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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Volume 104, March 25th 1893

edited by Sir Francis Burnand



[Illustration: THE PANGS OF MATRIMONY!!!

_Casual Acquaintance._ "HEAR YOU'RE TO BE MARRIED, MR. RIBBES.
CONGRATULATE YOU!"
_Mr. Ribbes._ "MUCH OBLIGED, BUT I DUNNO SO MUCH ABOUT CONGRATULATIONS.
IT'S CORSTIN' ME A PRETTY PENNY, I TELL YER. MRS. RIBBES AS IS TO BE,
SHE WANTS 'ER _TROUSSEAU_, YER KNOW; AN' THEN THERE'S THE FURNISHIN',
AN' THE LICENCE, AN' THE PARSON'S FEES; AN' THEN I 'AVE TO GIVE 'ER AN'
'ER SISTER A BIT O' JOOL'RY A-PIECE; AN' WOT WITH ONE THING AN' ANOTHER
--SHE'S A 'EAVY WOMAN, YER KNOW, THIRTEEN STUN ODD--WELL, I RECKON
SHE'LL 'A CORST ME PRETTY NEAR _TWO-AN'-ELEVEN A POUND_ AFORE I GIT 'ER
'OME!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

SMALL BY DEGREES.

_A Story of Defiance not Defence._

There was once a Battalion of Volunteers with its full complement of
field, company, and non-commissioned officers, and rank and file. And
according to experts the Regiment was a most valuable addition to the
national defence. One day a General, covered over with gold lace and
wearing a cocked hat, rode up to the Colonel and called him out.

"Colonel," said the General, "we are thinking of giving over your
command to a C.O. of a Dépôt Centre. It won't interfere with you much
and give you less to do. You may still call yourself Colonel--not that
I call you so myself. I mean off parade."

But the Colonel did not seem to see it, and so he sent in his papers
and rode away.

Then the General from the War Office called up the two remaining Field
Officers.

"Majors" said he, "it seems to us we can help you a good deal by
appointing a Major from a service battalion as Adjutant. Then you
can rank beneath him, and he can look after you and the two half
battalions you each of you are supposed to command. You may still call
yourselves Majors--not that I call you so myself. I mean off parade."

But the Majors did not seem to see it, so they sent in _their_ papers
too.

Then the General from the War Office called up the Company Officers.

"Gentlemen," said he, "we shall continue the snubbing, of which you
have had so much experience. You will do all sorts of new work, and
go to all sorts of fresh expense in the near future. Not that it will
increase your dignity--not a bit of it. However, you may still call
yourselves Captains and Lieutenants--not that I call you so myself. I
mean off parade."

But the Company Officers did not seem to see it, so they sent in their
papers and marched away. Then the General from the War Office called
up the rest of the Regiment.

"Now, Non-commissioned Officers and Men," said he, "you have no one to
command you, and no one to pay for your marches out, prizes, and
the rest of it. But don't let that bother you. You may still call
yourselves Soldiers--not that I call you so myself. I mean off
parade."

But the remainder of the Regiment did not seem to see it, so they sent
in _their_ resignations, and vanished.

Then the Officer from the War Office rode towards Pall Mall.

"It won't interfere with me much," said he, "and give the Department
less to do. And I can still call myself General--though I scarcely
deserve the title, either on or off parade!"

       *       *       *       *       *

HOW IT STRIKES "THE CONTEMPORARY."

["Why should not women take the B.A. degree?... Unfortunately the
older Universities have resented every attempt at breaking down their
cherished exclusiveness."--_From an Article in "The Contemporary
Review" for March._]

  Despotic Dons' dominion
    Still subjugates us all,
  They scoff at our opinion,
    Our purposes miscall;
  Will no deliverer appear,
  And is it vainly, as we fear,
  We hold our meetings every year
    Within St. James's Hall?

  Our wrongs, if brought to knowledge,
    Would surely move your hearts,
  Degreeless from her College
    The Wrangler-ess departs;
  And shall not too the maids, who can
  Give all the usages of [Greek: an],
  As well as any living man
    Be Bachelors of Arts?

  Persuasive or abusive
    We fail our point to gain,
  Disgracefully exclusive
    These ancient seats remain:
  But yet a future we foresee
  When Women will the rulers be,
  And Men will beg a Pass-degree,
    Will beg, and beg in vain!

            * * *

  P.S.--The pith of our petition
    Is seldom understood,
  It is not all ambition,
    Though this, no doubt, is good;
  But, speaking frankly, we declare
  The point for which we really care
  Is just to gain the right to wear
    That _most_ becoming hood!

       *       *       *       *       *

THE WITLER'S WISION OF WENGEANCE.

(IN A SLIGHTLY PICKWICKIAN SENSE.)

[Illustration: _Being the Dream of an angry "Brother Bung" after
attending the Meeting at St. James's Hall, and trying to soothe
himself with a dip into Dickens._]

["He" Lord BURTON, "asked why this drastic, this dishonest, this
catchpenny, this gerrymandering Bill should have been brought in?....
They had heard much of late about the Nonconformist Conscience, which
was said to be the backbone of the Liberal Party. He firmly believed
that the Bill had been brought forward to suit the Nonconformist
Conscience, to pander to the hypocritical self-righteousness, and the
sham respectability of a certain class."--_Lord Burton, at the St.
James's Hall Meeting, on the Direct Veto Bill._]

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. WITLER, the elder, gave vent to an extraordinary sound, which,
being neither a groan, nor a grunt, nor a gasp, nor a howl, nor a
hoot, nor a hiss, nor a shout, nor a shriek, yet seemed to partake
in some degree of the character of all these inarticulate laryngeal
exercises. It was a big vocal blend, and a stentorian; it made him
pant and turn apoplectically purple in the face, it shook the house,
and very nearly "brought it down."

Mr. WITLER'S "wocal wagaries" (as his son called them) when he _was_
roused, were something tremendous, earthquaky, appalling!

