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  PUNCH,

  OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

  VOLUME 93

       *       *       *       *       *

  JULY 23, 1887.

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. PUNCH'S MANUAL FOR YOUNG RECITERS.

No Amateur Reciter can consider himself fully equipped for the
Drawing-room or Platform unless he is furnished with at least one poem
in dialect, and _Mr. Punch_ has accordingly commissioned from his Poet a
recitation couched in the well-known vernacular of Loompshire.
Loompshire, it need hardly be explained, is the county where most of the
stage-rustics come from. The author of this little poem ventures to hope
that philologists will find much deserving of careful study in some of
the local expressions and provincialisms, while he can guarantee their
entire authenticity, as they are mostly of his own invention. The
phraseology is strictly copyright and must not be infringed, except by a
dignitary of archiepiscopal rank for a charitable purpose. As for the
piece itself, it is founded on a little anecdote related to the poet,
which he believes has not hitherto seen the light in a metrical form. It
has a good old-fashioned double title, viz:--

MICHAELMAS DAY; OR, HOW TAMMAS PATTLE VERY NEARLY COOKED HIS GOOSE.

Begin by explaining the situation, thus:--"This is supposed to be spoken
by a Loompshire cottager, who overhears a stranger admiring the goodly
proportions of his goose,"--then start with as broad a drawl as you can
assume. Remember that to be effective you must be unintelligible.

[Illustration]

  "Bewty," I 'ears ya carl her?--aye, ya niver spoöke truthfuller wurrëd!
  Rammack t' coontry side ovver, an ya weänt see no foiner burrëd!
  Passon he axed ma to sell her--but I towld him, "Beänt o' naw use--
  She's as mooch of a Chris'en as moäst," I sez, "if she's nobbut a guse!"
  Coom, then!

(_This coaxingly, to an imaginary bird--be careful not to seem to make
any invidious distinctions among your audience._)

  ... Naäy, but she wunna! she's gotten a wull of her oän!
  Looök at the heye of her,--pink an' greëy, loike t'fire in a hopal
    stoän!
  Howsiver she sims sa hinnercent-loike, she's a follerin' arl I saäy:
  An' I boärt 'er at Kettleby Feär, I did, two yeär coom Cannelmas Daäy.
  Araminta her neäme is--but I carls 'er "Minty," fur shoärt,
  She weänt naw moor nor a goslin' o' coorse, what taïme she wur boärt:
  But a' knawed she'd turn oot a rare 'un, to jedge by her weëight an'
    feäl,
  An' I reckoned to fat her by Michaelmas Eve, ef I buzzled 'er oop wi
    meäl,
  Mayhappen ya'll ardly beleäve ma--but she unnerstood fra' the fust,
  What wur hexpected of 'er, (_with a senile chuckle_,) I thowt that
    burr'd 'ud ha' bust!
  Cram her, a' did! but she swuckered it doon, wi' niver a weästed drop,
  Fur she tuk that hinterest in it as she'd ruther ha' choäked nor stop!
  An' she'd foller wheeriver a went--till I hedn't naw peäce fur t' foäk,
  "'Ere be TAMMY long of his sweetart!" wur hallus the village joäk!
  An' I'd saäy: "'Tis ma Michaelmas denner _I'm_ squirin' aboot, owd chap!"
  An' Minty she'd stan' up a' tiptoe, an' fluther her neck, an' flap!
  Did I 'appen to gaw of a hevenin, to looök at ma hinion patch?
  Minty 'ud coom in along o' meä, an' rarstle aboot, an' scratch,
  Cocking her heye at the bed o' saäge, with a kink as mooch as to saäy:
  "Wull the saäge an' th' hinions be ready fur _meä_, by toime I be ready
    for theëy?"
  Or she'd snifter at arl the windfalls as ligged i' the horchard graäss,
  _I_ knawed what she wur erfter, a did--she wur pickin' 'em oot for the
    saäss!
  An' I'd roob ma ands fur to see her a ploddlin' across th' roärd,
  (_Tenderly._) "Thee'll mak' a denner, ma pratty," I'd saäy to her, "fit
    fur a loärd!"
  Maäin an' boolky she wur as Michaelmas week coom nigh,
  "Her'll niver not bulge naw bigger," I sez, "an she art fur to die!"
  I knawed she wur doitlin' soomwheer by the pasture under t' moör,
  Sa I fetched the chopper an' fettled 'im oop--an' I went fur to do 'er!
  (_Grimly._)
  An' I chillupped to Araminty, an' oop she rins with a clack,
  "Seeä what I've gotten to show 'ee," I sez, (wi' the chopper behind ma
    back)
  But I looked sa straänge an callow, she knawed I wur meanin' 'er ill,
  An' she kep a sidlin' an' edgin' awaäy, an' a gaäpin' wi' hopen bill!
  Then I maäde a grab at her sooden--an' she skirtled off to a feäld,
  Wheer Squire had been diggin' fur fireclaäy--eh, but she yellocked
    an' beäled!
  Cloppity-joggle I chaäsed her, sa well as I cud, bein' laäme,
  An' flippity-flopper she kep' on ahead--an' a' squawked out "Shaäme!"
    (_The Amateur Reciter should find little difficulty here in suggesting
    something of the intonation of a frightened goose: Pause--then
    continue apologetically._)
  I wur haäf asheämed o' mysen' I wur, afoor I coom to the hend,
  (_Remorsefully._) "Ye owd ongreätful guzzard," I thowt, "to gaw killin'
    ya hoänly friend!"
  But ma friend wur a Michaelmas denner tew as I hedn't naw art to refuse!
  (_More remorsefully._) An' it maäde me seeä what a gowk I'd beeän to ha'
    gotten sa thick with a guse!
  Sa I danged 'er well as I slummocked on, as ard as ma legs cud stoomp,
  "Waäit till I gets tha, ma laädy!" I sez,--when, arl on a
    sooden ... Boomp!
  --An I wur a sprawlin' an' floppin' in wan of the owd Squire's pits,
  But fur t' claäy at t' bottom an' that, I mout ha bin brokken to bits!
  An' I roared fur 'elp, fur I cudn't git up, an' the watter wur oop to
    my chin.
  But nobbudy eerd ma a' beälin', nor thowt on the hole I wur in!
  They'd niver find nawthin but boäns, I knawed, if they'd iver the
    gumption to dredge,
  Then I groäned (_impressively_)--fur I eerd Araminty a tooklin' 'oop
    by the edge!
  (_Sulky sarcasm._) "Wunnerful funny, beänt it?" I sez, (I wur feälin'
    fit for to choäk.
  To be catched loike a bee in a bottle--an' see her enjyin' the joäk!)
  (_Indignantly._) "Hevn't ya naw moor manners," I sez, "ya greät fat
    himpident thing!"
  (_Pathetically._) Fur I'd bred her oop from a goslin', I had--and theer
    wur the sting!
  Well, she left ma aloän at laäst, an' I hedn't a mossel o' hoäpe--
  When by coom HARRY the hedger, an a' hoickt ma oop with a roäpe!
  "Shudn't ha' heerd 'ee, TAMMAS," he sez, "or knawed as owt wur t'
    matter--
  Ef it hedn't ha bin fur yon guse o' thine, as coom an raäised sech
    a clatter.
  An' drawed ma hon in spite o' mysen--till I moinded the hopen shaäft!"
  (_Catch your breath, then brokenly._) Aye, Minty wur saävin ma life oop
    theer--when I wur a thinkin' she laäft!
  Then I rooshed fur to catch her to coodle and gie her a greätful kiss--
  Eh, but I right down bloobered (_with pained surprise_)--fur she scatted
    awaäy with a hiss!
  "Weän't niver 'urt 'ee ageän!" I sez, "if thee'll hoänly forgit what's
    past!"
  She wur raäre an' stiff fur a bit, she wur--but
    (_with a doddering complacency_) I maäde her coom round at last!
  An' I had ma Michaelmas denner the saäme--an' a arty good denner he wur!
  Sat down coompany, tew--fur I cudn't ha' done without _her_!
  What did we maäke a meäl on? (_Shamefaced confusion here, expressed by
    scratching the head._) Well,--happen thee'll think me a haäss--
  But I'll tell 'ee: (_with candour_) I dined wi Minty on the stooffin'
    an happle saäss!

