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  PUNCH,

  OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

  VOLUME 93.

       *       *       *       *       *

  JULY 16, 1887.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LAST VISIT TO THE ACADEMY.

[Illustration: No. 691. The Donkey Rider Stopped. "You can't go further
than this for twopence."]

[Illustration: No. 540. Arrival of the G.O.M. Collars in Venice.]

[Illustration: No. 35. A Brave Lassie. "Come on!--the whole lot of you!
I'll give it you!"]

[Illustration: No. 928. Cat and Child Fight.]

       *       *       *       *       *

ABSURD TO A DEGREE.

Now that girls have proved themselves capable of earning the highest
University honours, why should women remain debarred of University
degrees? If any senatorial difficulty precludes the removal of that
ridiculous injustice, a girl forbidden to term herself a Bachelor of
Arts, for example, might, it has been suggested, "invent some other
title more significant of the distinction she has won." No invention
could be easier. Her alternative for Bachelor would be obviously
Spinster of Arts. No Graduate able to pass the _Pons Asinorum_ can be
such a preposterous donkey as to persist in denying even the
plainest--possibly the prettiest--Passwoman that. The Dons will be
unworthy of the name they go by unless they immediately remove the
disability their old-world statutes have imposed upon the _Donne_.

       *       *       *       *       *

ROBERT AT THE ACADEMY.

I PAID my reglar wisit to the Academy last week, and was glad to find
that my werry ernest remonstrance of last year had perduced sech a
change as regards Staggerers. No Miss Menads a hunting in Burnham
Beeches without no close on to speak of, and no Mr. Cassandra a carrying
off of a pore yung lady afore she's had time to dress, merely because
she upset the salad-bowl.

I don't think it's because "familyaryty breeds content," as the poet
says, that I am less staggered than last year, but becos there ain't so
many staggerers to be staggered at. Not that there ain't none. Why,
there's one lady in the werry same dishabil as Madame Wenus herself a
poring out somethink that the Catalog says is a incantashun, but then
her pecooliar costoom is reelly xcusable, for she's that red hot that
wood excuse anythink or nothink, as in her case.

One of the jolliest picturs to my mind is a portrate of a Port Wine
drinker. Why, it seems to be a oozing out of ewery pore of his skin! and
nothink younger than '63, I'll be bound. What a life to lead, and what a
life to look back upon with proud satisfacshun!

Poor Lord HARTINGTON looks terribly bored at having to be gazed at so
constantly by so many longing, if not loving, eyes, and at being pinted
at by the old dowagers as their bo ideall of a sun in law.

Ah, Mr. STORY tells us a story as I've offen witnessed, when a young
swell stands treat to a few frends and then ain't got enuff money to pay
the bill! Wot a nuisance for him, but still wuss for the Landlord, and
wussest of all for the pore Waiter. Poor Mr. GROSSMITH looks werry much
paler than when I saw him after a jolly dinner at the Mettropole. I
thinks as a glass or two of old Port would do him all the good in the
world.

I now come to another staggerer, that fairly puzzles me. It's a nice
young Lady, named, as I see by the Catalog, Euridice, which I beleeve is
Greek for "You're a nice one!" who is a trying for to pull a rock down,
but I'm sure she'll never do it, though she has taken off ewery morsel
of her close, ewen down to her stockings, to give her more strength. I
really wonders as she doesn't put a few of her things on, as she must
see as Mr. HADES is a cumming towards her, and won't he jest be shocked!
And then here's another young Lady, almost as lightly drest, a sitting
quietly on a large cold stone, as if there wasn't no North-East wind a
blowing, and by moonlight too. What time can she expect to git home, and
what will her poor Mother say when she sees her?

If I'd ha' bin Mr. HAYNE, Esq., M.P., I'd ha bort a new Hat afore I was
painted for my pictur, and ewen gone to the xpense of a new pair of
gloves, speshally as his pictur is a going to be given to sumbody. So
now he'll go down to remote posteriority with a shabby Hat, and a old
pair of gloves on his table. His new Coat looks butifool. It is, I'm
told, a capital likeness.

The LORD MARE is placed in his proper persition as first in the best
room, and looks as happy and as jolly as I've no dout he ginerally
feels, though he don't never seem to git no rest.

In the next rooms its the great Cardinal MANNING, who ewerybody loves
and respects, Waiters and all, though it does rather try our loyalty to
see him at dinner, when he don't eat enuff wittles to fatten a church
mouse. If I'd ha' bin Sir EDWARD WATKIN, the grate Railway King, I'd ha
had a much cleaner shave afore I set for my pictur than he had. I know
as he doesn't like to be thought a close shaver in gineral, but, in this
werry partickler case, he might have made a xcepshun to his gineral
rule.

There's a lovely pictur called Ambrosia, a ewident misprint for
Hambrosia--probably a new kind of sandwitch--in which there's a werry
model of a good-looking waitress a carrying such a elegant little
lunshon, as reelly made me quite hungry to look at. I thinks as the reel
natives is quite a triumph of Hart. There's quite a grand pictur of the
dear old Bank, with all the Carts and Cabs and Omnibuses, and people
being all scrowged up together, just like life, and ewerybody a
wondering how on earth they shall hever be able to cross, jest like
life, and the Bus Coachman a flirtin with the lady passenger on the box,
jest like life, and the Policeman a driving away the pore little beggar,
jest like life. Ah, it's a reel lovely pictur that is, and werry
creditabel to Mr. DOGSTAIL who I'm told painted it.

I think the most perthetic pictur in the hole lot is the one called "the
Dunce." He's a setting all by hisself, pore feller, what they calls
detained, a trying his werry best to do his lesson and he can't do it.
And why, coz his thoughts is away out in the playground, where he hears
the shouts and the larfing of his skool-fellers. Now, what shood I do,
Doctor ABBOTT, if I was his master? Why I shood let him have a nours run
with his playmates, and then, when he cums in fresh and jolly, try him
again, and praps he'd estonish you. I was a Dunce myself wunce,
spechally at spelling, and that's how _I_ was cured.

How werry contented all the Parsons looks, they lolls back in their
cumferal chairs as much as to say to the tired wisitors, "Don't you wish
you had sitch chairs as these to set in?" Some of the Solgers looks at
you jest as if they'd like to say, "What on airth are you staring at?"

I coud ony take jest a glance at the lovely landscapes; but oh, how nice
and cool and carm they all looked, after the staring portrates with
their flaring cullers. ROBERT.

       *       *       *       *       *

"_THE Wye_" is among STANFORD'S Tourist Guides for this season. He ought
to issue another called "_The Wherefore_." If he doesn't show cause for
the tour, people will simply ask, "Why?" and stop at home.

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. NEWTON will by this time have received quite a refreshing torrent of
abuse on his devoted head. No--not torrent--CASS-cade.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: REMARKS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNANSWERED.

_Lady Godiva._ "YES, MR. GREEN, I'VE BEEN PAINTED BY ALL THE MOST
CELEBRATED ARTISTS OF MY TIME; BUT NOT _ONE_ OF THEM HAS EVER DONE ME
JUSTICE!"

