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Punch, or the London Charivari

Volume 105, December 16, 1893.

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_

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SEASONABLE SONNET.

(_By a Vegetarian._)

  Yes, Christmas overtakes us yet once more.
    The Cattle Show has vanished in the mists
    Of time and Islington, but re-exists
  In piecemeal splendour at the store.
  Here, nightly, big boys blue are to the fore
    With knives and choppers in their greasy fists;
    And now, methinks, the wight who never lists
  Yet hears the brass band on the proud first floor.
  High over all rings "What d'ye buy, buy, buy?"
    The meat is decked with gay rosette and bow,
    While gas-jets beckon all the world and wife.
  A cheerful scene? A ghastly one, say I,
    Where mutilated corpses hang arow,
    And in the midst of death we are in life.

       *       *       *       *       *

AS THEY LIKED IT.--We read of the recent success at Palmer's Theatre,
New York, of _As You Like It_, with all the parts played by women.
Of course, everybody knows that this was a complete reversal of the
practice of the stage in SHAKSPEARE'S own day, when the buskin was
on the other leg, so to speak; but we are not told if the passage
"Doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat" was
transposed to "Petticoat ought to show itself courageous to doublet
and hose."

       *       *       *       *       *

THIS SETTLED IT.--"He may be irritable," observed Mrs. R., "but
remember the old saying that 'Irritation is the sincerest form of
flattery.'"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ALL IN THE DAY'S WORK.

_Critic._ "HOW'S THE _BOOK_ GOING, OLD MAN?"

_Author._ "OH--ALL RIGHT, I FANCY. THE PRESS HAS NOTICED IT ALREADY.
YESTERDAY'S _ROSELEAVES_ HAILS ME AS THE COMING _THACKERAY_!"

_Critic._ "AH, _I_ WROTE THAT!"

_Author._ "DID YOU REALLY? HOW CAN I THANK YOU? ON THE OTHER HAND,
THIS WEEK'S _KNACKER_ SAYS THAT I'VE BEEN FORTUNATELY ARRESTED BY
MADNESS ON THE ROAD TO IDIOTCY!"

_Critic._ "AH, I WROTE THAT TOO!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A PLEA FOR PLEADINGS.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Last week I begged for a chance for the Briefless,
and the only reply has been, that by a few strokes of the pen the
Judges have ruined and undone the Junior Bar. On a day which will be
known henceforth in the Temple as Bad Friday, we read the new Rules,
by which in future it will be possible to have an action--_without
pleadings!_ Statement of Claim, Defence, Reply, Rejoinder--all
disappear into a beggarly "Summons for Directions," that can be drawn
by a solicitor's office-boy. Of course, amongst the silks, the change
will, no doubt, be popular. These learned gentlemen can with a light
heart and a heavy pocket welcome the change, which will get rid of the
pleadings which it is merely a nuisance to read. But what is to become
of us whose business it is to draw them?

It may possibly be said that this new arrangement will save the
pockets of the clients, but what have the Judges to do with that? Does
anyone imagine litigation to be anything more than a pastime, at which
those who play ought to be content to pay? In a hard winter, when the
wolf is consistently at our door, to take the bread out of our mouths
in this way, is a proceeding which (_pace_ Mr. GLADSTONE) takes the
cake. I am sure Mr. GOSCHEN will welcome such an expression. In any
case I appeal, Sir, through you, from the Judges to an enlightened
paying public.

    Yours faithfully,
        L. ERNED COUNSEL.

  102, _Temple Gardens, E.C.,_
           _Dec. 6._

       *       *       *       *       *

CAUSE AND EFFECT.--A razor and a _tabula rasa_.

       *       *       *       *       *

JOHN TYNDALL.

  BORN AUG. 21, 1820.
  DIED DEC. 4, 1893.