(_Retire without ostentation, to have your jaw set at the nearest
Surgeon's._)

       *       *       *       *       *

SCARCELY WORTH WHILE.--For some personal remarks on the Prince of WALES,
utterly gratuitous and in the worst possible taste, the _P. M. G._, as
we hear, has been dropped by the Service Clubs, and subsequently by the
Turf. As a mark of strong disapprobation this was right enough, but if
it was intended as a punishment which would inflict loss, we are
inclined to think such boycotting may have had exactly the contrary
effect. How happy was THACKERAY'S title "_The Pall Mall Gazette_ written
by gentlemen for gentlemen!" If it is not so now, what have we got
in-STEAD?

       *       *       *       *       *

Philosophy at the Popping Crease.

  "The glorious uncertainty?" why, to be sure
    That it _must_ be the slowest should see at a glance,
  For Cricket, as long as the sport shall endure,
    _Must_ be in its nature a mere game of chance.
  "'Tis all pitch and toss;" one can show it is so;--
    'Tisn't science or strength rules its losses or winnings.
  Half depends on the "pitch"--of the wickets, you know,
    The rest on the "toss"--for first innings.

       *       *       *       *       *

"GOOD BUSINESS."--An advertiser in the _Daily Chronicle_ of the 12th
inst., has not a bad idea of a fair profit:--

    BABY-CARRIAGE Bassinette, unsoiled; 4 rubber-wheels,
    carriage-springs, reversible hood, handsome rug, complete, £27; cost
    £4 10_s._, last month. Mrs. W.

If "Mrs. W." has not already obtained her price, we sincerely wish she
may get it. She deserves it.

       *       *       *       *       *

"THE BANCROFT SCHOOL."--On Saturday last Prince ALBERT VICTOR laid the
foundation-stone of the new buildings at Woodford. This sounds promising
for the Theatrical Profession. Of course Mr. BANCROFT will take the male
pupils, and Mrs. BANCROFT will instruct "the Spindle side."

       *       *       *       *       *

SARAH B. at the Lyceum, under the management of M. MAYER. May 'er season
be successful!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "LE MONDE OÙ L'ON S'AMUSE."

_She._ "BY THE BYE, I MET YOUR BROTHER AT DINNER LAST NIGHT. SUCH A
DELIGHTFUL PARTY! _SUCH_ A DINNER!! _SUCH_ FLOWERS!!!"

_He._ "INDEED! WHERE _WAS_ IT?"

_She._ "AT THE--A--THE--A----UPON MY WORD, I REALLY _FORGET_ WHOSE
HOUSE IT WAS I WAS DINING AT!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A DAY OUT. (By Jacques Junior.)

  A fishing, paddling pic-nic! What, to stand
  On the lush margent of the gusty stream,
  With feet benumbed, and watch the bobbing quill,
  And then to dine _al fresco_--not for JACQUES!
  Where, for the smooth mahogany of Ind,
  The unplaned earth is board; for cushion'd chair
  The damp earth, ant-infested, or rough root
  Chafing the unaccustomed cuticle;
  Where mint sauce th' insecure platter doth o'errun,
  With hose and doublet playing Lucifer;
  Where glasses must be emptied as they're filled,
  To the great prejudice of temperance,
  Or, if set down, drops me a spider in,
  To spoil the fortune he cannot enjoy,
  Like Sir No-Company, who makes a third.
  While e'en a grumble, relishabler far
  Than that keen sauce of Sparta, is denied.
  For one there'll be who'll not let ill alone,
  But, "I prithee try this compound; I learnt the knack
  In Venice," or, "Thus in England wines are mix'd!
  Pray you pronounce upon't." Another, worst,
  Will keep all waiting while he spoils good food,
  Concocting some vile preparation,
  Calling't a Sallet. "Taste in charity,
  For Fate's against me; some ingredient
  Of utmost import hath been left at home."
  And so the wholesome green is all besprent
  With bile-disturbing mixture. Out upon't!
  I'd rather find a kitten in a stew
  Than one of these same preaching salad-bunglers.
  What are the uses of _al fresco_ meals?
  Who likes a toad, ugly and venomous,--
  Where's such a precious fool--upon the bread?
  And they who, in contempt, the Dryad's haunts
  Profane with empty bottles and loose papers,
  Find tongues in tarts, ants running on their boots,
  Wasps in the wine, and salt in everything!

       *       *       *       *       *

AT THE LYCEUM.--Saturday was the last night of Mr. IRVING'S Season,--a
season remarkable for the inexhaustible popularity of _Faust_, produced
in 1885, and for the revival of most of the Lyceum successes, by way of
airing them for American exportation. On this occasion _The Merchant of
Venice_ was given. Miss ELLEN TERRY'S _Portia_ is one of the best
examples of true comedy acting in the present day. Mr. IRVING'S
_Shylock_ is a marvellously subtle impersonation, full of humour,
pathos, and tragic power. After the play he made a short speech bidding
a temporary farewell to his friends. _Mr. Punch_ replies, "Good luck go
with you, _Au revoir!_"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE QUEEN AT HATFIELD.

[Illustration]

  In days of old in Hatfield halls,
    They feasted late and early,
  The grave Lord Keeper led the brawls,
    And danced beside Lord BURLEIGH.
  The stars of great ELIZA'S reign,
    Were seen in all their glory,
  Smart ESSEX girt with golden chain,
    And RALEIGH known to story.

  'Tis said that 'neath a Hatfield Oak,
    ELIZABETH was sitting,
  When courtiers hastened there and spoke,
    In lowly tones, befitting
  The mighty message that they bore;
    There, where the leaves waved o'er her,
  They hailed her QUEEN from shore to shore,
    And humbly bowed before her.

  And now another QUEEN has gone
    Where Hatfield lawns are shady;
  The ancient oaks have looked upon,
    Another gracious Lady.
  Once more a CECIL plays the host,
    And bows in Royal presence;
  What wonder if Queen BESS'S ghost,
    Looked down upon the pleasance.

  The past and present seem to meet,
    In those historic portals;
  Methinks our modern Statesmen greet,
    ELIZABETH'S immortals.
  And, as the phantoms fade away,
    While bells clash from the steeple,
  They cry, "Long live VICTORIA,
    To bless her loving people!"

       *       *       *       *       *

VERY ANNOYING.--Just when everything was going along so smoothly, just
when the Jubilee police arrangements had been so successful as to
warrant a tribute from Chief Commissioner _Punch_, and a recognition
from Londoners generally, to have these police difficulties suddenly
sprung upon Sir CHARLES WARREN was enough to drive him wild,--enough to
make him a rabid WARREN. But he has taken the right course, and much
good will come out of all this trouble. Cheer up, Sir CHARLES! Anyhow
_you_ are not in for a CASS-tigation.

