

THE SECOND ACT.

A little narrow glen, with a slope in the background, belonging to ALFRED. Under the dripping trees a table and chairs, all maa of thin birchstaves. Everything is sodden with wet, and mistwreaths are driving about. ALFRED FRÜYSECK, dressed in a black mackintosh, sits dejectedly on a chair. Presently MOPSA BROVIK comes don the slope cautiously behind, and touches his shoulder; ALFRED jumps.

Mopsa. You shouldn't really sit about on damp seats in such miserable weather, ALFRED. I have been hunting for you everywhere. [Closing her umbrella with quiet significance. Alfred (to himself). Run to earth! Oh, Lor! (Aloud.) If you would only be kind enough to search for MOPSËMAN instead! I cannot unravel the mystery of his disappearance. There he was, just entering upon conscious intelligence-full of the infinite possibilities of performing poodlehood. I had charged myself with his education. After having been an usher at So many boarding-schools, I felt peculiarly fitted for such a task. And then a shady scoundrel has only to come his way with rats in a bag-!

Mopsa. But we don't in the least know how it really all came about.

Alfred. That infernal VARMINT-BLOK is at the bottom of it, you may depend upon that! Though what motive in the world (Quivering.) It's not as if MOPSEMAN would ever have faced a rat. He used to 'bolt at the mere sight of a blackbeetle even. The whole thing is so utterly meaningless, MOPSA. And yet, I suppose the order of the universe requires -it.

Mopsa. Have you indulged in these abstruse philosophical speculations with SPRETA ?

Alfred (shakes his head hopelessly). She is so utterly incapable of (MOPSA nods.) I prefer discussing them with you. There is something unnatural in imparting confidences to a mere wife. What on earth have you got there?

Mopsa (takes a little housewife out of her pocket). SPRETA said you had lost the button off the back of your collar. I thought I would sew it on for you. May I? (With quiet warmth.) I'll try not to run the needle into you.

Alfred (absently). Do; it

how you used to follow me about, just like a little dog? And I used to call you" Little MOPSEMAN," because your name was MOPSA; and if I had had a dog, I should have called him Little MOPSEMAN. And then how you used to sit up and hold a biscuit on your nose, my dear faithful MOPSA !

Mopsa. I wonder how you can be so childish! (Smiling involuntarily.) It was a rich beautiful time; but it was all over when you married. I hope you have never mentioned all that nonsense to SPRETA ?

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Alfred. I may have. One does tell one's wife some things-unintentionally. (Clutching his forehead.) But oh, how can I sit here and forget Little MOPSEMAN SO completely? Have I no heart? Mopsa. If you have lost it, I think I know where it is. And you must surely give your grief a rest occasionally, too.. Alfred. I mustn't. I won't. I will think of him. By the way, are we to have dried fish for dinner again?... Oh, there I go once more-in the very middle of my agony-just when I want to be torturing myself unsp-akably with this gnawing crushing regret! What a wonderfully realistic touch it is, though, eh? So dramatic! But after all, I have you, MOPSA. I'm so glad of that!

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"Yes, Alfred, Retribution!"

may distract my thoughts a little. Where is SPRETA, by the way ? Mopsa. Only taking a little walk with BLOCHDRÄHN. (Sewing.) Perhaps it is hardly the weather for a stroll; but then he was always so perfectly devoted to-h'm-to Little MOPSEMAN, you know. Alfred (surprised). But SPRETA wasn't. She never liked himnot even as a puppy. And now tell me-don't you think you could take a fancy to BLOCHDRÄHN-h'm?

Mopsa. Oh, no! Please! (Covers her face with her hands.) You mustn't really ask me why. (Looks at him through her fingers.) Because I know I should tell you; you have such an irresistible influence over me, Oh dear! oh dear! what will you think of me? (Moves close up to him.) There's a button off your shirt-front now! Alfred (plaintively). Am I to have that one sewn on too? Mopsa. Yes, it's the right thing to do. Though how SPRETA can let you go about like this, I can't think!

Alfred (with a half smile). When I have you to look after me. This is quite like the dear old days!

Mopsa. Yes. (Sewing.) I remember I mended all your things, like a sister. Even then you never had quite all your buttons, had you, dear?

Alfred (patting her hand). Not even then. And do you remember

Mopsa (looking earnestly at him). Surely you mean dear SPRETA-not me, ALFRED?

Alfred. What relation is a wife to her husband? None whatever. Now you, MOPSA, you are very nearly a second cousin once removed, not quite -because our family is a thing so entirely apart. We have always had vowels (the very best vowels) for our initials, and the same coloured spectacles, and poor relations we invariably cut, and great thick works we never get really on with. You take after your mother, ΚΑΙΑ.

Mopsa. And my Aunt-she that was a Miss REBECCA WEST. I feel so irresistibly drawn to disturb other people's domestic harmony. But you must really forget me, and try to care for poor SPRETA a little.

Alfred (vehemently). It's no use. I can't. You 've entranced me so thoroughly. (Helplessly.) I knew you would! Do let me remain here with you!