_Mr. Green._ "WHAT--NOT EVEN _SIR JOSHUA?_"]

       *       *       *       *       *

MIXED PICKLES; OR, A VERY LATE PARTY.

SCENE--_A Private Room. Two Eminent Statesmen discovered in
consultation. Lists of past and present Members of Parliament, also
political Maps of England, scattered about._

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Well, we're agreed about the name, then. It's to be
the "National Radical Conservative Unionist Liberal Party," eh?

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (doubtfully)._ Rather long, isn't it? Wouldn't the "Old
England Party"--no connection with DIZZY'S "Young England" ditto--sound
better? And then we're safe to be called "Nationalists," and the word
has such disagreeable associations.

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (cheerfully)._ Pooh! What's in a name? I've been
called lots of nasty ones before now.

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Yes, and called them yourself, too, sometimes.

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (with gay indifference)._ Now to business. The most
important thing we have to decide is--Who are to be the members of the
New Party?

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (confidently)._ Quite so. There'll be a perfect rush to
join us. We shall have to "hold the fort" pretty strongly to prevent our
being swamped. Mind, no weak compliance with what are called "social
influences."

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ No. And no claim for admission founded on mere
relationship to be regarded for a moment.

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Hm! I don't know. Family life, you see, is, after all,
the basis of the State; and so it's only fair that the State should do
something for one's family in return.

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (diplomatically)._ All right! Then we'll shelve that
subject. Now, as regards the G. O. M. Suppose he found himself quite out
in the cold, and wanted to join us, eh?

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (decidedly)._ Not for a moment. Where would our "Dual
Control" be then?

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Of course. Shouldn't we let in HARTINGTON? Yes.
Well, how about SALISBURY?

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Awkward if SALISBURY thinks of becoming member of New
Party, eh?

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (energetically)._ That's my view entirely. You see,
if SALISBURY joins, he'll want to be Prime Minister, and then where
should I be?

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (surprised)._ You! The question rather is, where I
should be?

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (hastily)._ Ah, well; then we'll shelve _that_
subject too for the present. Wouldn't you--er--like--er--to go into the
Lords, and lead _them_?

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ You mean, of course, as Premier?

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (modestly)._ I thought--ahem--that _my_ natural
qualifications for that post were so obvious that----but, as I said,
let's drop the subject for a time. We can come back to it again. Now,
what's to be the programme of the Party?

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (with emphasis)._ There's no doubt about _that_, I
should think. Free Education, of course. Then JESSE insists on
allotments and free holdings----

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (thoughtlessly)._ Hang JESSE!

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (with considerable dignity)._ Hang him? I intend JESSE
as our first Chancellor of the Exchequer, or President of Board of
Trade, I can tell you.

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (gaily)._ All right. I don't mind, if you consent to
WOLFF being next Governor-General of India. Army and Navy Estimates to
be cut down Five Millions, each, eh?

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Couldn't think of it. We must have a Fleet of some
sort, you know.

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (discontentedly)._ Then _that_ subject will have to
be shelved, too, I suppose. You don't mind, at any rate, a clean sweep
being made of the present Admiralty and Ordnance officials, eh?

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (heartily)._ Not a bit. No broom you can use will be too
hard for them. They'll make it a dirty sweep before you've done. Then
there's Local Government, of course.

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Readjustment of Taxation.

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ Disestablishm----

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Eh? what?

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (calmly)._ Don't be alarmed. We'll shelve _that_ too, if
you like.

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (relieved)._ By all means. (_With growing
uneasiness._) But then, I say, after all, what is our programme? How
does it differ from SALISBURY'S, for instance?

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n (ingeniously)._ Oh, it's far more really Conservative
than his, you know.

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll._ Yes--(_encouraged_)--I see. Of course it is. And
how does it differ from GLADSTONE'S?

_Mr. Ch-mb-rl-n._ GLADSTONE'S? Oh, well--er--it's more _really and truly
Liberal_ than his!

_Lord R. Ch-rch-ll (ruminating)._ That _sounds_ all right. The question
is, will the country believe it? And if we have to shelve so many
questions in order to form our new National Party, shan't we run a risk
of being shelved ourselves when the next "wave of progress" sweeps over
the Constituencies? [_Left ruminating._

       *       *       *       *       *

WORTH MENTIONING.

"WESTGATE-ON-SEA." _Mr. Punch_ takes off his coat and westgate in this
hot weather to correct a slight misquotation. _Mr. Punch_ is represented
as saying that none of the greatest Composers ever produced an air to
equal "the exhilarating, recuperating air" of Westgate-on-Sea. Now _Mr.
Punch_, when he wrote this (July 2), did not limit this lovely air to
one particular spot, but described it as "the exhilarating, recuperating
air of the Isle of Thanet." That Westgate is in Thanet is true, but the
advertiser poetically uses the part for the whole, thereby omitting
Birchington, Margate, Broadstairs, not to mention the inland villages
(delightful in the fall of the year), and above all Ramsgate, which is
not _Mr. Punch's_ "seaside resort," as is Westgate when he wants a
northerly breeze, but _Mr. Punch's_ seaside Residence, where
ten-twelfths of the year are delightful, where sky and sea come out in
Mediterranean colour,--where it is Nice without its cold-catching
dangers, where fruit and vegetables are flavoursome and plentiful, and
where there is even more than a fair share of that exhilarating,
recuperating air, of which the Isle of Thanet has the sole patent.

In one hour and forty minutes, the L. C. & D. takes the traveller from
Town to Westgate, and in two hours to Ramsgate, by Granville Express
from Victoria and Holborn Viaduct. On Sunday morning, starting at 10.30
A.M., the Jaded One can be down for lunch at Ramsgate by 12.30, and all
the day before him.

_À propos_ of the Granville Express, _Mr. Punch_ had the pleasure of
dining at the Granville Hotel the other evening, and a better dinner,
better chosen, cooked, and served, could not be got anywhere in London,
or out of it. The proprietor, Mr. QUATERMAIN EAST, may not wish this to
be generally known, but _Mr. Punch_, who specially compliments the
_chef_ on his clear turtle and whitebait, thinks that he shall be doing
a service to everybody by not keeping secret the story of this
QUATERMAIN--not Mr. RIDER HAGGARD'S "_Allan_,"--who means to remain the
"Q in the corner" of the Isle of Thanet. "Q. E. D." and "D" stands for
"Dinner."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: LATEST STREET IMPROVEMENT.

_Regent Street Tradesman._ "LOOK HERE, MR. POLICEMAN, AS WE WANT THE JOB
OF CLEARING UP THIS PLACE WELL DONE, WE'LL DO IT OURSELVES."]

       *       *       *       *       *

  "IF you want a thing done, you should do it yourself,"
    Is an excellent maxim, no doubt, in its way;
  But, when citizens willingly part with their pelf,
    They're entitled to claim some return for their pay.
  BULL does _not_ pay Bobbies to lounge on their beats,
  And leave him at last to look after his streets.