Mr. SWIGSLOP STIGGINS, a leading Shepherd of the Nonconformist
Rechabite Flock, unwarned by this nondescript sound, which he
understood to betoken remorse or repentance, in fact, an awakening of
the "Nonconformist Conscience," in a somewhat unlikely quarter,
looked about him, rubbed his hands, wept, smiled, wept again, and
then mechanically uttering a guttural "Hear! Hear!" (as though he were
listening, in the House of Commons, to the jocund HARCOURT, or the
jocular LAWSON, or the robustious T. W. RUSSELL, or the astute CAINE)
and then, walking across the room to a well-remembered pigeon-hole,
took thence an official-looking scroll, sat down, formally unfolded
it, cleared his throat, and began with pompous complacency to read
aloud its title, preamble, clauses, and provisions, compulsory
regulations, and peremptory prohibitions to the apparently
semi-asphyxiated Mr. WITLER.

The elder Mr. WITLER, who still continued to make various strange
and uncouth attempts to appear indifferent, offered not a single
word during these proceedings; but when STIGGINS stopped for breath,
previous to a second reading, he darted upon him, and, snatching
the scroll from his hand, first buffeted him briskly about the
head therewith, and then threw it into the fire. Then, seizing the
astonished gentleman firmly by the collar, he suddenly fell to kicking
him most furiously, accompanying every application of his boots to Mr.
STIGGINS'S person with sundry violent and incoherent anathemas,
such as--"Blatant Barabbas!"--"Bumptious busybody!"--"Unblushing
bandit!"--"Barefaced spoliator!"--"Hypocritical humbug!"--"Iniquitous
inquisitor!"--"Fanatical faddist!"--"Self-righteous sneak!"--"Sham
saint!"--"Jerrymandering JEREMY DIDDLER!"--"Pragmatical
pump!"--"Little Bethelite Boanerges!" and "Nonconformist
_Tartuffe_!!!"

"SAMMY," said Mr. WITLER, "put my cap on tight for me!" SAM dutifully
adjusted the cap more firmly on his father's head, and the old
gentleman, resuming his kicking with greater agility than before,
tumbled Mr. STIGGINS through the bar, and through the passage, out
at the front door, and so into the street, the kicking continuing the
whole way, and increasing in vehemence rather than diminishing every
time the boot was lifted.

It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight (_to "the Trade"_) to see
the water-drinker writhing in Mr. WITLER'S grasp, and his whole frame
quivering with anguish as kick followed kick in rapid succession;
it was a still more exciting spectacle (_to Bungdom all round, from
boisterous_ Lord BURTON _to the humblest rural Boniface_) to behold
Mr. WITLER, after a powerful struggle, immersing Mr. STIGGINS'S head
in a horse-trough full of water, and holding it there until he was
half suffocated.

"There!" said Mr. WITLER, throwing all his energy into one most
complicated kick, as he at length permitted Mr. STIGGINS to withdraw
his head from the trough, "send any vun o' them villainous Vetoists,
from burly Sir VILLIAM BARABBAS hisself down to the pettifoggingest
Local Hoptioniser in Little Peddlington, _here_, or to St. James's
'All, or the Alhambra, or elseveres in public meeting or privit pub,
and I'll pound him to a argymentative jelly fust, and drownd him in
public-speritted opinion arterwards!"

"SAMMY" (added Mr. WITLER, puffing and perspiring freely), "help
me in, and fill me a stiff glass o' Speshal Scotch; for I'm out of
breath, my boy!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: RATHER SUSPICIOUS.

_Mistress_ (_to Housekeeper, after "the Young Person" has left the
room_). "REALLY, WILKINS, I COULD NOT ENGAGE THAT YOUNG PERSON. SHE IS
TOO UGLY BY FAR!"

_Housekeeper._ "VERY SORRY, MUM. BUT YOU SAID _SO PARTICULARLY_ THAT
I WAS TO LOOK OUT FOR A GOOD PLAIN COOK,--'QUITE A PLAIN COOK,' YOU
SAID, MUM,--THAT I THOUGHT YOU HAD SOME PARTICULAR REASON----"]

       *       *       *       *       *

VERY NATURAL.--Mrs. R. pays great attention to the Parliamentary
debates, and listens attentively while her Nephew reads the speeches
as reported in _The Times_. Last Thursday he was in the midst of the
discussion on the Welsh Liquor-Traffic Bill, and came to this: "Mr.
LLOYD-GEORGE, whose opening remarks were interrupted by a Count----"
Whereupon his Aunt exclaimed, "How very rude! What was the Count's
name? And how does a Count come to be in the House of Commons?"

       *       *       *       *       *

PILL-DOCTOR HERDAL.

(_Translated from the Original Norwegian by Mr. Punch._)

THIRD ACT.

    _On the right, a smart verandah, attached to_ Dr. HERDAL'S
    _dwelling-house, and communicating with the Drawing-room and
    Dispensary by glass-doors. On the left a tumble-down rockery,
    with a headless plaster Mercury. In front, a lawn, with a
    large silvered glass globe on a stand. Chairs and tables. All
    the furniture is of galvanised iron. A sunset is seen going on
    among the trees._

_Dr. Herdal_ (_comes out of Dispensary-door cautiously, and
whispers_). HILDA, are you in there?

    [_Taps with fingers on Drawing-room door._

_Hilda_ (_comes out with a half-teasing smile_). Well--and how is the
Rainbow-powder getting on, Dr. HERDAL?

_Dr. Herd._ (_with enthusiasm_). It is getting on simply splendidly.
I sent the new Assistant out to take a little walk, so that he
should not be in the way. There is Arsenic in the powder, HILDA, and
Digitalis too, and Strychnine, and the best Beetle-killer!

_Hilda_ (_with happy, wondering eyes_). _Lots_ of Beetle-killer? And
you will give some of it to _her_, to make her free and buoyant. I
think one really _has_ the right--when people happen to stand in the
way----!

_Dr. Herd._ Yes, you may well say so, HILDA. Still--(_dubiously_)--it
_does_ occur to me that such doings may perhaps be misunderstood--by
the narrow-minded and conventional.

    [_They go on the lawn, and sit down._

_Hilda_ (_with an outburst_). Oh, that all seems to me so foolish--so
irrelevant! As if the whole thing wasn't intended as an Allegory!

_Dr. Herd._ (_relieved_). Ah, so long as it is merely _allegorical_ of
course---- But what is it an allegory _of_, HILDA?

_Hilda_ (_reflects in vain_). How can you sit there and ask such
questions? I suppose I am a symbol, of some sort.

_Dr. Herd._ (_as a thought flashes upon him_). A cymbal? That would
certainly account for your bra---- Then am _I_ a cymbal too, HILDA?