       *       *       *       *       *

ON Messrs. RICHARD BENTLEY AND SONS' list of books appears _Mr. Hissey's
Journeys in England_. What an unpleasant visitor, if he is only true to
the name of HISSEY, and makes the tour of the Theatres in London and the
provinces. Managers, beware!

       *       *       *       *       *

"MY LAWYER."

[Crown 8vo., 6_s._ 6_d._, MY LAWYER: A Concise Abridgment of, and
Popular Guide to, the Laws of England. By a Barrister-at-Law.]

  Who was it, when I thought I saw
  In something I had signed a flaw,
  Gave me my first distaste for law?
                            My Lawyer.

  Who, when into his hands I fell,
  As I my grievance tried to tell,
  Around me wove some fatal spell?
                            My Lawyer.

  Who from my mind at once all trace
  Of doubt and fear did quite efface,
  And made me think I had a "case"?
                            My Lawyer.

  Who of all obstacles made light,
  And, whether I was wrong or right,
  Insisted that I ought to fight?
                            My Lawyer.

  Who, as I saw the costs increase,
  And wished to come to terms of peace,
  Declined to let the turmoil cease?
                            My Lawyer.

  Who daily plagued me more and more,
  And every time I passed his door
  Charged me straight off thirteen-and-four?
                            My Lawyer.

  Who, liking not his little games,
  When I resolved to waive my claims,
  Quick added fuel to the flames?
                            My Lawyer.

  Who, though some compromise I sought,
  And did not wish the matter fought,
  Before a jury had it brought?
                            My Lawyer.

  Who, though at last I got enraged,
  The battle still more stoutly waged,
  And leading Counsel, three, engaged?
                            My Lawyer.

  Who, when, of course, my case went wrong,
  Because it wasn't worth a song,
  Sent in a bill twelve pages long?
                            My Lawyer.

  And who, now that I'm wiser grown,
  And to this book for aid have flown,
  Would still on me inflict his own?
                            My Lawyer.

  Yet now, spite all his legal tricks,
  Henceforth this work, price six-and-six,
  Shall promptly be, in every fix,
                            My Lawyer.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "WHAT'S THE NEXT FASHION?"

    "Varium et mutabile semper
    Foemina."

_Madame France._ "I WONDER WHICH WILL SUIT ME BEST, AFTER ALL. I'M
BEGINNING TO BE TIRED OF THIS."]

       *       *       *       *       *

CRICKET AT LORD'S.

_Hits by Dumb Crambo, Junior._

[Illustration: Some fine Free Hitting.]

[Illustration: Well Stopped!]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LESSON OF THE ROYAL REVIEW.

(_By Our Special Scientific Experimentalist._)

It was with great satisfaction that I received my orders to visit
Aldershot on the occasion of the Royal Review, "to deduce from the
display the exact position occupied by England amongst the Powers of
Europe as a Military Nation." I felt that hardly a better man could have
been chosen for the task. My experience in the four divisions of the
globe, my knowledge of the wars of the last three quarters of a century,
exactly fitted me for the task. I said to myself, "I am intrusted with
the performance of a solemn and sacred duty. I am asked to carefully
report upon the condition of a large body of men, with a view to
sampling the entire British Army. The large body of men shall have my
careful consideration." Actuated by these worthy motives, I left
Waterloo in the early morn (it was scarcely nine o'clock), and travelled
to Aldershot.

On my way down I entered into discussion with four civilians, whose
interest in the day's proceedings seemed to be centred in the great
question of lunch. It was in vain that I attempted to sound them upon
the efficiency or the reverse of the Auxiliary Forces (they were all
more or less connected with the Volunteers), because they confined their
conversation to where they were likely to find So-and-So's drag on
Bourley Wood, and where the ---- Volunteer Battalion of the Royal
Such-and-Such a Regiment was situated.

"What do you think of canvass as a shelter?" I asked, note-book in hand.

"Oh, a mess-tent is as good a place as anywhere else if the cookery and
wines are all right," was the only reply I received that had the
slightest bearing on the military situation. Then my companions refused
to talk of anything further save the racing fixtures for the following
fortnight.

At Aldershot I found a number of omnibuses drawn up, labelled "House of
Commons," which were soon occupied by elderly ladies, who appeared to be
excellent representatives of our Legislators. Seeing that the flymen had
arranged a tariff that measured distances with sovereigns, and hours
with bank-notes, I determined to walk to the Long Valley, and my example
was largely followed. Smartly-gowned ladies, and men whose attire
suggested the shady side of Pall-Mall, dispensed with all conveyances,
and sturdily trudged to the review ground, to the intense disgust of the
cabmen, whose harvest could not have been particularly lucrative. The
only vehicles that we saw on the road were waggons filled with
country-folk, and harnessed to heavy lumbering cart-horses, that moved
very deliberately and slowly, and now and again a London coach. A
specimen of the last came up to me just as I was getting out of the
town--it was occupied by a company of ladies and gentlemen with an
up-all-night look about them. As a matter of fact, I believe it had
started shortly after midnight, or thereabouts. I recognised one of the
occupants, who, until he caught my eye, had seemed rather depressed, but
who, upon exchanging greetings with me, assumed a most jovial air, and
seemed quite to wake up. He subsequently told me that he had never
enjoyed himself so much. "Up over-night, you see, then a long drive in
the dawn and early morning, getting to Aldershot before the QUEEN.
Review, lunch, and home again." The last item, I fancy, must have been
rather an anti-climax, although my friend would not admit it. However, I
have a kind of instinct that should there be another big Review, he will
choose the rail in preference to the road.

As I passed the barracks I could not help admiring the waggery of the
Military Authorities in setting up placards requesting "the Public not
to walk on the grass." The light-hearted Authorities (it is scarcely
necessary to say to those who know the latent humour in the breasts of
the Head-quarters' Staff) had selected a site for these posters where no
grass would grow. From the hurry-skurry observable on all sides, I
gathered that the Procession was on its way--a supposition that was
turned into certainty by the boom of a Royal Salute. And yet I was miles
from my seat! There was only one thing to do--to force my way down a
road that had been closed since nine o'clock. The entrance to this
pathway was guarded by a mounted sentry. I approached him, and showed
him my pass, which made me free of all "camps and bivouacs." He
complained that he was not a "camp," but had nothing to urge in denial
when I insisted that "then he must be a bivouac." As some dozens of
others were attempting to force the passage, he allowed me to pass, and
from that moment practically the British Army was at my mercy. No
provision had been made to deal with spectators when once the gallant
Scots Grey had been passed. Thus I was able to lead the Royal
Procession, and was greatly pleased to find every one on the alert.
Battalion after battalion seemed to me well set up, and the Duke of
CAMBRIDGE with his drawn sabre left nothing to be desired. I inspected
them all, and can certainly say that I had not to stop to re-arrange a
belt or even a general-officer's scabbard. This being the case, my
movements were rapid, but not faster than those of the Derby Dog. In the
fearful heat I found my seat (a very comfortable one) close to the
saluting point, and then was prepared to see the march-past. The bands
struck up. "GEORGE RANGER" waved his sword and there was a shout. Then
came the tramp of armed men, and it occurred to me that after a very
long run, I could scarcely do better than close my eyes. I found by
doing this that I could think the matter out. What had perplexed me on
the road down was how I should find the mess of the particular regiment
that had honoured me with a card of invitation for luncheon.