  About "Law and Order" there's plenty of talk,
    But Order seems missing, and Law appears blind.
  The streets of his City in safety to walk,
    After stumping up taxes of every kind,
  Is surely not much for a man to expect,
  And excuses for failure he's prone to reject.

  Sure, Regent Street is not Alsatia--not quite,
    And this handing it over to rufflers and pests,
  At whatever hour of the day or the night,
    Is a thing against which civic judgment protests;
  And BULL, when once roused, be you sure, will determine
  Against caving in to noctivagant vermin.

  Must Trade, then, turn scavenger, tradesmen turn out
    With besom and basket to keep their ways clean?
  The Bigwigs and Bobbies might like it, no doubt,
    But BULL will demand what the dickens they mean.
  He'll have his streets decent by daylight or dark;
  For why should a man who keeps dogs have to bark?

FROM "NORMA."--Moonlight Serenade for Three Voices--a Magistrate, a
Policeman, and a Home Secretary--in Regent Street:--"_Cass-ta Diva,
Incantatrice!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

"GESTA GRAYORUM."

THE _Times_ of Thursday last in a learned article on the Gray's
Inn Masque, records that "On the 28th February 1587, eight members
of the Society were engaged in the production of _The Misfortunes
of Arthur_" but on the occasion of _The Maske of Flowers_ in 1887,
the Honourable Society of Gray's Inn showed what could be done
with the _Success of Arthur_; that is, of Master ARTHUR W. À BECKETT,
Master of the Revels. And indeed what could be done in Old Gray's Inn,
was on that occasion quite a Revel-ation to most of us. _Mr. Punch_
heartily congratulates the Honourable Society of Gray's Inn on
possessing such a Revel-Master--he ought at once to be created Lord
Revel-stoker--who is able to give life and form to so excellent an idea,
who can design such exquisite costumes, compose such appropriate music,
paint such perfect scenery, and instruct amateur pupils in the arts of
elocution, action, singing and dancing.

[Illustration: Embodiment of an Arthurian legend. The Master of the
Revels.]

_Mr. Punch_ is perfectly aware that the costumes were due to Mr. LEWIS
WINGFIELD'S designs and Mr. ALIAS'S workmanship, that the scenery was
painted by the old stager JOHN O'CONNOR, that the music was composed and
arranged by Messrs. PRENDERGAST and BIRCH-REYNARDSON, and that the
dances were invented "with the assistance of MSS." (old English for
"Master of the SeremonieS") and taught by the experienced Mr. D'AUBAN.
But the lawyers of Gray's well know that "_Qui facit per alium facit per
se_,"--and in the case of the costumes, _Qui facit per_ ALIAS _facit per
se_--and so with the merit of what Master ARTHUR W. À BECKETT executes
by his chosen agents he himself is to be credited. It was a great
success, from first to last. Just one word at parting. _Mr. Punch_ hopes
that the _Maske_, as it is, is _not_ to be reproduced on the public
stage. Such a proceeding, by depriving it of its venerable and
appropriate surroundings, would vulgarise an entertainment which should
have remained, within the precincts of Gray's Inn, archaic and unique.

       *       *       *       *       *

_In Gray's Inn Hall._--_Notes by a Very Ordinary Person._--Crushed.
Difficulty with hat. That's why I dislike a _Matinée_, because you
can't come in a crush hat. But you're sure to go away in a
crush hat. Opera-hat in daytime looks so disreputable: suggestive
of having been out all night. While hiding my hat, lost my book.
Probably under lady's dress. No use trying for it. Band outside
plays National Anthem, and a voice from a dark recess shouts out
some word of command to the Beefeaters--(poor chaps, in this hot
weather "the Overdone-Beefeaters"--fine-looking fellows with prime
joints)--and then enter Royalties. Can't see them. They're seated.
Enter, in front, tall young men in coloured tunics, knicker-bockers,
and turn-down collars. What are these? The Backward Pupils of Gray's
Inn? No. The Orchestra. It commences. There are fiddles, and basses, and
a second-hand cracked piano, suggestive of having been hired from
itinerant Minstrels on Margate Sands. My neighbour asks me if the band
is "COOTE and TINNEY?" My reply is evident--"More Tinny than Coot."
Neighbour informs me that the cracked piano is really a very old
instrument, in use about the time of Queen ELIZABETH. Exactly: just what
I should have thought. The Benchers ought to have been rich enough by
now to have bought a new one. When a thing is to be done, do it well.
No cracked pianos. Not worth fourpence an hour.

Curtain up. Low arch representing entrance to Old Gray's Inn. Enter a
Giant with a long white beard. I think he is Great Grandfather Christmas
off Gog and Magog's twelfth-cake. He solemnly salutes the audience in
military style. Why military? It suddenly occurs to me, "Is a Masque
funny?" I ask my neighbour. He is uncertain. Evidently a cautious man;
he will reserve his reply till he has seen it. Enter a Columbine, like
"My Lady" used to be on a May Day. She talks to Great Grandfather
Christmas, who seems frightened, and tries to back out of it. At present
I don't quite catch the plot. Next neighbour says he doesn't think there
is a plot. I ask him to look at his book. He says he is looking at it;
but it's printed in some dialect he doesn't understand. Enter another
Giant, dressed as a Jester. It appears that Great Grandfather Christmas
has forgotten his part, or left it in the dressing-room, and the Giant
Jester has kindly brought it him. No jokes as yet. No good lines. My
neighbour says this is the sort of thing Queen ELIZABETH liked. Did she!
And the cracked piano, too, for music, which, on the exit of the Giants
and the Columbine, comes out as strong as the poor old thing can when
supported by violins and violoncellos.

Enter "_Silenus_ and his Crew." I hear some one say this. Not a bit like
a crew. Not a sailor among them. Perhaps as this is a Mask, they are
sailors in disguise. _Silenus_ is, of course, supposed to be
intoxicated. If he is intended to represent an ugly old man, dismally
drunk, and making painful efforts to catch a note, he succeeds, to the
life. Not funny, but clever. Splendid pantomimic property in the shape
of a gigantic tobacco-pipe, carried by an Indian. My neighbour says,
"Old ELIZABETH would have liked all this sort of thing." Poor dear! I
pity her, I ask if Indian is to be taken as an advertisement for the
Wild West? Neighbour replies, hesitatingly, that he knows the book has
been altered from what it was three hundred years ago to suit the
present time, so that perhaps I may be right. The cracked piano, which
is having a hard day of it, breaks out into a lively measure. RED SHIRT,
SILENUS, "and his crew" join in a dance, "_Crew Junction_"--but why not
a hornpipe, if they're a crew?--and the Curtain descends on Part the
First.