_Hilda._ Why yes--what else? You represent the Artist-worker, or
the Elder Generation, or the Pursuit of the Ideal, or a Bilious
Conscience--or something or other. _You_'re all right!

_Dr. Herd._ (_shakes his head_). Am I? But I don't quite see---- Well,
well, cymbals are meant to clash a little. And I see plainly now that
I ought to prescribe this powder for as many as possible. Isn't it
terrible, HILDA, that so many poor souls never really die their
own deaths--pass out of the world without even the formality of an
inquest? As the district Coroner, I feel strongly on the subject.

_Hilda._ And, when the Coroner has finished sitting on all the bodies,
perhaps--but I shan't tell you now. (_Speaks as if to a child._)
There, run away and finish making the Rainbow-powder, do!

_Dr. Herd._ (_skips up into the Dispensary_). I will--I will! Oh, I do
feel such a troll--such a light-haired, light-headed old devil!

_Rübub_ (_enters garden-gate_). I have had my dismissal--but I'm not
going without saying good-bye to Mrs. HERDAL.

_Hilda._ Dr. HERDAL would disapprove--you really must not, Mr.
KALOMEL. And, besides, Mrs. HERDAL is not at home. She is in the town
buying me a reel of cotton. _Dr._ HERDAL is in. He is making real
Rainbow powders for regenerating everybody all round. Won't _that_ be
fun?

_Rübub._ _Making_ powders? Ha! ha! But you will see he won't _take_
one himself. It is quite notorious to us younger men that he simply
daren't do it.

[Illustration: "My--_my_ Pill-Doctor!"]

_Hilda._ (_with a little snort of contempt_). Oh, I daresay--that's so
likely! (_Defiantly._) I know he _can_, though. I've _seen_ him!

_Rübub._ There is a tradition that he once--but not now--he knows
better. I think you said Mrs. HERDAL was in the town? I will go and
look for her. I understand her so well. [_Goes out by gate._

_Hilda_ (_calls_). Dr. HERDAL! Come out this minute. I want
you--awfully!

_Dr. Herd._ (_puts his head out_). Just when I am making such
wonderful progress with the powder! (_Comes down and leans on a
table._) Have you hit upon some way of giving it to ALINE? I thought
if you were to put it in her arrowroot----?

_Hilda._ No, thanks. I won't have that now. I have just recollected
that it is a rule of mine never to injure anybody I have once been
formally introduced to. Strangers don't count. No, poor Mrs. HERDAL
mustn't take that powder!

_Dr. Herd._ (_disappointed_). Then is nothing to come of making
Rainbow powders, after all, HILDA?

_Hilda_ (_looks hard at him_). People say you are afraid to take your
own physic. Is that true?

_Dr. Herd._ Yes, I am. (_After a pause--with candour._) I find it
invariably disagrees with me.

_Hilda_ (_with a half-dubious smile_). I think I can understand
_that_. But you did _once_. You swallowed your own pills that day at
the _table d'hôte_, ten years ago. And I heard a harp in the air, too!

_Dr. Herd._ (_open-mouthed_). I don't think that _could_ have been Me.
I don't play any instrument. And that was quite a special thing, too.
It's not every day I can do it. Those were only _bread_ pills, HILDA.

_Hilda_ (_with flashing eyes_). But you rolled them; you took them.
And I want to see you stand once more free and high and great,
swallowing your own preparations. (_Passionately._) I _will_ have you
do it! (_Imploringly._) Just _once_ more, Dr. HERDAL!

_Dr. Herd._ If I did, HILDA, my medical knowledge, slight as it is,
leads me to the conclusion that I should in all probability burst.

_Hilda_ (_looks deeply into his eyes_). So long as you burst
_beautifully_! But no doubt that Miss BLAKDRAF----

_Dr. Herd._ You must believe in me utterly and entirely. I will
do anything--_anything_, HILDA, to provide you with agreeable
entertainment. I _will_ swallow my own powder! (_To himself, as he
goes gravely up to Dispensary._) If only the drugs are sufficiently
adulterated!

    [_Goes in; as he does so, the_ New Assistant _enters the
    garden in blue spectacles, unseen by_ HILDA, _and follows him,
    leaving open the glass-door._

_Senna Blakdraf_ (_comes wildly out of Drawing-room_). Where is dear
Dr. HERDAL? Oh, Miss WANGEL, he has discharged me--but I can't--I
simply _can't_ live away from that lovely ledger!

_Hilda_ (_jubilantly_). At this moment Dr. HERDAL is in the
Dispensary, taking one of his own powders.

_Senna_ (_despairingly_). But--but it is utterly impossible! Miss
WANGEL, you have such a firm hold of him--_don't_ let him do that!

_Hilda._ I have already done all I can.

    [RÜBUB _appears, talking confidentially with Mrs._ HERDAL, _at
    gate._

_Senna._ Oh, Mrs. HERDAL, RÜBUB! The Pill-Doctor is going to take one
of his own preparations. Save him--quick!

_Rübub_ (_with cold politeness_). I am sorry to hear it--for his sake.
But it would be quite contrary to professional etiquette to prevent
him.

_Mrs. Herd._ And I never interfere with my husband's proceedings. I
know _my_ duty, Miss BLAKDRAF, if _others_ don't!

_Hilda_ (_exulting with great intensity_). At last! Now I see him
in there, great and free again, mixing the powder in a spoon--with
jam!.... Now he raises the spoon. Higher--higher still! (_A gulp
is audible from within._) There, didn't you hear a harp in the air?
(_Quietly._) I can't see the spoon any more. But there is one he is
striving with, in blue spectacles!

_The New Assistant's Voice_ (_within_). The Pill-Doctor HERDAL has
taken his own powder!

_Hilda_ (_as if petrified_). That voice! _Where_ have I heard it
before? No matter--he has got the powder down! (_Waves a shawl in the
air, and shrieks with wild jubilation._) It's too awfully thrilling!
My--_my_ Pill-Doctor!

_The N. A._ (_comes out on verandah_). I am happy to inform you
that--as, to avoid accidents, I took the simple precaution of filling
all the Dispensary-jars with Camphorated Chalk--no serious results
may be anticipated from Dr. HERDAL'S rashness. (_Removes spectacles._)
NORA, don't you know me?

_Hilda_ (_reflects_). I really don't remember having the
pleasure----And I'm _sure_ I heard a harp in the air!