I soon made up my mind that I had better ask my way. This I did, and
found the country Constabulary most intelligent. As I had come to
Aldershot to see the soldiers, rather than to enjoy the pleasures of the
table, it would perhaps be out of place to mention here how good lobster
salad is when you are really hungry, and how very grateful to the palate
claret cup appears when one has had nothing to drink for many hours.
Enough to say, I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and catching a train to
Waterloo, was once more at home.

On reading my notes I find that I have left unanswered the question with
which I commenced this article. I was sent to Aldershot to "deduce from
the display, the exact position occupied by England amongst the Powers
of Europe as a Military Nation." Quite so. Well--but perhaps on second
thoughts I had better get the Editor to send me to another review before
I attempt to solve the problem.

[Certainly: try it.--ED.]

       *       *       *       *       *

OF THE MASKE-ALINE GENDER.

The great success of the Gray's Inn _Maske_, has raised in the mind of
some of the critics the consideration whether a revival of this form of
entertainment could not be established. Ever ready to assist in carrying
out a valuable suggestion, _Mr. Punch_ begs to provide a _Scenario_ for
a modern _Maske:_--

SCENE I.--_The Exterior of the Castles of_ TORIUS _and_ GLADSTONIUS
_with a view of the Palace of Westminster, seen through the gateway.
Enter_ SESSIONIUS, _who looks about him and ponders_.

_Sessionius._ This should not be! Such a time as this puts down a
thousand pleasant schemes of summer! When a Bill, an Opposition, and a
Closure are met within the Hall of great St. Stephen's! Let the Ex-M.P.
bless the summer day, but Whigs, Rads, and Tories, needs must nod to the
Sessions Reign.

_Enter_ VACATIA.

_Vacatia._ Well, o'ertaken Session!

_Sessionius._ What's that I see? How dare you approach. D'ye mean to
give the lie to the prophets, who say I shall not be done until October?
Away, thou tempting fancy! Begone! Stay not a moment!

_Vacatia._ Nay, be not angry! In days gone by thou used to welcome me!
Why is it?

_Sessionius._ Do you not see I cannot move? With Irish Members and
Coercion Bills, I may stay here for ever!

VACATIA _weeps, and is appeased by_ TRIPPIUS, _who explains that they
can go unto the seaside by the Sunday trains. Then all go out. Then
enter the_ EXCURSIONISTS, _who sing strange songs in praise of wine and
tobacco. After a while the fun grows fast and furious, and the Scene
changes to_,--

THE GARDEN OF PARLIAMENTARY FLOWERS OF SPEECH.

_First song, wherein the_ SPEAKER _works a charm by which certain Irish
Members dance a measure with sticks, and striking the floor, then one
another's coat-tails, and, lastly, one another's heads. When this is
done,_ HARCOURTIUS _appears in the_ pavan, _or "peacock's strut," and
marches about. He disappears, and there is a Dance of Woodmen with
hatchets by the_ Gladstonian Family. _All this ends merrily with a view
of_ VACATIA _working a change as_ TRIPPIUS _introduces a View of a
possible Autumn Session_.

       *       *       *       *       *

"What I want some fellow to tell me," said Mr. DUFFER, looking up from
an advertisement of a forthcoming sale at Aldridge's, "is--what the
dickens is the use of a _broken_ sporting dog?"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "À LA PORTE!"

_Wolff._ "MUST REALLY BE GOING NOW! HAD A DELIGHTFUL TIME OF IT. SPENT A
LOT OF MONEY, AND ENJOYED MYSELF AMAZINGLY. TA! TA!"

_Sultan._ "SO SORRY YOU'RE GOING. BY THE WAY, I'LL ATTEND TO THAT LITTLE
MATTER YOU CAME ABOUT, AT THE EARLIEST MOMENT POSSIBLE. TA! TA!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

CLEAR AS CRYSTAL; OR, ALL ABOUT IT.

_Interior of a Railway Carriage on a Suburban Line._ Well-Informed
Politicians _discovered discussing question of the hour_.

_First Well-Informed Politician (summing up the situation with
confidence)._ Well, that's how it stands. DRUMMOND WOLFF has telegraphed
to say that the thing's no go, and that he can't get 'em to sign. So he
has put the Convention into his pocket, and is coming home as fast as
his legs can carry him.

_Second Well-Informed Politician (tentatively)._ Pardon me, but I don't
think it has quite come to that, has it? He was to have left, but the
SULTAN, you know, asked him to wait for an audience, or something of
that sort. I saw something about it just now in the paper. [_Hunts up
and down the columns of the "Times" vaguely._

_Third Well-Informed Politician._ O yes, I know what you mean. Here;
it's here. (_Produces "Standard."_) Ha! this is it. (_Reads._) "Sir H.
D. WOLFF was to have left yesterday, but having asked an audience to
take leave, and the SULTAN not having named a day for it, his departure
has been postponed."

_Second Well-Informed Politician._ Yes, that's it. (_Addressing_ First
Well-Informed Politician _with more assurance_.) You see there's
evidently a chance of further negotiation. I shouldn't be surprised to
hear that the thing was settled yet.

_First Well-Informed Politician (with warmth)._ Stuff, Sir--there'll be
no settlement--and a precious good job too! Who wants any Convention?
Not England. No, we're well out of it, and, what's more, SALISBURY knows
it.

_Third Well-Informed Politician._ You quite surprise me. Surely Lord
SALISBURY had set his heart on the signing of the Convention.

_Second Well-Informed Politician._ Oh yes, I'm sure of that. Why, I've
just been reading it--in the Vienna Correspondence, I think it was.
Where was it? [_Again commences a vague hunt up and down the columns of
the "Times."_

_First Well-Informed Politician._ Nonsense--I don't care what the
"Vienna Correspondence" says. Tells a pack of lies, I'll be bound. I
tell you SALISBURY'S no fool, and he knows when he has got a free hand.

_Third Well-Informed Politician (slightly bewildered)._ But I thought
the Convention, don't you know, did give him a free hand--at least, a
sort of a free hand--that's to say, that's the way I took it.

_Second Well-Informed Politician (brightly)._ Of course. Why that's the
reason France and Russia put the screw on the SULTAN.

_First Well-Informed Politician._ France and Russia put the screw on!
Stuff, Sir! Who cares for France and Russia? SALISBURY knows a trick or
two worth any game they can play.

_Fourth Well-Informed Politician (who has been waiting his chance,
putting down the "Daily News")._ I don't suppose _this_ country will
play any game, at all events, till the Grand Old Man's in again.

_First Well-Informed Politician (hotly)._ What! The Grand Old----! Why,
Sir, what do you mean? Why it's he who's responsible for every blessed
muddle and mess, including this Egyptian business, that has overtaken
the country for the last twenty years. Bless my soul, Sir, I can't
understand your having the face to put forward such an opinion.

_Fourth Well-Informed Politician (doggedly)._ Oh, you may bluster, but
you won't change my view of things, I can tell you. GLADSTONE'S the man
for Egypt, and for everything else.

_First Well-Informed Politician (boiling over)._ Confound it, Sir. Do
you wish to insult me. I'll tell you what it is, Sir, I'll----I'll----
[_Left throwing more light on the situation as scene closes in._

       *       *       *       *       *

BLESSINGS IN DISGUISE.

    [Lord RANDOLPH CHURCHILL said that the loss of the North Paddington
    Election might prove a "blessing in disguise" to the Unionist
    Party.]

_Unhappy Unionist loquitur_:--

  Oh, GRANDOLPH, GRANDOLPH, was it all your chaff?
    I for your _real_ thoughts would give a penny.
  Of such strange "blessings" we could spare one half;
              We have so many.