_Part the Second._--Young Elizabethan Maidens in front of a bank of
roses, and a fountain lighted up, as is the garden, with variegated
lamps. "Figures look like Old Chelsea," my neighbour says. I return
(because the variegated lamps and the illuminated fountains and the
arbours appeal to bye-gone memories),--"Old Chelsea? Yes--Cremorne."
Then the Maidens sing a dirge. Perhaps mourning, or Cre-morning, for the
departure of lost glories. Then they open out gracefully, and discover
the Columbine of Part the First with a lot of young men--(Oh!),--all
seated together in the basin of the fountain. The young men in
masks--(Aha!--now I see why this is called a Masque!--Now I am happy,
whether Queen ELIZABETH would have liked it or not!)--come out of the
fountain, quite dry, rather unpolitely leaving poor Columbine still in
the basin under the dripping water. Maids of the Inn can and do sing
charmingly. The Masquers can and do dance. Plot no object. It's all
elegant and graceful, but distinctly sad, as how can it be anything else
to the accompaniment of that cracked piano, whose temporary absence must
deprive Margate Sands of much harmless enjoyment. "They haven't smiled
once," I say to my neighbour. "No more have I," he replies crustily, but
then explains that Queen ELIZABETH didn't like smiling unless she smiled
first. The Masquing men are most anxious and attentive to their steps;
the Ladies all delightful. Great applause. Encores. And during all this,
the unfortunate Columbine remains sitting in the basin, with her feet in
cold water, and her head apparently under a dripping _douche_. She must
be of a most contented disposition, as whenever I catch sight of her she
is smiling, somewhat vapidly it is true, but still smiling, and beating
time on her knees, perhaps to keep herself as warm as possible in such a
peculiarly damp situation.

[Illustration: Limbs of the Law.]

The end is approaching: for the first time I notice some of the bolder
Revellers begin to smile. At length re-enter the Giants, Great
Grandfather Christmas & Co., and the Indians. They rescue Columbine from
the fountain. Now I think I see the plot. I mention this to neighbour,
triumphantly; but he says I mustn't talk while Royalty is leaving, as
ELIZABETH wouldn't like it. So we join in "_God Save the Queen_!" and
it's all over. _Exeunt omnes._ Must get a book.

       *       *       *       *       *

WHIM-BUILDIN'.

(_By Dumb Crambo, Junior._)

[Illustration: Under Canvas.]

[Illustration: Marks-man-ship.]

[Illustration: Pay Villian.]

[Illustration: Shooting from the Shoulder.]

[Illustration: Sight Adjustor.]

[Illustration: De finer.]

       *       *       *       *       *

MORE JILLS IN OFFICE.

SCENE--_Postal Counter of Shop in another part of Town._ _Two more Young
Ladies_ (Miss RUTINA REDTAPE _and_ Miss MINKS) _discovered. At the
counter a stout but agreeable Youth purchasing post-cards. Various
Members of General Public behind, waiting._ Miss REDTAPE _is engaged at
the telegraphic instrument_.

_Stout but Agreeable Youth (to_ Miss MINKS). Let's have another look at
the thin ones.

_Miss Minks._ Well, you _are_ a difficult one to please! (_With a
killing glance._) _There!_ Now, perhaps you'll make up your mind!

_St. Y._ Not so difficult to please as you fancy. But I _am_ a little
particular about post-cards. I write a good deal on post-cards.

_Miss Minks (archly)._ I hope you don't write your _secrets_ on
post-cards!

_St. Y._ If I do, you'll be able to read 'em, you know.

_Miss Minks._ Do you suppose I've any time for reading rubbish?
Besides--(_more archly still_)--I don't even know your handwriting.

_St. Y._ I write a very nice hand. You shall see it some day.

_Impatient Member of Public._ Will you kindly tell me if this letter
will go for a penny? (_Pathetically._) I've been waiting some time!

_Miss Minks (in injured tone)._ I can't possibly attend to more than one
at a time! (_To_ Stout Youth.) You'll get me into trouble, you see, if
you're so faddy about choosing. You are so _silly_ over it!

_St. Y._ I daresay you'll think it rather odd, but I don't seem able to
make up my mind. (_Insinuatingly._) Suppose _you_ choose for me?

_Miss Minks._ Perhaps you won't like what _I_ choose?

_St. Y._ Don't make yourself at all uneasy about _that_.

_Miss Minks (coquettishly)._ I don't. There's a packet of thick ones for
you. Now, give me eightpence, and go away.

_St. Y._ The idea of expecting a fellow to have _eight_-pence about him!

_Another Impatient Member of Public._ Dozen penny stamps, Miss, please.

_Miss Minks._ If you'll _kindly_ wait till I have finished with this
gentleman!

_St. Y. (in undertone)._ You _have_ finished with this gentleman--done
for him completely!

_Miss Minks._ Do you think I don't know better than to believe such
nonsense! I shall get into _such_ a row for keeping these people
waiting--and it's all _your_ fault. [_Plaintively._

_St. Y._ Poor little girl--they _do_ work you awfully hard! I'll go
(_sentimentally_), but I shall keep these post-cards _always_!

_Miss Redtape (reading a telegram)._ Chipperfield Lodge, Chipperfield,
near Uxbridge. Can't send that, Sir.

_Author of Message._ Can't send it? Nonsense! Why?

_Miss R. (who suffers from a fixed idea; with deliberate precision)._
Because it is insufficiently addressed.

_A. of M. (much astonished)._ Where on earth is the insufficiency?

_Miss R._ "_Near_ Uxbridge"--you must alter that before I can send it.

_A. of M._ That's the address I was given; I've no reason to believe it
wants adding to, and I _can't_ add anything!

_Miss R._ Then I can't send it.

[A. of M. _remonstrates in vain, pleads, and urges._--Miss RUTINA
_remains obdurate, and he has to retire, helpless_.

_Miss Minks (gabbling out form handed in by anxious-looking Lady)._ "For
love of Heaven do nothing of kind. Come to me at once, TINY"--you want
that to go as it is?

_Anx. Lady._ Yes--yes--there's no irregularity in it, is there?

_Miss Minks (severely)._ You know that better than I can tell you.
Limmer's? Limmer's _what_?

_Anx. Lady._ Limmer's Hotel.

_Miss Minks._ Then that will be another halfpenny--it will be sent off
in its proper turn.

_Enter a_ German Servant.

_German Serv. (to Miss R.)_ I vas to gif you zis delegram, blease.

_Miss R._ Very well--you can leave it. Stop--who's it addressed to?
(_With much decision._) _This_ won't do!

_Germ. Serv._ I vas to gif it to you. Is it not for ze Lord Meyer?

_Miss R._ Lord Mayor, yes, I see that well enough, but _where_?

_Germ. Serv._ I subbose vere he dwell at--I do not know how you gall
it--on ze oondergroundt I zink it is.

_Miss R._ Don't know any Lord Mayor who lives underground--can't take it
like this.

_Officious Bystander._ He means the Mansion House. I should think that
would find the Lord Mayor without much difficulty, wouldn't it?

_Miss R. (chillingly)._ Can't say, I'm sure. (_To Servant._) Go back and
ask your Master if he means Mansion House, to say so.

_Germ. S. (blankly)._ He is goned avay--he vill not be pack undil
efening.

_Miss R._ Then ask him, _then_.