_Mrs. Herd._ I fancy, Miss WANGEL, it must have been merely a bee in
your bonnet!

_The N. A._ (_tenderly_). Still the same little singing-bird! Oh,
NORA, my long-lost lark!

_Hilda_ (_sulky_). I'm _not_ a lark--I'm a Bird of Prey--and, when I
get my claws into anything----!

_The N. A._ Macaroons, for instance? I remember your tastes of old.
See, NORA! (_Produces a paper-bag from his coat-tail pocket._) They
were fresh this morning!

_Hilda_ (_wavering_). If you insist on calling me NORA, I think you
must be just a little mad yourself.

_The N. A._ We are all a little mad--in Norway. But TORVALD HELMER is
sane enough still to recognise his own little squirrel again!
Surely, NORA, your education is complete at last--you have gained the
experience you needed?

_Hilda_ (_nods slowly_). Yes, TORVALD, you're right enough _there_. I
have thought things out for myself, and have got clear about them. And
I have quite made up my mind that Society and the Law are all wrong,
and that I am right.

_Helmer_ (_overjoyed_). Then you _have_ learnt the Great Lesson, and
are fit to undertake the charge of your children's education at last!
You've no notion how they've grown! Yes, NORA, our marriage will be a
true marriage now. You will come back to the Doll's-House, won't you?

_Hilda-Nora-Helmer-Wangel_ (_hesitates_). Will you let me forge
cheques if I do, TORVALD?

_Helmer_ (_ardently_). All day. And at night, NORA, we will falsify
the accounts--together!

_H. N. H. W._ (_throws herself into his arms, and helps herself to
macaroons_). That will be fearfully thrilling! My--_my_ Manager!

_Dr. Herd._ (_comes out, very pale, from Dispensary_). HILDA, I _did_
take the----I'm afraid I interrupt you?

_Helmer._ Not in the least. But this lady is my little lark, and she
is going back to her cage by the next steamer.

_Dr. Herd._ (_bitterly_). Am I _never_ to have a gleam of happiness--?
But stay--do I see my little SENNA once more?

_Rübub._ Pardon me--_my_ little SENNA. She always believed so firmly
in my pill!

_Dr. Herd._ Well--well. If it must be. RÜBUB, I will take you into
partnership, and we will take out a patent for that pill, jointly.
ALINE, my poor dear ALINE, let us try once more if we cannot bring a
ray of brightness into our cheerless home!

_Mrs. Herd._ Oh, HAUSTUS, if only we _could_--but why do you propose
that to me--_now_?

_Dr. Herd._ (_softly--to himself_). Because I have tried being
a troll--and found that nothing came of it, and it wasn't worth
sixpence!

    [HILDA-NORA _goes off to the right with_ HELMER; SENNA _to the
    left with_ RÜBUB; Dr. HERDAL _and_ Mrs. HERDAL _sit on two
    of the galvanised iron-chairs, and shake their heads
    disconsolately as the Curtain falls._

THE END.

       *       *       *       *       *

OMNIS CELLULA A CELLULÂ.

(_Professor Virchow--vide Daily Paper._)

  Life's a cell and all things show it.
  I thought so once, and now I know it.

_Gay_ (_up to date_).

       *       *       *       *       *

A RADICAL RIDDLE.

Why are the Tories so eager to discuss Black-edged Envelopes, and
Black-lead Pencils?--Because they belong to a Stationary Party.

       *       *       *       *       *

POLITICS AND TRADE.

(_A Poser for "Patriots."_)

    ["Our Trade is our Politics." Motto of the Licensed
    Victualler, as publicly avowed at a recent "great Meeting."]

[Illustration]

  DEAR Bung, that frank but huckster-like avowal
    Is made continually, behind the bar.
  It _means_--though rather "laid on with a trowel"--
    A Trade with Public Spirit quite at jar.
  The "mercenary politician," making
    A pocket-business of a patriot's task,
  Recently put your Press in a great taking;
    But sordid selfishness here doffs all mask!
  Which with a patriot's conscience plays most tricks?
    Which most the venal virus has betrayed,--
  The man who makes his Trade his Politics,
    Or he who makes his Politics his Trade?

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

_BURDETT'S Official Intelligence for_ 1893 is just out, a promising
young thing in its twelfth year. It is a little early to talk of the
holidays, but my Baronite, regarding this thin Vol. of 1783 pages,
says he cannot help thinking with what pleasure the City merchant,
or his clerk, hastening to the seaside, will pack it up with his
collar-box. Every year the monumental work increases in value, by
reason of accumulated information. To the tired City man, scaling some
Alp, gliding in well-found yacht over silver seas, or prone in bosky
dell, there can be nothing more soothing or delightful than to take
his "BURDETT" out of his waistcoat-pocket, and read it through from
first page to last.

For _The Tragedy of Ida Noble_ the Baron tenders his grateful
thanks to W. CLARK RUSSELL. It starts well, and the excitement is
artistically sustained. At the close of every chapter _Oliver_,
the reader, is perpetually "asking for more." A capital story of
adventure, where all, including the reader, are "quite at sea" until
the very last chapter. On nearing the middle of the book, the question
will occur to everyone experienced in such matters, "Does the hero
marry the heroine?" Now this, being a lady's secret, will not be
revealed by THE BARON DE B.-W.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Plea of the Party Man.

(_On either side._)

  "THERE'S _no_ Obstruction!"--Why, then, all this ruction?
  "When _we_ obstruct, who dares to call't Obstruction?"
  To dam a deluge, stop a bolting horse,--
  That is obstruction, of a sort, of course;
  _Our_ sort, in fact! But theirs on t'other side?
  That's quite another matter. They can't hide
  The cloven foot of malice, the false faitours!
  Not obstruct _them_? As well say not hang traitors!

[Illustration: Obstruction.]

       *       *       *       *       *

FAR TOO PREVIOUS.

In the Agony-Column of the _Times_ we now see daily the following
Advertisement:--

TO IRISH LOYALISTS AND PROTESTANTS.--DEATH BEFORE SLAVERY!