  There's SMITH; no doubt _he_ is a blessed boon;
    His dash, his sparkle, and his tact are wonders.
  But why _does_ he "disguise" them late and soon
              As awkward blunders?

  Then BALFOUR; he is courtesy's pure pink,
    But why will he persist in masquerading
  As cynic rudeness? Such "disguise," I think,
              Is most degrading.

  MATTHEWS, again! Yes, he _au fond_ would bless
    A Cabinet of angels! 'Tis surprising
  To see him as a muddler in a mess
               Himself "disguising."

  Then you yourself, my GRANDOLPH! Blessings flow
    From your bold eyes and trim moustache so tufty,
  But why, sweet benediction, choose to go
              So much in _mufti_?

  When you to spot our blunders use those eyes,
    And of our errors turn astute detective,
  Whate'er the "blessing" may be, the "disguise"
              Is most effective.

  The "Union" Cause our Country's cause remains,
    But oh! how long shall we remain its bosses,
  If all our blessings come disguised as banes,
              Our gains as losses?

  Is it, sweet optimist, too much to ask
    That you, and all our failures, muddles, messings,
  Should, just to comfort us, throw off the mask,
              And come _as_ blessings?

       *       *       *       *       *

We were glad to hear that the charges brought against the London
Scottish rested upon the slightest possible foundation. There let them
rest. They will not now change their title to the London Skittish.

       *       *       *       *       *

DUMB CRAMBO AT WIMBLEDON.

[Illustration: Bar'll cool her]

[Illustration: An excellent Range-Finder.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A DAY IN THE COUNTRY.

_Little Tommy (who has never been out of Whitechapel before)._ "OH! OH!
OH!"

_Kind Lady._ "WHAT'S THE MATTER, TOMMY?" _Little Tommy._ "WHY, WHAT A
BIG SKY THEY'VE GOT 'ERE, MISS!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

AT THE NAVAL REVIEW.

_Neptune (to Vulcan)._ Hillo, Mate, _you_ here?

_Vulcan._                                     Yes, my hearty; why _not_?

_Neptune._ Well, my ancient monopoly's all gone to pot.
    You've been "inching it in," for a number of years;
    Your Lemnos no longer has charms, it appears
    To detain you on shore. Once a Naval Review
    To a smithy-smoked game-legged land-lubber like you----

_Vulcan._ Oh, avast heaving there, Mate!

_Neptune._                                By Jove, he's as pat
    At our nautical patter as DIBDIN, that's flat.
    Can't you tip us "_Tom Bowling_"?

_Vulcan._                         Aye! (_sings_) "Here a sheer hulk"----

_Neptune._ Oh, stop! _What_ a voice for a chap of your bulk!
    'Tis as shrill as a file-squeak, and equally mellow.

_Vulcan._ Oh yes, you old Stentor, a big breezy bellow
    Is your _sole_ idea of a song.

_Neptune (offering his 'baccy-box amicably)._ Have a quid?

_Vulcan._ I don't care if I do. But you know as a kid
    After leaving Olympus----

_Neptune._            Ha! ha! A fair "chuck."
    Poor Juno! She felt she was quite out of luck,
    To bear such a skinny young dot-and-go-one.

_Vulcan._ Oh, if these are your manners----

_Neptune._                                    Pooh! Only my fun.
    Fire away with your yarn. Let's see, where had you got to?

_Vulcan._ You know that I lived some nine years in a grotto,
    With Thetis, that _belle_ of the Ocean, and therefore
    I'm _not_ such a land-lubber. Not that I care for
    Your coarse briny flouts, my old Mulberry-nose.

_Neptune._ Humph! You've turned a teetotaller now, I suppose,
    And should I sing "Hey! Ho! and a bottle of rum,"
    You'd not join in the song--or the swizzle?

_Vulcan._                                      Oh, come,
    We have no WILFRID LAWSON in Sicily yet;
    All my Cyclops would strike. Yes! I'm game for a "wet."

_Neptune._ That's hearty. Now, then, you young TRITON, look slippy,
    Fetch up t'other bottle. I feel rather nippy.
    And then the occasion! BRITANNIA'S my dear,
    We must drink to her health in this Jubilee Year.

_Vulcan._ I'm glad you say "We."

_Neptune._                        Well, I own you are "in it."
    I wouldn't dispute your fair claims for a minute,
    But they're thundering ugly, your new Iron Walls,
    And when a big fight comes,--well, look out for squalls.
    This playing at battle is all very grand,
    But _I_ think twelve-inch metal much fitter for land.
    Wood's the stuff for the sea; that's a point in my _credo._
    That "mount" of yours safe? I don't think a torpedo
    A patch on a Sea-horse, or even a Triton.

_Vulcan._ All right! 'tisn't charged, so there's nothing to frighten.
    Things are not now done in your toasting-fork way.

_Neptune._ Humph! My trident enabled BRITANNIA to sway
    In a style that's admitted on every side;
    Whilst your guns and torpedoes remain to be tried.
    Your ARMSTRONGS and WHITEHEADS may give themselves airs,
    But they don't seem to stop periodical "scares."
    Perhaps you may wish, when it _does_ come to war,
    For the old Man-of-war and the old pig-tailed Tar.
    However, old boy, here's the grog. That's a bottle
    That might have glug-glug'd down my NELSON'S brave throttle;
    It's been in my cellar since Trafalgar.

_Vulcan._                                   Truly?

_Neptune._ Yes. 'Tis a big day,--let us honour it duly;
    A splendid wind-up to the Jubilee _fêtes_.
    Well, manhood and pluck are not matters of date.
    Let us hope, when it really does come to a tussle,
    That brave British spirit and stout British muscle
    May have the same pull as they did in the days
    When "yard-arm to yard-arm" was JACK'S favoured phrase,
    When death-stored torpedoes and Titan-lipped guns
    And steel in huge masses, and fast-flying tons
    Had never been dreamed of. Ah! Vulcan, your reign
    Has played up rare pranks with my briny domain;
    My spirit may sometimes rebel when it dwells on
    The jolly old days of DRAKE, BENBOW, and NELSON.
    However, we're shipmates to-day, so here goes,
    Success to Old England, short shrift to her foes;
    My favourite, spite of all change, I confess her.
    A bumper, my boy! Here's the QUEEN, and God bless her!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SPITHEAD, JULY 23RD, 1887.

FATHER NEPTUNE (_cheerily_). "WHAT--VULCAN, MY HEARTY! WELL, WE'RE
SHIPMATES NOW, SO HERE'S 'THE QUEEN!'--GOD BLESS HER!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

LANE AND GARDEN.

[Illustration]

"Oh, TODGERS'S could do it when it chose! mind that." AUGUSTUS
DRURIOLANUS can "do it," too, when he chooses, mind that, and his
production of _Les Huguenots_ on Monday the 11th was a convincing proof
of this assertion. The _mise-en-scène_ was as perfect as if the Opera
had been a brand new one. The costumes were gorgeous, the scenes
brilliant, and the _jeu de scène_ original and artistic.

Monsieur MAUREL was an ideal _Count de Nevers_, a chevalier _sans peur
et sans reproche_. Miss ENGLE won all hearts as _Marguerite de Valois_.
"_Non 'Engle' sed 'Angel,'_" as the POPE didn't say.