_Germ. S._ I zink it vas imbortant--eef you gould dry at ze Mansions
haus, berhaps----?

_Miss R._ I've no authority to put in anything beyond what's given me to
send--if your Master _will_ give an insufficient address, it's not my
fault, and you can tell him so.

_Off. Bystander (to Miss R.)_ But hang it all! There's only one Lord
Mayor, in London at all events!

_Miss R._ How do I know it's for London at all?

_Bystander._ I should have thought you might have _risked_ it!

_Miss R._ I can't help what you would have thought, Sir; I know my own
business. (_To Germ. S._) I've given you my answer.

[_Exit_ German Servant _resignedly, his idea of a Lord Mayor somewhat
lowered_; Miss REDTAPE _stamps letters with the serenity of conscious
rectitude. Scene closes in._

       *       *       *       *       *

Arms and the (Police) Man.

    "THRICE is he armed who hath his quarrel just."
    But sure that Force in self-defence will fail
  Whose only armour, 'gainst the critic thrust,
      Is found to be "Black Mail."

       *       *       *       *       *

VISITING LISZT.--The latest and one of the most interesting papers on
this erratic Abbé, is to be found in the _Month_ for July. _Tolle,
lege._ Also see _London Society_ for _The Hired Baby_. The story is
pathetic with here and there a vein of cynical humour. As for the
moral----well, you can't expect much of a moral from a hired baby.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Dark Look-Out.

    "There is no public career in India for the native of
    India."--_Echo._

  "THE world's mine oyster" 'tis in vain to sing,
  If for a "Native" there's no "opening."

       *       *       *       *       *

_CUCUMBER Chronicles_, by ASHBY STERRY. Light reading, easily carried,
and not at all cu-cumbersome. Nothing Melon-choly about them. Can't say
any more because it's so hot, and we've only just cut the cucumber. Of
course you must be in a cucumber frame of mind to thoroughly enjoy them.

       *       *       *       *       *

TAG FOR THE THIRSTY.--One swallow does not make a summer--drink.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: DEVELOPMENT OF SPECIES UNDER CIVILISATION.

'_Arriet._ "OW, 'ARRY! I S'Y! _H'YN'T_ 'E A UGLY COWVE!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

NEWTON AND THE APPLE.

_A Modern Version of an Old Story._

    ALL wisdom is not to be found,
      In immortal philosopher's pages;
    Common-sense in its common-place round
      Sometimes floors all the saps and the sages.
    The doses administered thus,
      Are regarded as nauseous drenches,
    But oftentimes folly and fuss,
      Are discovered on woolsacks and benches;
  And big-wigs in bumptiousness solemnly solus,
  Will find themselves better sometimes for a bolus.

    The dignified mazes of Law,
      'Tis parlously easy to trip in,
    The truth that a _savant_ once saw,
      In the casual fall of a pippin,
    The Bench's calm height ought to scan,
      More clearly than mortals thereunder.
    But--your Magistrate is but a man,
      And Man is much given to blunder.
  An obstinate Beak or a cynical Q.C.,
  Sometimes plays the fool--that is wisdom _in nuce_!

    This gentleman stretched at his ease,
      Looked monstrously wise and complacent.
    How green the umbrageous trees!
      How verdant the country adjacent!
    Would anyone hint, save a pump,
      That he is not high equity's model?
    "Stand down, Mr. Critic, or--" thump!
      The Sage receives one for his noddle.
  Gravitation from Magistrates' rules is exempt,
  And a pippin you cannot commit for contempt.

    Little Public Opinion will reck,
      Though austere Rhadamanthus should chide it,
    And even a haughty Home Sec.,
      In vain will assume to deride it.
    It does not fear satire or scathe
      From Minos, though knowing and nobby,
    And certainly won't pin its faith,
      To the Bench's pet fetish, the Bobby.
  To make _him_ an oracle's coming it strong,
  For even a Constable sometimes goes wrong.

    Our NEWTON'S "_Principia_" too,
      _Punch_ rejects in a fashion emphatic.
    No, _Shallow_, my boy, they won't do,
      They're at least as absurd as dogmatic.
    The Curfew you'd better restore;
      You'd no doubt be delighted to do so,
    But you won't close the West-End at four,
      Until, like poor _Robinson Crusoe_,
  Or _Selkirk_, you're "monarch of all you survey,"
  Which won't be, my NEWTON, this many a day.

    Nay, things have not come to that pass;
      And MATTHEWS'S obstinate backing,
    Will not close the case against CASS.
      Sound sense seems abundantly lacking
    In Courts and in Cabinets too;
      And Public Opinion will grapple
    With bunglers like MATTHEWS and you;
      So NEWTON, my boy, 'ware the apple!
  You'll probably spy out a lesson or two,
  In this story, that's old, with a moral that's new!

       *       *       *       *       *

ANOTHER version of "NEWTON and the Apple," is "NEWTON and the Appeal."
In France, it would have been sent up to the Court of Cass-ation.

       *       *       *       *       *

A TESTIMONIAL.

ON the front page of this week's _Christian Age_ is an excellent
portrait of a Christian Youth, Mr. Deputy BEDFORD as _Sir Adonis
Evergreen_. _Age!_ What has he got to do with Age, whether a Christian
Age or any other? He is not for an Age but for all time, and if "Age is
before Honesty," then at what period of his existence----but this is to
inquire too curiously into the future. Suffice it to say that there is
something in this particular Page which reminds us of an eminently
respectable Waiter, not unknown to the public, and to more than one
public it may be, as--"ROBERT." Christian Youth, _Salve Flos Waiterum_!
and in these "salad days," _Salvete Flores Tomatorum_!

       *       *       *       *       *

IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE.--The New Rooms at the National Gallery may now
fairly claim to present "the finest 'sight' in Europe." Thanks to Sir
FREDERICK BURTON and Mr. EASTLAKE, who, like the great naval hero on the
top of the column in the neighbourhood, may congratulate themselves on
having done what the Nation expects them to do--their duty. And so
here's our duty to you, Sir FREDERICK and Mr. EASTLAKE!

       *       *       *       *       *

POLITICAL MENSURATION.--When the Gladstonians say that we are "within
measurable distance" of Home Rule, do they mean that that distance is to
be measured by a (National) League?

       *       *       *       *       *

LORD BRAMWELL, "the Busy B" of the _Times_.

[Illustration: NEWTON AND THE APPLE.

(THE LATEST VERSION OF AN OLD STORY.)]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE TRIANGULAR DUEL OF THE OPERATIC MANAGERS.]

       *       *       *       *       *

LORD'S AND LADIES. (July 8, 1887.)