Surely a most blameless sentiment. But the bearings of it lie in the
application. And what is that? It seems as applicable to any existing
situation as, say, "Lunch before Dinner," or "Business before
Pleasure," or "Age before Honesty," or "Fingers before forks." _Mr.
Punch_ ventures to suggest a modification, less striking, perhaps,
in an "Agony-Column," but more in accord with patriotism and
common-sense:--

        To Irish Loyalists and Protestants!
          _Be_ Loyal, and Protest--_Constitutionally_!

The flamboyant, melodramatic, "Death before Slavery!" _may_
be applicable--when "Slavery" becomes a conceivable, proximate
probability, or "Death" a possible alternative. Then let us have
"Death before Slavery," by all means. At present, _Punch_ would say,
"Common-sense before either!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Poor Political Economy!

(_By an elated Parliamentary Want-to-Knower._)

  Oh! to waste half the time asking Questions is grand!
  "Supply" is not in it, just now, with "Demand"!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: INSTINCTIVE CRITICAL ACUMEN.

"THAT LOOKS LIKE AN OLD PICTURE, JOHN! WHAT IS IT?"

"IT'S 'MOSES STRIKING THE ROCK'!"

"AH! I TOLD YOU IT WAS OLD--_DIDN'T_ I, NOW!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

"ALL A-BLOWING!"

AIR--_The celebrated Duet in "The Mikado."_

_Much-sold Pater and Mater sing:--_

  _Pater._ The flowers that bloom in the Spring,
              Tra la,
    To purchase henceforth I decline.
  The hawkers those blossoms who bring--
              Ah! bah!--
    Will "swop 'em for most anything,"
              Ha! ha!
  But as soon as you've bought 'em they pine.

  _Both._ And that's what they mean when they say, or they sing,
  "He's as green as a man who buys flowers in the Spring,"
              Tra la la la la la, &c.

  _Mater._ The flowers that bloom in the Spring,
              Tra la!
    Are a sell, my dear hub, in _our_ case.
  I bought _this_ with a "suit"--there's the sting,
              Pa-pa!
    Which _he_ said was "a worn-hout hold thing,"
              (O-la!)
    Just fancy his having the face!
  Now 'tis shrunken, and shrivelled, and that's why I sing,
  Oh, bother the flowers that bloom in the Spring!
               Tra la la la la la, &c.

  _Both_ (_to Servant_). So tell the next rascal who ventures to ring,
  _We_'ll buy no more flowers that bloom in the Spring!

    [_Dance, and exeunt, determined never again to be diddled by
    the howling "A-a-blowing and a-growing!" impostors, who, at
    this season, hawk heat-forced or illrooted pot-plants about
    the streets of the suburbs._

       *       *       *       *       *

HOW IT WOULD LOOK IN ENGLISH.

(_An adaptation from the French._)

_Anyone._ Let us accuse the Ministry of misappropriating
twopence-halfpenny.

_The Entire Press._ Certainly, why not?

_The Opposition._ The Ministry are thieves.

_The Government._ After this insult we resign _en masse_.

_One of the Public._ It is said that Mr. BRIEFLESS JUNIOR has accused
the First Lord of having stolen the Horse-Guards clock.

_First Lord._ Please, LORD CHIEF JUSTICE, request Mr. BRIEFLESS JUNIOR
to keep a civil tongue in his head.

_L. C. J._ The Attorney-General is the proper person to offer a
remonstrance.

_Sir Charles._ Can't undertake rows since I have restricted my private
practice.

_Ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer._ I accuse the LORD CHANCELLOR.

_Lord Chancellor._ Why, and of what?

_Those Concerned._ Never mind that. What does it matter _who's_
accused, so long as everybody forgets _us_.

_Someone._ And now everything's completely mixed, does anyone know
what the row's about?

_Everybody Else_ (_after a short silence_). Don't know, and don't
care!

       *       *       *       *       *

"PUTTING OFF."

_Old Aquatic Hand, loquitur:--_

  LOOK here, bonny boys! As we're launching our ship,
    And stringing our energies up for the tussle,
  Allow your old Stroke to suggest the straight tip!
    This is not a mere matter of Milo-like muscle.
  You are all looking fit, we've the pull in the weights--
    Not _much_, to be sure, forty pounds, say, or thereabout.
  Still, that much should tell 'gainst the smartest of eights;
    It should give us the race, which is all that we care about.

  'Twill be a close fight, bet your boots about that,
    _If_ we get a clear course without serious obstruction,
  Of which I'm not sanguine; the practice of PAT
    Has proved to possess universal seduction.
  Our last spin was muffed; never mind whose the fault;
    Let bygones be bygones! But now comes the crisis!
  It's now win or lose. Every man worth his salt
    Will pull like a Titan from Cam or from Isis.

  But--pull clean together, and put on the pace
    When I call for a spurt, or we're in for a licking.
  And, Cox, don't _you_ steer us all over the place.
    In the fight that's before us, the course requires picking!
  So keep at attention, MAC, sharp all the way;
    A split-second's slackness may set our foes grinning.
  _Verb. sap.!_ Our last "spin" proved a "mull," I must say;
    We _must_ quicken the pace, if this bout we mean winning!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "PUTTING OFF."

GLADSTONE (_the Old Blue_). "NOW, MY BOYS,--WE MUST ROW A QUICKER
STROKE IF WE'RE TO WIN!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

MIXED NOTIONS.

No. VIII.--THE BOAT-RACE.


_Inquirer._ Are any of you chaps going to the Boat-Race?

_First Well-Informed Man._ No, I shan't. Everybody knows which is
going to win, so there's deuced little interest in the race; and then
you can always read it on the tape at your Club. Besides, I don't care
much about rowing. It's a silly sort of exercise; anybody can do it.

_Second W. I. M._ Have you ever tried?

_First W. I. M._ (_indignantly_). Have I ever tried? Of course I have.
Why, you were with me last Summer when we had that water-party from
Taplow to Cookham.

[Illustration]

_Second W. I. M._ Ah! but you didn't do much rowing then. You let me
get all the blisters, and you just sat in the stern and steered us
like a blessed corkscrew.

_First W. I. M._ Did I? I didn't remember that; but I do remember you
catching about half-a-dozen crabs one after another.

_Second W. I. M._ True enough I caught one, but that was because you
would keep standing up in the boat, and moving your body backwards
and forwards. I suppose you thought the coxswains do that in their
racing-boats?

_First W. I. M._ (_boldly_). They do. I've seen 'em doing it often.

_Second W. I. M._ Why, I thought you'd never seen the crews at all.