[Seizes her hand. Mopsa (looks warmly at him). Of course, it you really mean that, I cannot pretend that such comradeship is- Hush! let go my hand-there's somebody coming!

[SPRETA and BLOCHDRÄHN enter in waterproofs, sharing the same umbrella. Alfred (annoyed). Why do you come bothering here? Surely you must see that such an interruption is most ill-timed. Spreta (with a cutting laugh). We did gather that, ALFRED. I came to see what you were about.

Alfred. MOPSA was simply sympathising with me over Little MOPSEMAN's disappearance that was all.

Spreta. Sympathising and philandering, ALFRED, are synonymous terms in the Norwegian Drama. And I may be allowed to observe that other people can philander if they 're driven to it.

[Glances at BLOCHDRÄHN. Mopsa (taking her umbrella_quickly, to BLOCHDRÄHN) We seem to be somewhat de trop here. Suppose we withdraw? [They do. Spreta. Doesn't it strike you, ALFRED, that all this morbid harping on that missing mongrel may be just a little monotonousfor a popular audience, I mean?

Alfred (gloomily). They'll have to sit through another Act and a half of it--that's all. I shall harp if I choose. I like harping. And you always detested MOPSEMAN. You said he ate too much, and had evil eyes. Spreta. So he did-so he had! And you never really and truly loved him either, or you would never have made such a fool of the dog as you did!

Alfred. I had renounced my wonderful thick book. I needed something to fill up my life!

Spreta. You might have chosen something better than a miserable little poodle with no hair on his tail!

Alfred (turns pale). It is you you, who were the guilty one in that. (Harshly and coldly.) It was your hand that spilt the hot water over him as he lay comfortably on the hearthrug. It was! And you know it!

Spreta (terrified, yet defiant). Better own at once that you came behind me and jogged my arm !

Alfred (in suppressed desperation). Yes, that is true. You looked so entrancingly beautiful as you were putting the kettle on for tea, that I was irresistibly impelled to kiss you!

Spreta (exasperated). ALFRED! This is intolerable of you. Do I deserve to be reproached for looking entrancingly beautiful?

Alfred (with sarcasm). Not in the least-now. You are subject to the Law of Change. But what does all that matter? We have both sinned, if you like. While we had him, we both shrank in secret from him-we could not bear to see the tail he dragged about after him! Spreta (whispers). You were so perpetually putting paraffin upon it, ALFRED!

Alfred (calmer). Yes, that. I tried to perfect its possibilities. But it was no use-I could never, never make it good again. And after that I dressed him up in military uniform, and then he had to remain too much indoors, so, of course, he followed the VARMINTBLOK, and then the street curs chevied him over the pier. And after I had trained him so thoroughly to shoulder a musset, he was so totally unable to swim. Oh, it all works out into quite a logical Retribution. And I must go away into the solitudes and writhe with remorse by myself.

Spreta (bitingly). Unless, of course, you can induce MOPSA to

I think you mentioned once that she used to follow you about like a little dog?

Alfred (in a hollow roce). I did. I remember now. That time when the tea-kettle- Retribution!

[He staggers into the thinnest birchstave chair, which collapses under him.

Spreta (menacingly standing over him). Yes, ALFRED, Retribution! [MOPSA and BLOCHDRÄHN return. Mopsa (pleasantly). Well, my dear SPRETA, have you and dear ALFRED talked things thoroughly out?

Spreta. Oh, yes; quite thoroughly enough, I really will not be left alone with ALFRED any more; he is too depressing!

Alfred (on the ground). One cannot be expected to rollick when one is being gnawed with remorse! But perhaps BLOCHDRÄHN would be a more cheerful companion for you; go on with him, while MOPSA helps me up again. We'll follow you-presently.

[SPRETA and BLOCHDRÄHN go off together; MOPSA tenderly

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assists ALFRED to rise.

Mopsa. Oh, dear me! it does seem such a pity! But SPRETA always was peculiar. It must be so trying for you, dear!

Alfred. So much so that I can't stand her any longer. I must get away, anywhere-quite alone. MOPSA, will you come too?

Mopsa (shocked). ALFRED! How can you? What have I said or done to encourage such a proposal? So utterly unexpected!

Alfred feebly). I really couldn't help it. It's the troll inside me. What am I saying? That belongs to another Norwegian drama! Mopsa. All this part belongs to several other Norwegian dramas, dear. But we must see if we can't get out of the old groove this time!

Alfred. But why in the world? When you showed such a wonderful preference for my society, too!

Mopsa (gently). I know, dear. But that was before. Let me tell you something. (Slow music; ALFRED sits down, cautiously.) I've just been looking through my big portfolio, and I've discoveredwhat do you think? (ALFRED shakes his head hopelessly.) I'm not KAIA's daughter at all, really. I'm only adopted!

Alfred. But what difference does that make in our relations? Practically, none whatever!