_Lady loquitur_:--

  BATTLE of Blues? There's the blue of the skies and eyes aristocratic,
  But take the array all around the true battle is polychromatic.
  Eh? FAIR _versus_ BRAND? Ah! of course; but you cannot expect us to
    narrow
  The rainbow of Fashion to favour the yearnings of Eton and Harrow.
  Nice lads, _very_ nice; always like Eton boys, when they haven't got
    "pots" on,
  And there is a good deal that's "smiting" in Whatshisname--no, I mean
    WATSON;
  But Blue's not so _chic_ as it was, and a triumph in azure is barren,
  That is, to a girl who is simply a girl, and not A. C. M'LAREN,
  White has it to-day, my dear BLANCHE, though a spotting of scarlet and
    crimson
  Gleams over the ground, for sweet woman _will_ take most peculiar
    whims on.
  A nice bit of Chelsea? Eh? What? Oh! that plucky _Lord_ CHELSEA, dear
    fellow!
  Not out, seventy-two; very good!--but _do_ look at that girl in bright
    yellow!
  It seems to add heat to the sun that is beating and broiling our backs
    on.
  Eh? Why doesn't FAIR make more use of his capital fast bowler, JACKSON?
  I'm sure _I_ don't know. EDITH BLAND all alone there, poor faded
    forlorn flower!
  Yes, Harrow has rather hard luck, and I wish I had mounted a
    cornflower;
  But blue doesn't suit me a bit; and why _can't_ they change colours
    with seasons,
  These Teams? Oh! don't argue it, please, there's no muddle like male
    creatures' _reasons_.
  That lady in heliotrope graceful? Dear me! why she walks like Pa's
    heifer,
  Eat? Oh! it's too hot; I could lunch on a strawberry plus an iced
    zephyr.
  Well, y-e-es, _one_ more glass of champagne, and that salad is really
    delightful.--
  Why FLOSS had three helps to my two, that child's appetite really is
    frightful!
  Oh! what's that? Poor FAIR out again? Now I think that's unfair.
    Oh! no pun, Sir--
  I never _do_ pun, if you please, and most surely not under this
    sun, Sir.
  There are too many ways, don't you think, so? of getting "out";
    bowlings, and catches,
  And stumpings, and--what's l.b.w.? Always see that in these matches--
  Oh! there is Prince CHRISTIAN! I _wish_ that the lads had less
    powerful voices,
  This shouting must hurt Harrow's feelings, and if she _has_ fewer
    "old choices"
  That isn't _her_ fault, I suppose, and they ought to allow her more
    batters.
  That would harrow poor Harrow much more? Well, I really _can't_ fathom
    such matters.
  Ah! RAPHAEL seems a sweet name; and he's "out for a duck" too;
    how horrid!
  Why, even poor GOSLING made _four_. Oh, dear me, 'tis tremendously
    torrid!
  And, how they _can_ run so----There, listen to ISABEL SMYTHE, _do_
    just listen.
  She's coached up in Cricketing slang; she has "crammed" for it.
    How her eyes glisten!
  "Oh! bowled, Sir, indeed! Caught, Sir, caught!"--And she rhymes
    "bowled" to "howled." Most disgusting!
  Last over? Hope Harrow will pull up to-morrow. Of course they
    are trusting
  In mighty M'LAREN again. But oh, if their colours they'd vary!
  Unless you've a brother, you know, or a lover like MILDRED and MARY.
  In one team or other, it's hard to get up an emotion that's "humming,"
  For dark blue and light are so like, Sir, and neither is
    _very_ becoming.

       *       *       *       *       *

New Room Notes, National Gallery.

"_The Three Graces_," now well placed, had been previously "skied." But
didn't this show that Sir JOSHUA'S work ranked uncommonly high in the
opinion of the former hangers?

It is not surprising that among Sir ROBERT PEEL'S Collection there
should have been several charming Constables. These Pictures ought to be
called and known as "Peelers."

       *       *       *       *       *

SONGS AT STAMBOUL.

(_Sung by Sir H-nry Dr-mm-nd W-lff._)

I.--L'ADIEU À LA PORTE.

AIR--"_The Good-bye at the Door._"

  OF all the memories of the past
    That long will haunt my dreams,
  This scene upon my soul will cast
    The brightest, gladdest beams.
  I've really had the jolliest spree,
    Though S-L-SB-RY cuts it short;
  Memory will oft recall to me
    The Good-bye to the Porte.

  My stay out here may have estranged
    The closest friends I knew;
  R-ND-LPH, I think, seems rather changed;
    Will B-LF-R prove more true?
  No happy hours again for me
    In this sweet clime to sport!
  I cannot contemplate with glee
    This Good-bye to the Porte.

II.-GOOD-BYE, SWEET PORTE, GOOD-BYE!

AIR--"_Good-bye, Sweetheart, good-bye!_"

  MY bright hopes fade, my heart is breaking
    (I feel inclined to cuss our Chief),
  And I from thee my leave am taking,
    After a stay too brief, too brief.
  How sinks my heart with strange alarms!
    An angry tear obscures my eye.
  Stamboul, they drive me from thy charms;
    Good-bye, sweet Porte, good-bye!

  My innings end,--without much scoring,--
    Loud swells the Rad's derisive jeer.
  If France I long have failed in flooring,
    Still I was here, still I _was_ here.
  If I could keep my place (and pay),
    Patient diplomacy to ply,
  I would not leave thee though I say
    Good-bye, sweet Porte, good-bye!

       *       *       *       *       *

GRANDOLPH'S TEACHINGS.--When you rush in to dress at five minutes to
eight, and you are to dine two miles off at eight sharp, when your
shoe-strings break, your studs roll on the floor, your links refuse to
catch, and you suddenly discover an iron-mould in the centre of your
shirt-front, then when a sweet patient voice from the other room says,
"O my dear! don't use such awful language!" then bethink you of
GRANDOLPH, and explain that your fervent utterances were only "blessings
in disguise."

       *       *       *       *       *

COVENT GARDEN OPERA.--_Mr. Punch's_ advice,--if _Lohengrin_ is given
again, with the same cast as it had last Saturday, go and hear it. A
real treat.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE PROVINCIALS!

_Northern Belle._ "DID YOU GO UP TO THE ACADEMY SOIREE?"

_Masher._ "AH--M--M--NO. I--AH--SELDOM GO TO LONDON NOW. MY TAILOR COMES
DOWN NORTH THREE OR FOUR TIMES A YEAR!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

PAVING THE WAY FOR HIM.

IT is understood that at the final sitting of the Sobranje it was
decided to submit to Prince FERDINAND of Saxe-Coburg the following
memorandum of terms for his acceptance:--

That he shall forward, together with his references, his photograph on
approval.

On it being notified to him that these have been considered
satisfactory, he shall state whether he understands the confidence and
three-card tricks, and also what acquaintance he possesses with the
heavier feats of advanced _leger-de-main_ that would warrant his active
intervention in the diplomatic intrigues of Eastern Europe.

That he shall provide his own crown, which must be a decidedly showy
affair, and should be so constructed as, by a little manipulation, it
could, in any sudden outbreak of popular fury, be made to assume the
appearance of an ordinary top-hat.

That his coronation-robe should be reversible, and, when turned inside
out, serve as a dressing-gown that would be available for night
surprises of a revolutionary character.