_First W. I. M._ Bosh! I never said anything of the kind. I'm not
going to see the race this year, but I've often seen 'em practising
down at Putney. Everybody knows the coxswains have to stand up. How do
you suppose they could see to steer if they didn't? So where are you
now, with all your accurate information, eh?

_Second W. I. M._ I'm where I was before, and I know I'm right,
because my brother-in-law had a cousin who was at school with one of
the Coxes about ten years ago. [_A pause._

_Inquirer_ (_looking up from his sporting paper_). I say, I thought
the crews rowed in racing-boats.

_First W. I. M._ So they do.

_Inquirer._ Well, then, what does this mean? (_Reads._) "Both
yesterday and to-day Cambridge rowed with a bucket. They must improve
this if they want to win."

_First W. I. M._ (_smiling_). My dear fellow, they call their big
practising-boat a bucket.

_Second W. I. M._ No, they don't--they call it a tub.

_First W. I. M._ Well, tub or bucket, it's the same thing. (_To_
Inquirer.) What you read just now means that their practising-boat has
gone rotten, and they'll have to mend her up a bit.

_Inquirer_ (_dubiously_). But they don't row the race in a tub or a
bucket, do they?

_Second W. I. M._ No, they row in a Clinker-Clasper.

_Inquirer._ What the deuce is that?

_Second W. I. M._ (_plunging_). Oh, it's a specially fast kind
of racing-boat, built by CLINKER AND CLASPER. They're a firm of
boat-builders--I thought everybody knew that.

_Inquirer._ But then, what does this paper mean by saying that Oxford
are rowing in a Rough?

_Second W. I. M._ Why it means that their boat isn't so smooth as that
of Cambridge.

_Inquirer_ (_puzzled_). But then it goes on to say that "She is as
fine a specimen of a racing-craft as this eminent boat-builder has
ever turned out." How can she be that, if she isn't as smooth as the
Cambridge boat? Besides, who's "this eminent boat-builder?"

_Average Man._ ROUGH.

_Second W. I. M._ Rot!

_Average Man._ ROUGH, not Rot. ROUGH'S his name.

_Second W. I. M._ Let me see the paper. (_He reads, and addresses the_
Inquirer.) Why didn't you say the word was printed with a capital R?
(_To_ Average Man.) Perhaps you're right, after all; but I know some
boats _are_ rougher than others. [_A pause._

_Inquirer._ What's the difference between First Trinity and Third
Trinity? Three of the Cambridge men are from First Trinity, and two
from Third Trinity, besides the Cox.

_First W. I. M._ What's your difficulty? First is first, and Third's
third, all the world over. Don't you see, the First Trinity men come
first in the crew, and then the Third Trinity men.

_Inquirer._ But why don't some of 'em call themselves Second Trinity
men?

_First W. I. M._ Oh, that's one of their silly bits of College
etiquette. These chaps at the Universities are never happy unless they
do things quite differently from all the rest of the world.

_Inquirer._ This beastly paper says, "the Cambridge stroke rowed much
longer to-day."

_First W. I. M._ Well, what then?

_Inquirer._ Oh! nothing; only I thought they all rowed exactly the
same distance when they're practising; so I don't quite see how any of
'em could have rowed longer than the rest.

_First W. I. M._ I daresay they made him row a good bit by himself;
they often do that to give the stroke some extra practice. He wants it
more than any of the rest.

_Second W. I. M._ Why?

_First W. I. M._ Oh, ah--well, because he's got to set the stroke for
the others, or something of that sort.

_Inquirer._ How far do they row in the race?

_Second W. I. M._ About six miles or so.

_Inquirer._ By Jove, then, how on earth do they manage to get over
all that distance with so few strokes. (_Refers to paper._) It says,
"Oxford rowed 37 all the way, while Cambridge contented themselves
with a well-pulled 35." (_With a happy inspiration._) If Cambridge
can do it in 35 strokes, while Oxford take 37, it looks jolly like
Cambridge winning by two strokes, don't it?

_First W. I. M._ All right; I'll lay you the odds on Oxford.

_Second W. I. M._ Good, I'll take 'em to five pounds. Oxford can't
win.

_First W. I. M._ (_confidently_). Cambridge can't win. Anyway, I'll
lay you ten pounds to five.

_Inquirer._ I should like to have a bet with somebody.

_Average Man._ You'd better write to one of the Presidents of the
University-Boat Clubs. They're always ready to oblige a keen fellow
like you with a bet.

_Inquirer._ Of course. That's my best plan. I'll write to-day.

    [_Terminus._


       *       *       *       *       *

UPON TERMS.

(_A Forensic Drama of the Future._)

    [In a recent trial, Mr. Justice HAWKINS corrected a learned
    Counsel who talked about Witnesses "coming up to the
    scratch."]

_The Judge_ (_taking his seat_). I think, Mr. SMALLFEE, that you were
examining a Witness when we adjourned yesterday. Are you ready to go
on with the examination?

_Mr. Smallfee_ (_pleasantly_). I am sorry to say that Witness has not
turned up yet, m'Lud!

_The Judge_ (_pained_). Not _what_?

_Mr. Smallfee._ I beg your Lordship's pardon. Of course what I _meant_
was that the Witness has not, as yet, condescended to irradiate the
precincts of this tribunal with the sunshine of his presence.

_The Judge._ _That's_ better! Then we must go on to the next Witness.

_Mr. Smallfee_ (_with an evident attempt to keep up his spirits, in
spite of misfortune_). The next Witness, also, I regret to say, has
not turned----I mean, has failed to appear. The Solicitor informs me
that he solemnly promised to attend; but I suppose the promise was all
my eye.

_The Judge._ Dear, dear! What extraordinary expressions you do use,
Mr. SMALLFEE! All my eye! Perhaps you will kindly interpret the
phrase, for the benefit of the Court.

_Mr. Smallfee_ (_desperately_). As your Lordship pleases! But, as I
feel rather down in the mouth now, and as the twelve sufferers in
the Jury-box evidently think that this trial has lasted long enough
already, and that we ought to stir our stumps, I would suggest----

_The Judge._ Usher! Step across to Booksellers' Row, and buy me a
Slang Dictionary! I cannot--I really _cannot_ follow the learned
Counsel.