The Page was rather weak, but made up in action and archness--the
archness was not confined to the eyes, but was also strikingly exhibited
in another feature--for whatever might have been lacking vocally; and
then of course there were the two brothers, JEAN and EDOUARD DE RESZKE,
always ready to come to the resky. We stopped till the end, and
congratulated ourselves on having heard the very last of the _Huguenots_
for the first time in our chequered career. We saw Signor FOLI, as
_Marcel_, perform a marriage ceremony between _Valentine_ and _Raoul_,
from which fact we gathered that the _Count de Nevers_ must have been
shot, otherwise _Valentine_ would be a bigamist; and, in fact, the moral
position of the three parties would be an extremely unpleasant one, in
view of their hurried departure from this wicked world, which the
muskets of the soldiers, executing the victims and the dramatist's
design at the same time, compel them to make. The band and choruses were
excellent.

At the Garden, on Tuesday the 12th, the new Opera, _La Vita per lo
Czar_, was produced and placed on the stage by Signor LAGO, as if it had
been brought out at the beginning of the season instead of the finish.
An eccentric Opera. The first Act fresh as the newly-painted scenery:
full of life, colour, and melody. It started well with a chorus which
was unanimously and enthusiastically encored. Mme. ALBANI was never in
better voice. GAYARRÉ and DEVOYOD were excellent. The First Act was an
undeniable success, and everybody was happy.

Then came the Second Act, all chorus, hops, and Poles. No ALBANI, no
GAYARRÉ, no DEVOYOD. Music pretty, but as TOBY in the Essence of
Parliament puts it, "Business done. None." Curtain down: people a bit
scared. Not accustomed to an Act without Principals. Evidently such an
Unprincipal'd Act must be wrong. Act Third revived all hopes. ALBANI the
bride, GAYARRÉ the bridegroom, SCALCHI the best boy, DEVOYOD the best
boy's father, a venerable grey-headed peasant, the very reverse of the
mild old gent in LEECH'S picture who was represented by the 'Bus cad as
"a cussin' and a swearin' like hanythink," inasmuch as he is always
either blessing somebody, uttering patriotic sentiments about the CZAR,
or down on his hands and knees with his nose in the dust saying, or
rather singing, his prayers.

Third Act pleases everybody, raises our hopes, and then in the Fourth
Act we discover, to our amazement, that we are only to see SCALCHI once
again, that we have bidden farewell for ever to ALBANI and GAYARRÉ, and
that the remainder of the Opera is to be carried on right up to the end
by the heavy father, a chorus of Poles,--all acting well, and not a
stick amongst them,--and a transparency representing the Coronation of
the CZAR. And though the absence of ALBANI, SCALCHI, and GAYARRÉ made
everyone's heart grow fonder, though we all missed them, yet we "pitied
the sorrows of the poor old man," admired his acting and singing in a
most difficult situation, and agreed with everybody that this strange
Opera was a decided success. The Second scene of the last Act might be
curtailed with advantage. This is speaking only dramatically; perhaps on
a second hearing we should change our opinion.

However, so ends the Covent Garden Opera Season; it has finished
first,--a good first.

       *       *       *       *       *

The New Silver Coinage will be re-named, until it is re-called, "The
Silber-Goschen."

       *       *       *       *       *

VERB. SAP.

(_To a Wandering Star._)

    "I am willing to throw in my lot with that of my friend HUXLEY, and
    'to fight to the death' against this wicked and cowardly surrender.
    A desperate gamester miscalled a Statesman, has chosen to invoke
    ignorant foreign opinion against the instructed opinion of his own
    countrymen."--_Professor Tyndall's last Letter to the Times._

    TYNDALL, TYNDALL, learned star,
    How we wonder where you are!
    Fizzing up like penny pop,
    Coming down on GLADSTONE flop!

    "Desperate gamester!" TYNDALL mine,
    Such invective is _not_ fine.
    Have _you_ not a card to trump,
    Rattling RANDOLPH on the stump?

    Science in her calm retreat
    Ought that sort of bosh to beat;
    She, whose words should drop like gold,
    Must not ape an angry scold.

    Party scribes who rage for pay,
    When most rabid write that way,
    Politicians of the pot
    Perpetrate that sort of rot.

    Just suppose that W. G.,
    Fancying your remarks too free,
    Dubbed you, in polemic rage,
    "Sciolist miscalled a sage."

    How you _savants_ would cry "Shame!"
    Why should Science only claim
    Right to be exceeding rude,
    Sourly false and coarsely crude?

    "Wicked! Cowardly!" Oh, bless us!
    Hercules in the shirt of Nessus
    Did not rage in wilder fashion
    Than our TYNDALL in a passion.

    Difference exists no doubt;
    Let us calmly fight it out;
    But to call each other names
    Is the vulgarest of games.

    Honestly one view you hold;
    If to differ one makes bold,
    Is it fair, Sir, to infer,
    That he's rascal, traitor, cur?

    Pooh! That's Party's puerile plan.
    Wisdom, Sir, should play the man.
    Drop these tart polemic pennings,
    Leave that sort of stuff to JENNINGS.

       *       *       *       *       *

ROBERT AT THE GILDHALL BALL.

Afore the Jooblee Seesun is quite gone, I wish to rikkord my sediments
with regard to the show at Gildhall. I never, even in my wildest dreams
of rapshur, xpected to see sitch a site as I seed there. I have, in my
long perfeshnal career, seen lots of Kings, and Queens, and Princes, and
setterer, but in them cases, I mite say, in the grand words of the old
song, "Their Royaltys came by twos and twos, hurrah, hurrah!" But on
that okashun, they acshally cum by shoals; and when they was all
assembled they mustard no less than sixty-wun true-born Royalties. Wat a
site for a treu-blew Conservatif! The mere common compny, such as Common
Counselmen, and setterer, was railed off at a respecful distance, but
they stood by the hour a gazin at 'em with rapshur, altho' none of 'em
hadn't no chairs to sit on. How they all seemed to enwy the mortal
happyness of the Committee-men, who, with their long wands, was alloud
to stand inside the sacred inklosure. I didn't see the Royal Quadreel,
tho' I was told as it wasn't anything werry pertickler as to the
dancing, not at all equal to the dancing at the Hopera. The gineral
compny seemed to suffer terribly from the want of cheers. As I passed
under the Gallery I seed one most charming Lady, drest jest like a
Princess, acshally a sitting on the floor from fatigue, and her husband
a watching over her like a garden angel, tho' he was a Feild Marshall!

The world may be surprised to learn that Royalty wants its supper jest
like meer common peeple, so there was sum difficulty about waiting on
'em, as of course they had to sup alone, with only the Lord and Lady
Maress with 'em. But one of the most xperienced gentlemen in all London
offered to do it for nothink if he mite slect his staff.

"I must 'ave ROBERT to wait on me pussunally," says a certain
Illusterious Personidge. "I'm there, your Royal Eyeness," I says, as I
persented the rosewater on my bendid nees.

I had the almost crushing honner of anding ewery dellycassy of the
season and amost ewery kind of the grandest of Shampains to such a
supper party as praps Urope has never before witnessed. I have nothing
to reweal of the many strange things as I herd on that memroble
occashun, becoz we was all sworn to secrecy, as usual, on a Carving
Nife. I breaks through no law when I says that Royalty werry much
enjoyed its supper.

I wundered to myself what the feelinx of Royalty must be when they knows
and sees that all they has to do to give thowsands of most respectable
peeple a feeling of rapshur amost imposserbel to realise, is for 'em to
stand still and let 'em gaze at 'em by the hour! One wood think it might
paul upon 'em after a time, but one would be rong.

With the dipparcher of Royalty the great charm of the nite was gone, the
sun had set and the moon had not risen, to speak pohetically, but the
recklecshun of the Blaze of Royalty that they had been alloud to gaze
on, will last them for long ears and be told to children yet unborn as
the crowning glory of their blessed lives.