That he should be supplied with six bullet-proof shirts, to be worn on
important State occasions, and have not less than twelve complete
theatrical disguises for purposes of escaping with his life beyond the
frontiers after the passing of unpopular measures.

That he will be expected to have sufficient command of the Russian
language to enable him to indite an occasional defiant and offensive
epistle to the CZAR as occasion may require.

That he must understand that his household will be composed partly of
traitors, whom, however, as the Government will see that his bedroom
door is provided with an extra bolt, he need only keep carefully under
his eye during the daytime.

That the salary for discharging the above functions will be £200 per
annum, payable quarterly in advance, and guaranteed as recoverable by
personal service, on the properties of the unpopular chiefs of the
Opposition.

       *       *       *       *       *

OFFICIAL OBJECT LESSONS.

COMPLAINING of the foul condition of the bathing-lakes in Victoria Park,
Mr. PICKERSGILL asked the First Commissioner of Works "to accompany him
one morning to see the state of the Lakes for himself." There is some
reason to believe that, acting on this admirable suggestion, official
expeditions will be organised to other places; for instance:--

The Duke of BEDFORD will attend at Covent Garden Market at two o'clock
in the morning and stay there till mid-day, and see how he likes it.

Mr. CHAMBERLAIN will consent to be locked inside a barricaded Irish
hovel when an eviction is expected.

The Ranger of Kensington Gardens--if there is one, or, failing him, the
Deranger--will visit the neighbourhood of the Round Pond, and notice the
adroit manner in which the turf has been removed so as just to prevent
the full enjoyment of the gardens by the public during the whole of the
present summer.

Mr. MATTHEWS, as an Amateur and very Casual Defendant, will go round the
various Metropolitan Police-courts, and attempt to give evidence
contradicting that of policemen, and will thus obtain a valuable insight
into Magisterial deportment.

Selected Members of the Vestries and of the Metropolitan Board of Works
will harness themselves to omnibuses, and attempt to drag the vehicles,
when fully loaded, over watered wood and asphalte without slipping.

The Archbishop of CANTERBURY, disguised as a troubled parishioner in
need of spiritual advice, will call on any London Curate and ask him his
real unvarnished opinion on his Vicar's proposal that he should "give
liberally" to the Church House Scheme.

Mr. GLADSTONE will "take a place" in Kerry and try to collect his own
rents.

Mr. LABOUCHERE will negotiate with the Sublime Porte himself, at half
Sir H. DRUMMOND WOLFF'S salary, and promise not to grumble.

And, every Member of Parliament who has ever promised to "do something"
to improve the Dwellings of the Poor, and has done nothing, will spend
the whole of August in a slum-dwelling in Whitechapel.

       *       *       *       *       *

Old Doggerel Adapted.

  SOME say to keep the realm compact,
  We must stick to the Union-Act;
  Others, that to be one, and feel it,
  We must immediately repeal it.
  Strange that such difference should be,
  'Twixt Uni_on_ and Uni_ty_!

       *       *       *       *       *

How perfect Mr. RIDER HAGGARD'S latest story would he, if it weren't for
his persistent introduction of the low comedian, a stagey French cook of
the old farcical order. Couldn't he "find another way to (comic) man his
Haggard?" This quotation is from _The Taming of the Shrew_, adapted.

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

[Illustration: F.M. PUNCH'S PARLIAMENTARY REVIEW.

_Fac-Simile of Sketch made by our Special Artist on the Field._]

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday Night, July 4._--Floor of House strewed with
crackers to-night, popping off unexpectedly as proceedings advanced.
Immediately after Questions, ARTHUR BALFOUR brought up to whipping-post.
For so clever a young man ARTHUR has made serious mistake. Gave
definite pledge upon certain clause of Coercion Bill, then omitted
to fulfil it, and finally, when challenged, wriggled about and
endeavoured to show that his remissness of no practical consequence.
House doesn't like wriggling. Nobody but HART-DYKE came to assistance of
beleaguered Minister, and _he_ was incontinently put down by SPEAKER.
HALLEY-STEWART, that child of victory, came in fresh from Spalding.
Greeted with thunderous cheers from Opposition who have plucked up
spirits wonderfully.

Old Morality, in his oldest and most moral manner, moved to appropriate
remaining time of House for Government business. Fire opened upon him
from all sides in protest against arrangement. Every man with a Bill
wanted day to bring it forward. CHAPLIN in most magnificent manner
joined in protest. SMITH having replied in detail seemed that the
incident was closed. But in fact was only beginning. SMITH had greatly
shocked GLADSTONE by incidentally alluding to Opposition as "entirely
unparalleled in annals of Parliament." GLADSTONE, recalling some scenes
between 1880 and 1885, raised his hands appealingly to 'igh 'eaven
against the statement. JOHN MORLEY dashed in with vigorous speech; then
GOSCHEN came to front, wringing his hands and working himself up to
height of desperation. GLADSTONE had declared that he and his friends
had not been charged with conniving at Obstruction.

"If the charge has not been made," said GOSCHEN, trying to edge himself
behind the plump figure of Old Morality, "it shall be made, and I make
it."

This brought up HARCOURT, who called GOSCHEN "a deserter." This did not
add to general amity of proceedings. Opposition cheered; Conservatives
howled; then, amid uproar, a voice was heard denouncing the conduct of
Members of the Government as "wanting in dignity and decorum." The voice
spoke more in sorrow than in anger. There was a tear in every syllable.
It was clear that, out of the fulness of a heart crushed with pain at
witnessing these unruly proceedings, the mouth spoke. The voice not
unfamiliar. All eyes turned to the quarter whence it proceeded. Who
could it be that thus added a final reproach to a guilty and trembling
Government? Who, in accents trembling with conviction and emotion,
convicted it of "lack of decorum and dignity?"

It was JOSEPH GILLIS!

_Business done._--Government secured all remaining days of Session.

_Tuesday Night._--"A bad Cass, a very bad Cass," murmured Old Morality,
moving uneasily on his seat. It was Seven o'clock. Things certainly
looking very bad. At Question-time, ATHERLY-JONES, who had been watching
the case for some time, asked the HOME SECRETARY whether he had made
inquiry into the Regent Street affair, and if so, what was the result?
HOME SECRETARY had, from the first, blundered hopelessly. When first
questioned peremptorily refused to interfere. Then CHAMBERLAIN
interposed and backed up claim for inquiry. MATTHEWS with ludicrous
haste knuckled down and gave desired promise. This was on Friday last.
Now went back from promise and declined to have anything to do with
affair. House evidently angry. ATHERLY-JONES moved adjournment;
supported by over a hundred, and debate entered upon. CAINE and DODDS
struggled for honour of seconding Motion. DODDS won. Seems Miss CASS'S
father is one of his constituents and a most respectable man.

[Illustration: "On the watch."]

"Why," cried Member for Stockton with sudden access of energy, "he leads
the brass band in the Malleable Iron Works."