_The Foreman_ (_interposing_). _We_ do not object to colloquial
expressions, my Lord. Y' see, we're a _Common_ Jury, and we rather
like them. All we want to do is to get on with the case. And perhaps
it may assist the Court if at this stage I remark that the Jury has
quite made up its mind, and is ready to give its verdict.

_The Judge_ (_astounded_). But--but--there has been no evidence for
the defence!

_The Foreman_ (_calmly_). No, my Lord. But no doubt the learned
Counsel's two Witnesses, had they been present, would have supplied
some; and, anyhow, we are so pleased with his talking down to our
level, and not--as usual--over our heads, that we are all agreed to
find a verdict for his client, the Defendant.

_Mr. Smallfee_ (_bowing_). Thanks for your good opinion, Gentlemen. I
thought, by the cut of your jibs, you were the right sort.

    [_Winks, in passing out._

_The Judge._ And this is what the Law has come to! Call on the next
case!

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW PROVERB (_for the use of the Panama Cheque-takers_).--"The game is
not worth the Scandal."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: DISCRETION.

"AND HERE'S AN EXTRA SIXPENCE FOR YOU, CABMAN--TO GET YOURSELF SOME
_TEA_, YOU KNOW!"

"YES, MA'AM! THANK YER, MA'AM! I S'POSE I MAY CHOOSE MY OWN _GROCER_,
MA'AM?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

WILL WATERPROOF'S MONOLOGUE.

_Adapted to a Direct-Vetoed Parish._

  O pale Head-Waiter at "The Cock,"
    How changed for you and me
  Is this sad time! 'Tis five o'clock,
    Go, fetch a cup of tea;
  My pint of port is changed to that--
    Weak COWPER'S washy liquor!
  Did tea make Cellarer SIMON fat,
    Or cheer Bray's jolly Vicar?

  No more libations to the Muse!
    Will cocoa make her kind?
  Will water whisper words to use?
    Will milk make up my mind,
  When writing melancholy rhymes,
    Of days not half forgotten,
  Before these daft teetotal times
    When common-sense seems rotten?

  Head-Waiter, those good pints of port
    Are stopped for you and me,
  By legislation of the sort
    They call grandmotherly;
  Two-thirds majority has said
    That alcohol would hurt you,
  And so you meekly bow your head,
    And practise painful virtue.

  We fret, we fume, we scoff, we sneer,
    And evil fate upbraid;
  Your care is for the ginger-beer,
    The milk, the lemonade.
  To come and go, and come again
    With coffee that you keep hot,
  And watched by silent gentlemen,
    That trifle with the tea-pot.

  Live long, for water to the head
    Was never known to fly,
  Your flabby face will not grow red,
    Nor will your washy eye.
  Live long as you can bear these woes,
    Whilst bigots thus defy sense,
  Till watery Death's last Veto shows
    Life's quite suspended licence.

  "Aquarius," when you shall cease
    Teetotal drinks to quaff,
  And end life's not repairing lease,
    Might be your epitaph.
  No carved cross-pipes, no pint-pot's wreath,
    Shall show you past to Heaven;
  But water-pipes, and, underneath,
    A milk-pot neatly graven.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "WANTING TO KNOW;" OR, THE BEWILDERED USHER.]

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday Night, March 13._--No use disguising fact
that when House discovered FREDERICK MILNER standing behind Front
Opposition Bench, brandishing heavy boot in his hand as he addressed
ASQUITH, it held its breath. Political passion runs pretty high
of late; Opposition stirred to deepest depths by persistence of
Government in attempting to read Home-Rule Bill Second Time before
Easter. There have been sittings after midnight; sittings through
Saturday; hot words bandied about; preparation for deadly duel in
lobby. No one can say whither men may be led when once they permit
angry passions to rise. CHARLES RUSSELL, whose acquaintance with
criminal classes is extensive, tells me it is by no means uncommon
thing for prisoner in dock to take off boot and hurl it at head of
presiding Magistrate or Judge.

"Usually an old woman who does it," he added.

"But this is Sir FREDERICK MILNER, Bart.," I said.

"Um!" said RUSSELL, with odd significance in the observation.

Turns out the apprehension groundless. MILNER only wants to know
why Police at Leeds and Bradford should enjoy ultimate resources of
civilisation in respect of "SCAITH'S silent boots," whilst London
Policemen not so privileged? MILNER tells me his earliest idea was
to get a pair of the boots, put 'em on, and surprise SPEAKER by
approaching with noiseless tread from behind Chair, lean over his
shoulder, and suddenly say, "Boo!" That, MILNER thought, would be
conclusive proof of the efficacy of the boots as making the tread
inaudible. On other hand, SPEAKER mightn't like it. So, by way of
compromise, brought down odd boot in tail-pocket of his coat, and
shook it at HOME SECRETARY when he put question.

ASQUITH behaved very well under trying circumstances. Did not visibly
blench; answered, in off-hand manner, that London Police had had
opportunity of substituting the silent boot for those in ordinary use,
and had not availed themselves of it. Some had objected on domestic
grounds. Female friends engaged in responsible posts in certain
households on their beat were accustomed to the sound of their
footfall on the pavement, and would not have things ready if they
approached like rose-leaves flitting over shaven lawns. Others,
assuming higher ground, resented silent boot as taking unfair
advantage of the burglar or footpad. "Give a 'ardworking cove a fair
chanst, that's my motter," one honest fellow in blue said to HOME
SECRETARY when Right Hon. Gentleman brought silent boot under his
notice. No use attempting to run counter to feeling of this kind.
Conclusion in which DICKY TEMPLE heartily concurred.

"Silent boot," he said, "forced upon Metropolitan Police might play in
history a part analogous to that of the greased cartridges on which we
slipped into the Indian Mutiny."

MILNER saw it was evidently no use, so returning boot to coat-tail
pocket, moodily regarded Treasury Bench.

But there were consolations. SQUIRE of MALWOOD, asked by Prince ARTHUR
what he now thought of prospects of reading Home-Rule Bill Second
Time before Easter, admitted impossibility; triumphant shout from
Opposition. Not in vain had they sat through morning sitting on Friday
discussing the hour at which they should adjourn on Saturday. Not
without recompense had they taken care that when Saturday came it
should see accomplished the minimum of business. Tussling with Mr.
G. ever since Session opened; in first rounds he came off best; drew
first blood; seemed likely to carry everything with him; Opposition
pulled themselves together; went at it hammer and tongs; and now it is
Mr. G. who has retired to corner; the sponge is in requisition on
the Treasury Bench; the air around it redolent of the perfume of the
indispensable vinegar.