ROBERT.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HOPE FOR ALL.

_"Coach" (to Volatile Pupil)._ "ARE YOU AT THEOREM B OR C, MR.
TITTERBY?"

_Mr. T._ "T' TELL Y' TH' TRUTH, SIR, I'M 'AT SEA'--AT SEA,
SIR,--COMPLETELY." [_Chuckles._ (_He turned out an utter failure, was
plucked at College, and had to take to ART-CRITICISM!_)]

       *       *       *       *       *

"MARGARINE."

(_A Middleman's Lament._)

    "For the protection of the public, all consignments of the spurious
    compound that has hitherto, under the title of 'Butterine,' passed
    current in the market for genuine butter, will in future be
    distinctly labelled and known as 'Margarine.'"--_Trade
    Intelligence._

    Ah! tell me not they've changed thy name,
      So long a sweet decoy,
    By which I've made my little game,
      And palmed off thy alloy.
    Of chemicals and horses' fat,
      And things not nice or clean,
    You were composed; but what of that?--
    You looked like butter in the pat.
      Why call you "Margarine"?

    Ah! why the public undeceive?
      They bought thee with a will,
    And in thy virtues so believe
      That they would buy thee still!
    Why have such meddling measures framed
      By legislation mean?
    Alas! thy origin's proclaimed;
    No more with butter art thou named,
      But henceforth "Margarine"!

       *       *       *       *       *

INÆSTHETIC ÆDILES.

Bad luck to the Board of Works in their project of demolishing the
steps, and disfiguring the platform of St. Martin's Church, on the mere
pretence of widening the entrance of the proposed Charing Cross Road.
All my eye and BETTY--namesake, but no relation to the Saint.
Convenience is a mere cloak for their unnecessary Vandalism, a cloak
which St. Martin would never have divided with tasteless beggars.

       *       *       *       *       *

LARKS FOR LEGISLATORS.

    "There would be no departure from the most highly respectable
    precedents in holding open-air sittings of the House of Commons,
    while its advantages in the hot weather, as regards not only
    physical comfort, but mental and moral fitness for the work of the
    senator, are too obvious to need enumeration."

_Daily Paper._

SCENE--_The Grounds of the Crystal Palace. The House of Commons
assembled in the Rosary; Reporters (armed with speaking trumpets) in the
Band Stand and on branches of Trees._

_The Speaker (in his shirt-sleeves)._ Order, order! I must request
Members to abstain from touching the Fireworks till the evening.

_Dr. Tanner._ I rise to a point of order, Sir. What are we to do if it
rains? I see no preparation for rigging up an awning over us, and I must
protest against this cowardly attempt on the part of the Government to
stifle, or perhaps I ought to say drown, discussion, and----

_The Speaker (interposing)._ If the Hon. Member talks of rain before it
comes, I shall have to suspend him--ahem!--from the nearest tree.
(_Laughter._) The first Order of the Day is the Adjourned Discussion on
the London Local Government Bill.

_Sir W. Harcourt._ Before the discussion begins I should like to ask
your opinion, Sir, whether it is in order for the First Lord of the
Treasury to go off to the tobogganing slide instead of stopping to
answer questions? ("_Hear! hear!_")

_The Speaker._ The question is one of some difficulty. I have carefully
examined the precedents, but there is no mention of tobogganing in the
records of this House. I must therefore leave the matter to the good
sense and powers of self-restraint of Hon. and Right Hon. Members.
(_Cheers._)

_The Attorney-General (resuming the Debate on the London Government
Bill)._ A very much better idea of the different municipal districts
into which the Metropolis will be mapped out can be obtained by
ascending the great Water-Towers, and I therefore propose an adjournment
of half an hour for that purpose.

[_The Motion is agreed to without a Division. On the expiration of the
time an Hon. Member, who is indistinctly heard by the Reporters, is
understood to propose that the selling of lemonade at sixpence a glass,
without ice, to Members of Parliament constitutes a breach of the
Privileges of the House, but is ruled out of order._

_The Speaker._ I call on the ATTORNEY-GENERAL to resume his speech.

[_Ineffectual search, made all about the Rosary for the_
ATTORNEY-GENERAL.

_An Irish Member._ Try the Switch-Back Railway.

[_Laughter, and cries of "There isn't one!"_

Another Member thought that very probably the learned Gentleman had
looked in behind the scenes at the Open-air Ballet.

[_More Laughter._

The Member for the Tower Hamlets (resuming the discussion) proceeded to
dilate on the necessity of more communications being established between
the North and South banks of the River, in any scheme for Municipal
Reform, and alluding to the Tower Bridge erected in the grounds,
remarked that of course Members knew that in half-an-hour the time would
have arrived for it to be illuminated, and for the "Fire-Portraits of
Mr. PARNELL and all his followers" to be lighted (_general cheering_),
and he therefore moved, as a matter of urgent public importance, that
the House do now adjourn, especially as he had felt a few drops of rain,
and had forgotten to bring his umbrella.

_The Speaker._ Those who are in favour of adjournment say "Aye." (_No
response._) Those who are against it----why, bless me, there's nobody
left! Even the Sergeant-at-Arms has gone off to see the ballet! How
Unparliamentary! Surely those figures coming down the toboggan-slide
can't be Mr. GLADSTONE and Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT, racing Mr. SMITH and
the HOME SECRETARY? Why, I believe it is so. How exciting it looks!
Well, this adjourning at nine o'clock is much nicer, after all, than the
old late hours. Al fresco sittings rather a success. Feel rather
all-frisky myself. Think I'll go off and try a toboggan. [_Left
sliding._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: MR. PUNCH'S PARLIAMENTARY NAVAL REVIEW.

(_Fac-simile of Sketch made by Our Special Artist on the spot._)]

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM

THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, July 11._--Another Child of Victory up to-day
in person of BALLANTINE, who won Coventry for the Liberals. "We shall
have quite a family soon," said GLADSTONE, who sat on Front Bench,
arrayed in wonderful summer suit. "Blessings in disguise," GRANDOLPH
calls the new recruits to Opposition forces. But it comes to same thing.

Old Morality created sensation by openly avowing himself a Separatist.
Is firm with respect to Union with Wales and Ireland, but weak on
Scotland. Confession made in connection with promised Boundary Bill.
PULESTON asked whether Wales was to be included in measure.

"I have not been able," said RITCHIE, with fine sarcasm, "to separate
Wales from England in my own mind."

"Is Scotland in the Bill?" asked ANDERSON.

"No," said Old Morality.

"Then," said TIM HEALY, "you separate Scotland in your own mind?" This
was awkward; but the truth must be told, and Old Morality told it.

"I separate Scotland in my own mind," he said, in a voice low but firm.

Profound sensation on Ministerial Benches. Things looking bad for
Ministry lately, what with Spalding, North Paddington, Coventry, and
Miss CASS. But now, Leader of House having avowed himself a Separatist,
outlook black indeed.

Elated with having brought out this damaging fact, TIM HEALY went on
rampage for rest of sitting. ARTHUR BALFOUR moved Second Reading of
Irish Land Bill. CHAMBERLAIN, breaking long silence, delivered speech in
support of measure. TIM kept up running commentary, growling, laughing
spasmodically, and interjecting remarks. CHAMBERLAIN an ugly customer to
tackle when at bay. Gave TIM as much as he brought. Wrangling getting a
little high, when SPEAKER interposed, threatened to name TIM.