Mopsa. All the difference, ALFRED. I always pursued you about with reluctance and under protest. Being, as I supposed, descended from KAIA FOSLI, and related to REBECCA WEST, it seemed so utterly the right thing to do. But I know now that I am nothing of the sort, and that if my real mother ever possessed such a thing as a Past at all, it was Plu-perfect. So heredity doesn't come in, and, rather than interfere between you and poor dear SPRETA, I have decided to go right away and never see you again. I really mean it, this time! [She opens her umbrella and runs off up the slope. Alfred (takes up his hat sadly). Isn't this play going to end pessimistically after all, then? (Shudders.) Are we actually going to be-moral? (More hopefully.) After all, there's another Act left There's a chance still! [He follows hastily after MOPSA.

TOO MUCH.

(Pity the Sorrows of a poor Hunting Man!)

of the Weather, in reply to Wife of his bosom). "PUT OUT? WHY, O' Sportsman (suffering from intense aberration of mind in consequence

COURSE I'M PUT OUT. BEEN JUST THROUGH THE VILLAGE, AND

HANG ME IF AT LEAST HALF A DOZEN FOOLS HAVEN'T TOLD ME THAT

IT'S NICE SEASONABLE WEATHER!"

RETRIBUTION.

(Wrought by a cheap Foreign Cigar.)

I'm feeling-great heavens!-all sixes and sevens,
And dizzy, and giddy, and green;
Knocked flat as a pancake, I've got a blank, blank ache
All over-a sight to be seen!

Alas! for the reason 'tis easy to seize on-
The same I'll proceed to relate:-

I've just come from Brussels, whence, after some tussles
With conscience, I rushed to my fate.

For by Calais and Dover I safely brought over
A contraband hatful of weeds;

Ah, why did I struggle to juggle and smuggle,
Thus paying the price for my deeds?

They cost each five farthings, and goodness! they are things
You'd not get your worst foe to smoke,

This "Cabbagio Fino" has giv'n me a beano-
But there! I'm too seedy to joke!

So this crude composition I pen in contrition,
My state of collapse to explain;

I thought to be clever, but never, oh never,
Will make such a bargain again!

CONTRADICTION.-A fortnight ago, in the law reports of the Times, were reported proceedings in bankruptcy "in re TOBY." We have been requested to state that this gentleman is not Mr. Punch's "TOBY, M.P.," nor is "our Mr. TOBY" the gentleman mentioned in the same case as "the bankrupt's brother, M. P. TOBY." The coinMOTTO FOR THE PRESIDENT OF THE FRENCH REPUBLIC.-" Faure- cidence was, naturally, somewhat startling. Our M.P. for Barks warned, Faure-armed." will, by now, have appeared in his place at St. Stephen's.

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A ginger-beer bottle and candle. A rat in a trap and a portrait or two, Say old GARIBALDI, the Wandering Jew, And p'raps JULIUS CESAR or HANDEL. These gave satisfaction to parties all round. But 'tisn't so now as I lately have found. They ask a whole National Gallery. And every one wants his own fav'rite fust off. Good old Moonlight Scene"? Why, a yokel would scoff

At anythink bluey-and-yallery.

They claim fancy-chalks now, or pollychrome

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pastel;

It's no use to tip 'em a storm or a castle;
They want "local colour "-a lot of it.
Yes, something distinctly Welsh, Irish, or
Scotch;

My pitch in these critical days is no cotch;
I'm sick of the worry and rot of it!

Pity the artist! What boots that appeal? No! "Many help one," or "A heart that can feel,"

Won't fetch 'em, however well flourished. I did think that Guy Fawkes blow-up of the Lords [cold words Would call out the coppers; but shrugs and Have damped the last hope that I nourished.

Awful cynicle lot! Scarcely one a believer In me, it would seem, since that there Grand Old Screever

To my hands has turned his pitch over. There! I've touched up the lightning, and [and steady, But, though I must look bright, expectant, I don't feel percisely in clover!

now I am ready!

[Left waiting for patronage.

THE DECADENT LOVER OF FICTION. "ONE love, one life," was my ancient manner, For introspection I had no brain,

But I would have died beneath her banner,
Or I would have lived, her grace to gain.
I loved her silent, I loved her sprightly,
With Grecian braid or with glossy curl;
I loved her wrongly, I loved her rightly,
But ever I loved a single girl.

But now with ennui my love is laden
Before it really has quite begun;
If I win the heart of any maiden

It makes me prefer another one.

Dim passions stir me, deflections fleeting;

1 feel myself in a hopeless whirl.

There never are less than six competing.
Why can I not love a single girl?

Contented I and my love were mated

In those brave days when we both were

young.

For marriage I'm now too complicated,
Too many-natured, too finely-strung.
My spreading canvas all zephyrs vary
For one calm funnel how can I furl?
In truth, the statute is somewhat chary.
And old, and grey, grows the dearest girl!
Oh, love that was loyal, losing, winning,

That time and change had no power to quell,
That once could even dispense with sinning,
And that possession could not dispel!
Your day is done, and your star's declining,

The hero was but a brainless churl Who ever dreamed that without repining

His whole life long he could love one girl! And yet, I feel there is something wanting. The knowledge that love is sure to die To every lover is disenchanting.

I would I loved as in days gone by. 'Twas braver folly the height to capture, Though down from the height Fate often hurls.

He misses woe, but he misses rapture,
Who falls in love with too many girls!

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