That settled it. Thenceforward MATTHEWS regarded as a doomed man.
CHAMBERLAIN made speech conclusively showing innocence of Miss CASS. Not
only was her father leader of the brass band, but it was clear she had
not been out of the house on the nights the policeman swore he saw her
in Regent Street. ATTORNEY-GENERAL came to rescue of colleague, but
movement ineffectual. Old Morality uttered some ponderous commonplaces
without avail. CAINE, revelling in temporary freedom, lashed the HOME
SECRETARY. GRANDOLPH, that pink of chivalry, finding his old friend and
colleague down, joyously jumped on him.

"I made him Home Secretary, and when I kicked over the traces of course
I expected him to resign with me. But he stuck to office and salary. I
said nothing, but I thought the more. Waited for my chance, and here it
is."

So GRANDOLPH prodded MATTHEWS in the back, buffetted him about the head,
and made him begin to wish that he'd resigned long ago. Motion for
adjournment of House carried to a Division, and Government defeated by
Majority of Five!

"A bad Cass--a very bad Cass!" repeated Old Morality, as he picked up
his papers, and went off in unexpectedly good time for dinner.

_Business done._--The HOME SECRETARY'S.

_Wednesday._--HENRY MATTHEWS spent pleasant quarter of an hour this
afternoon. SMITH came down, and surrendered unconditionally in the CASS
case. Promised to make the inquiry which MATTHEWS had refused. JOHN
DILLON suggested that, in order to save time, Ministers should in future
make up their minds what to do before the Division was taken. MATTHEWS
said nothing. Rather sorry for him. Thought I'd cheer him up a bit.

"Don't take this too much to heart," I said. "Good deal of talk about it
just now, but soon be forgotten."

"Take what to heart?" he asked, with pretty air of surprise. "SMITH is
only confirming what I said when I promised an inquiry."

"But then you refused it afterwards."

"Exactly. So, if SMITH had come down and refused the inquiry, I would
still have been all right. Don't you see?"

I didn't, quite. Perhaps it will come on further reflection. _Business
done._--Supply.

_Thursday._--Came upon curious scene in Lobby this afternoon, just after
prayers. F. W. MACLEAN, Member for Woodstock Division of Oxfordshire,
standing at full length near the Post-Office. To him enter GRANDOLPH,
making for House, anxious to see how MATTHEWS is looking to-day.
MACLEAN, drawing himself up another inch, looked down on GRANDOLPH.
GRANDOLPH, seizing the situation, half turned round, and looked up at
his successor in the re-adjusted representation of Woodstock. Neither
spoke; but it was a pretty scene, not needing words.

[Illustration: Past and Present Members for Woodstock.]

GRANDOLPH found MATTHEWS on Treasury Bench, looking as if nothing had
happened, and as if nothing was going to happen. House curiously
crowded, considering. The old story over again, with just a difference
in enumeration of the chapter. Hitherto been on Coercion Bill, First
Reading, Second Reading, Committee Stage, and Report Stage. Now Third
Reading moved. GLADSTONE begins it all over again, as if nothing had yet
been said. Benches filled to hear him, and no one moved till speech
ended in glowing peroration. Then Members, simultaneously struck with
conviction that they'd heard this before, streamed out. Rest of Sitting
dull talk and empty benches. _Business done._--Third Reading of Coercion
Bill moved.

_Friday._--Coercion Bill through at last! Final bout of talking dull
till towards end, when DILLON made one of his impassioned speeches
(wonderfully improved has JOHN since he first entered House). HARCOURT
stroked Ministerialist back wrong way; and GOSCHEN replied in animated
speech. One little flash disturbed monotony of earlier part of sitting.
Elderly young man, name of COLERIDGE, trotted out again the mean and
spiteful reference to Old Morality's Book-stall connection. O. M., for
once moved to anger, hotly resented impertinence.

Haven't we had enough of this now? It was TIM HEALY began it. Not
desirable that men without a tithe of TIM'S talent should imitate his
ingrained ill-manners.

_Business done._--Coercion Bill passed by Majority of 87.

       *       *       *       *       *

SONG BY SIR ABEL HANDY.

  'TWAS on a summer morning in this tropical July,
  A happy thought impelled me an experiment to try.
  Hot early, weather promised to be more hot later on:
  What were the highest grade the glass would register anon?
  A delicate thermometer, the Fahrenheit, was mine;
  I placed it in the solar-beams direct, A.M., at nine.
  It shortly rose to ninety; and by ten reached twenty more;
  Eftsoon degrees one-hundred-nine-and-twenty was the score;
  Glass went on rising near as high as it was marked to go.
  A hundred, three times ten, and six the highest it could show.
  _Excelsior!_ as LONGFELLOW'S ascending Pilgrim cried;
  So I began to marvel what was going to betide,
  Expanding still the spirit rose within, ere noon had past,
  Till bang went my thermometer, the brittle tube had brast!
  My old and well-tried servant through ten years in hot or cold,
  At last it suddenly went smash, a pity to behold,
  I sat me down and sent the _Post_ the story of its loss,
  Take warning all Philosophers my tale who come across!
  Experimental Science--mind the moral that I sing--
  Is with a little knowledge in pursuit a parlous thing.

       *       *       *       *       *

IN CONVOCATION.

[Illustration: Head of a Chapter.]

THE Bishops are considering the "Amen-Corner" Amen-ments to the
Catechism. _Dr. Punch_ happening to drop into the Upper House as a cool
retreat on a July day, reminded their Lordships of the touching appeal
of _Little Billee_ when he went "down upon his bended knees" to the
inhuman _Gorging Jack_ and _Guzzling Jimmy_, imploring a short respite
in these words:--

  "O let me say my Catechism
  As my poor mother taught to me."

And _Mr. P._ asked the Upper House to pause before adding another burden
to the sorely tried child on a hot Sunday. Also the learned Doctor of
Divinity wished to ask why, when amending, is it considered necessary to
preserve the prim archaic style of English, which is nowadays only
associated with the strictest Quaker, and which is so suggestive of
formality and unreality? Why say "What meanest thou," and so forth? It
was Puritanical; now it is pedantic. The Bishops agreed with _Mr.
Punch_, but the Thermometer being 120°, they adjourned to the "Wholly
Shade," adjoining the lawn-tennis ground.

It is pleasant to record how something was done in the House of Laymen.
Lord NELSON said he had received a blow on the head,--from a draught.
The President wanted to know if it was a draught of a resolution? Lord
NELSON explained that it wasn't. He had alluded to an air-draught. He
wished to propound the old theological question, "_Cur induit albam
Millerus tegulam?_" with its answer, "_Ut caput servat calidum_."
("_Hear, hear!_") He wished to know whether, for the reason above
mentioned, he might wear his hat. The President remarked that he thought
it would be out of order if he did. Earl NELSON observed that he would
soon be out of order if he didn't, as he should have a severe cold. Mr.
HUBBARD, M.P., who is to be made a Peer, with the title of
Earl-y-CHURCHOUSE, was understood to say that if he wasn't allowed to
wear his hat, he knew he should have a _gravamen_ to-morrow. The
President then gave the required permission. Hats are now worn in the
House of Laymen.

       *       *       *       *       *

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