"Name away!" TIM sang out, cheerily; but knowing from experience that
SPEAKER not to be trifled with, presently subsided.

On the whole a small House, and only whilst CHAMBERLAIN speaking any
evidence of interest in proceedings. Next to the unexpected disclosure
of Old Morality's falling away, most startling event of the evening was
announcement by FERGUSON that WOLFF'S pic-nic had already cost the
country £27,000.

"£27,000!" exclaimed CODDINGTON, making his maiden speech, and that
_sotto voce_. "I'll undertake to say that if it had been proposed to him
at first, WOLFF would have taken the odd seven thousand and closed the
bargain, leaving the tax-payer a clear gain of £20,000." And the Member
for Blackburn softly whistled, and feebly rattled the loose change in
his pocket.

_Business done._--Irish Land Bill introduced.

_Tuesday._--WOLFF at door of both Houses. In fact he's there every night
now. Peers and Commons are Unionists in desire to know when the pic-nic
will be over, or, as BRYCE put it to-night amid cheers, "When will
finally and positively terminate the unparalleled and undignified
position in which the country is placed?" In Lords the Markiss disowned
a capital retort the reporters invented for him. On Monday, ROSEBERY
understood to ask whether WOLFF was supposed to be in a state of
suspended animation what time the SULTAN made up his mind. The Markiss
reported to have replied that WOLFF was "rather in a state of animated
expectancy." Capital capping of a joke, only it appears Markiss isn't
personally responsible for it.

[Illustration: "£27,000!"]

"It would," he said, with a wink at GRANVILLE, "be disrespectful to use
language like that with respect to Her Majesty's Ambassador."

HERSCHEL says, Markiss is only mad because he didn't think of it at the
time, and is jealous of the more nimble fancy of the reporters. In the
Commons, BRYCE announces that he will continue nightly to inquire about
WOLFF till he gets satisfactory answers.

A hot dull night and the Irish Land Bill again. JOHN DILLON had the best
of it, delivering a lively speech to full audience. After this, Members
began to go to dinner, and forgot to return. A full muster on both Front
Benches. GLADSTONE again in summer costume, with a rose in his coat and
a gleam in his eye. Has grown ten years younger in the last fortnight.
Spalding wiped off five years, North Paddington two, and Coventry the
rest.

"A few more triumphs at the poll," says JOHN MORLEY, "and he'll be
younger than any of us."

After dinner, GORST made a speech on behalf of Bill. Shrewd, pointed,
and weighty with argument. "Another proof of fatuity of Government,"
said PARNELL, who has come back in a brown billycock hat, "that they
don't make more use of GORST. Worth a bushelful of GEORGY HAMILTONS,
GIBSONS, MATTHEWSES, or even SMITHS."

[Illustration: H(ere) C(omes) E(verybody) Ch-ld-rs.]

When spirits of House properly attuned, H. C. E. CHILDERS appeared on
the scene, and delivered prodigious speech, through which the few
Members present gently dozed.

_Business done._--Irish Land Bill.

_Thursday._--Cheerful presence of ASHBOURNE diffused over Ministerial
Bench in Lords to-night. Not often here. Has given up to Dublin what was
meant for mankind. Always unfeignedly delighted to get back to
Westminster. Business to-night to move the Second Reading of Coercion
Bill. Considerable gathering of Peers, expecting debate, and possible
division. Amazed to find Front Opposition Bench almost empty. GRANVILLE
rises to explain that it is useless to fight measure, and therefore
don't intend to raise debate. ARGYLL furious. Had meant to smash
Opposition, and they had run away! SELBORNE sleekly sarcastic. Admitted
he, too, had speech ready, but would wait for audience on Front Bench
opposite. General feeling of disappointment. Several Peers who had come
down, expecting lively entertainment, wanted their money returned at the
doors. Markiss referred them to GRANVILLE, but GRANVILLE had already
smiled his way out. Bill read Second Time, and sitting comically
collapsed.

Commons crowded. GRANDOLPH'S name underlined on the bills. Understood he
meant to "go for" the Government. Expectation fully realised. Took the
Land Bill out of BALFOUR'S hands, publicly danced on it, kicked it up
and down floor of House, and finally tore it to shreds.

"I trust," he said, when, at end of hour's exercise of this kind,
nothing was left of the Bill but its title, "that I have not by these
observations added to the difficulties of the situation."

"Not at all, not at all," said Old Morality, polite to the last.

After GRANDOLPH'S finished performance, HARCOURT a little heavy. Humour
rose to highest level when he alluded to JESSE COLLINGS as "the Member
for Three Acres and a Cow." HENRY JAMES deeply offended at levity of
HARCOURT'S tone. This last hit too much for him. Rose and quitted House
amid hilarious cheers from Parnellites.

[Illustration: "That's the worst of these fellows."]

"That's the worst of these fellows," said Mr. LEAHY, looking on
reflectively from the Bar. "Now they've begun to associate with
gentlemen, our company's not good enough for them."

More speeches, including one from PARNELL and another from GLADSTONE.
But GRANDOLPH'S speech worth more than a division; so Second Reading of
Land Bill passed without challenging one. _Business done._--Lords read
Coercion Bill Second Time, Commons the Land Bill.

_House of Lords, Friday._--Glad it's all over, and nobody shot. At one
time homicide seemed imminent. GRANVILLE, taking note of complaint of
absence of Opposition on previous night, skilfully touched a chord of
human nature. Explained that he had been present till eight o'clock, an
hour which suggested dinner. More than one mouth watered, and a sob of
sympathy was heard from Bench where new Peer, formerly known as
SCLATER-BOOTH, sat. NORTHBROOK, however, obdurate. Introduced statement,
which drew from GRANVILLE quiet remark, "That is not true." NORTHBROOK
hotly resumed his seat, as he said, to give GRANVILLE opportunity for
explanation. Here was a pretty go! LORD CHANCELLOR, with great presence
of mind, adroitly, and apparently accidentally, covered Sword of State
under heap of papers. Who could say what might happen if a bloodthirsty
eye rested on this fortuitous means of attack? GRANVILLE, cool and
self-possessed, repeated his abrupter ejaculations in more delicate,
round-about fashion.

"I certainly," he observed, defiantly eyeing NORTHBROOK, "said, as far
as my knowledge goes, the statement is inaccurate."

A moment's breathless silence. The offence was repeated, with the added
insult of mocking phrase. Would NORTHBROOK ask GRANVILLE to "come
outside," or would he swallow the affront? NORTHBROOK looked a moment at
the veteran Leader, noted his resolute look, his straightened figure,
and the forefinger of his right hand dallying with a corner of a paper
containing the Orders of the day, as if he were playing with
pistol-trigger. On the whole, he thought he'd change the subject; which
he did, to the relief of the excited ring of spectators. _Business
done._--Lords passed two stages of Coercion Bill right off. Commons in
Supply.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SIR WILLIAM'S SKETCH OF THE GIPSIES ON THE TREASURY
BENCH, JULY 14.

"Gipsies, said the play, disfigured the children they stole in order
that they might pass them for their own. (_Laughter._) The gipsies on
the Treasury Bench (_renewed laughter_) stole the Bankruptcy Clauses of
the Right Hon. Member for West Birmingham, and disfigured them in order
that they might pass them for their own. (_Cheers and laughter._)"]

       *       *       *       *       *

New Novel, dedicated to Dr. JACKSON of New York: _The Coming Man; or,
The Lost Hair of the Ages_. By BALDER DASH.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. RAM says, of all uniforms she prefers that of the Horrible
Artillery Company.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration] NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions,
whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description,
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