"Guinness will go up a point or two on this," said ELLIS ASHMEAD
BARTLETT, Knight, who has taken Irish securities under his wing.
"Go down a pint or two, you mean," said WILFRID LAWSON, who is
irreclaimable.

_Business done._--Attack on Justice MATHEW and Evicted Tenants'
Commission repulsed by 287 Votes against 250.

_Tuesday._--SQUIRE of MALWOOD a changed man. No longer the
light-hearted, sometimes almost frivolous youth who through six years
sat on Front Opposition Bench, and girded at the Unionist Government.
A Minister himself now; Mr. G.'s right-hand man; First Lieutenant of
the Ship of State; acting Captain when, as happens just now, Mr. G.
temporarily turned in. Once this afternoon something of old spirit
stirred within him when HOWARD VINCENT (as he said) used the
Stationary Vote as a peg on which to hang Protection heresies. But,
for most part, he sits silent and self-communing, saying nothing, but,
probably, like the parrot of old, thinking the more. In Conservative
ranks feeling of profound respect growing in his favour. Curious to
hear them say, "Ah! if everyone on Treasury Bench bore himself like
HARCOURT, things would be different." Even the blameless BRYCE is held
up to contumely in contrast with mild-mannered MASTER of MALWOOD. As
for CHARLES RUSSELL, after his speech last night, good Conservatives,
following an Eastern custom, well enough in its place, spit when they
mention his name. For them the model of all Parliamentary virtue is
the SQUIRE of MALWOOD.

Don't know how long this passion of appreciation will last;
interesting to observe while yet with us. A lull all round in sympathy
with soothing moments of CHANCELLOR of EXCHEQUER. Even J. W.
LOWTHER'S perturbed mind at rest. Knows now, to a fraction, how many
lead-pencils are annually in use in directing destinies of British
Empire. Rumour current that origin of this inquiry was a little
undertaking promoted by Hon. Member in substitution of proscribed
word-guessing competitions. Sweep got up; £5 entry; every man to guess
at precise figure of lead-pencil census; the one coming nearest to
clear the pool. LOWTHER tells me not word of truth in report. In
putting his question as to number of lead-pencils in use, and in
sticking to it in spite of jeers of bystanders and guilty reticence of
Minister, he was actuated simply by motives of public policy; desired,
in short, to live up to standard of late lamented Leader and do his
duty to his QUEEN and Country.

_Business done._--Great lead-pencil question settled. Excited House
Counted Out at 9.20.

[Illustration: "Back!! Rasch intruder!"]

_Thursday Night._--House dying to know what Major FREDERICK CARNE
RASCH had to say on Navy Estimates. Not being Major of Marines,
initial difficulty is to imagine what he did in this galley. If it had
been the Army, or even the Militia, the Major would have seemed all
right. But what had he to do with the Navy? That, however, is for
the Major a minor point. "You CARNE be too RASCH when attacking this
Government," said KENYON, with his pretty elliptical speech.

It was half-past ten, and a dull night. Navy Estimates been talked
round for nearly five hours. SQUIRE of MALWOOD meekly hoped that a
Vote would now be taken; DICKY TEMPLE presented himself at footlights
with bewitching smile on his lips and elegantly bound gilt-edged
volume under his arm; bowed to audience; opened volume; proceeding to
offer few remarks when SQUIRE swooped down on him with Closure.

This was cue for RASCH. Chairman rose to put question. So did RASCH.
Closure must not be debated; attempt to speak is unpardonable breach
of order. The Major stood in the imminent deadly breach; House
howled; Chairman cried, "Order! Order!" RASCH glared round, and, after
moment's hesitation, sat down; up again as soon as Question was put;
howls more anguished than ever. Committee having agreed that Question
be put, nothing to do but put it, and here was RASCH bubbling over
with speech. Chairman on his feet peremptorily signalling Major to
sit down; Members near him tugged at his coat-tails; those further off
frantically wave deprecatory hands. Major stood to his guns; shouts of
"Name! Name!" Chairman, desperately pegging away, succeeded in putting
Question, being money-vote for Navy. Major by this time hauled down in
his seat. Up again, like Jack out of box. Chairman also on his feet,
putting next vote; hubbub tremendous; Major's lips observed in motion;
not an articulate syllable rose above uproar.

[Illustration: On the Stroke of Twelve; or, Cinderella Balfour!]

Meanwhile Chairman had dexterously put and run through supplementary
vote for Excess of Expenditure; friends near him had got the
catapultic Major down again, in time to hear Chairman declare "the
Ayes have it!" Major up again. "Order! order!" shouted the Chairman.
"Question: is----" Not quite clear amid uproar what question was;
something to do with Army. Anyhow, there was STANHOPE standing at
table discussing Army Votes. Major again on his feet, his moustache
twitching with astonishment. STANHOPE a peculiarly painful
circumstance; all very well for good Conservative to gird against
Government, and jostle Mr. G.'s Chairman of Committees; different
(especially for a Major in the Militia) to struggle with Statesman
who had been Secretary of State for War on his own side. So Major,
defiantly glaring round House slowly dropped into his seat:--"dying
with all his music in him," as JUSTIN MCCARTHY, who knows the poets,
said. But what was the tune he meditated? What is the secret of this
unspoken speech?

_Business done._--Money voted for Naval men. Halt cried on Army Vote.

_Friday._--RASCH broken out again; turns up as usual at critical
moment. Committee of Supply adjourned at ten minutes to seven; sharp
at seven morning sitting must be suspended. Report of Supply under
consideration; only tremulous ten minutes to get through it. RASCH
resolved, now or never, to finish the speech he commenced yesterday.
House, after protest, settles down to listen. Seems KAY SHUTTLEWORTH
been "saying things" about the warrior. "He behaved towards me,"
said the Major, "in a manner that would be brusque on the part of
Providence addressing a black beetle." House undecided as to which
simile more happily bestowed. On the whole, agreed more polite to
contemplate U. KAY SHUTTLEWORTH as Providence, than Major RASCH as the
other thing.

_Business done._--Some Votes in Supply.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Transcriber's Note:

Missing and illegible/damaged punctuation has been repaired.]