  HONEST JOHN TYNDALL, then, has played his part!
  Scientist brain, and patriotic heart
  Both still in the last sleep, that sadly came,
  Without reproach to love, or loss to fame.
  Rest, Son of Science, certain of your meed!
  Of bitter moan for you there is small need;
  But England bows in silent sympathy
  With her whose love, chance-wounded, all may see
  Steadfast in suffering undeserved as sore.
  _Punch_ speaks for all true hearts the kingdom o'er
  When mingling tribute to JOHN TYNDALL'S life
  With hushed compassion for his bowed but blameless wife

       *       *       *       *       *

A FEMININE TRIUMPH.--SHEE, Q.C., appointed Judge of the Court of
Record at Salford. Naturally SHEE likes being courted. Pity it wasn't
in Wales, as then they would Welshly-and-grammatically speak of
"appearing before SHEE" as "appearing before _Her_." This is clearly
an example of the "_SHEE who must be obeyed_."

       *       *       *       *       *

Murch Praised!

    ["Mr. JEROME MURCH, seven times Mayor of Bath, &c., and for
    thirty years chairman of, &c., has just published a volume,
    entitled _Bath Celebrities_."]

  _Go to Bath, viâ_ book upon lap;--
    No Bath bungler is here, but a rare man.
  You are certain to like this Bath chap;
    And there never was such a Bath chairman.

       *       *       *       *       *

UNIVERSITY INTELLIGENCE.--The Oxford undergraduate who was caught
red-(paint)-handed, and sent down for a year, forgot, no doubt, that
_he_ had to be well read, not the town; but a year in the country will
no doubt make him as fresh as the paint itself. Curiously enough, very
popular still in his College, which shows no inclination to cut the
painter!

       *       *       *       *       *

"SOMETHING LIKE A HUNTING RUN."--In the _Pall Mall_ last Thursday
was the account of a grand run with "the Barlow Hounds." Of course
_Sandford_ and _Merton_ were on ponies, and out with "their
beloved tutor's" pack. Mr. BARLOW, of course, is both "Master" and
"Whipper-in."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE TOPER'S TOAST.--"_Pot_-luck!"

       *       *       *       *       *

TRIP-LETS.

    [Miss YOUNG writes from North Merton Vicarage to say that her
    turkeys have taken to step-dancing. "First two young 'toms'
    bowed politely to one another, then passed on with stately
    tread, skipped into the air twice in the most ludicrous
    manner, turned, and repeated the performance."--_See Daily
    Graphic, December 7._]

  The lion, fleas, and kangaroo,
  Baboon, and shaving baby too,
  Have all had shows--here's something new!

  Terpsichore and _Turveydrop_
  Have taught the turkeycock to hop,
  To bow politely, skip and flop.

  Like Cheshire cat, I would have grinned,
  To see the fowl of Western Ind
  Disport itself like LETTY LIND!

  Enough of barn-and serpent-dance!
  We'll give the poultry-yard a chance--
  With _pas de deux_-"_toms_" let us prance!

       *       *       *       *       *

CHARITY'S CRUX.--Charity begins at home, we are told. Perhaps. But at
present, confused by rival claims and conflicting counsels, Charity
seems to be "all abroad."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: CHANGE OF PARTNERS. PRESIDENT CLEVELAND ASKS FOR "JUST
ONE TURN" WITH MISS FREE TRADE.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "NEXT HER HEART!"

_Young Muddleigh, who has been out buying underwear for his personal
use, purchases at the same establishment some flowers for his
ladyelove--leaving a Note to be enclosed. Imagine Young Muddleigh's
horror, on returning to dress, to discover that the underwear had
been sent with the Note, and the Flowers to him! Muddleigh discovered,
repeating slowly to himself the contents of the Note_:--"PLEASE WEAR
THESE THIS EVENING, FOR MY SAKE!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A CHANGE OF PARTNERS.

    ["The world should be open to our national ingenuity and
    enterprise. This cannot be while Federal legislation,
    through the imposition of a high tariff, forbids to American
    manufacturers as cheap materials as those used by their
    competitors.... A measure has been prepared ... embodying
    tariff reform on the lines herein suggested."--_President
    Cleveland's Message to Congress_.]

GROVER CLEVELAND _sings_:--

(AIR--"_Are you coming to the dancing?_")

  Oh! there's only one girl in the world for whom I care a dime,
  And I mean to be her partner--if you'll only give me time.
  It is nice to see her smiling and a-calling from way over,
  "Are you coming to the dancing, Mister GROVER, GROVER, GROVER?"

              _Chorus_--Are you coming, are you coming,
  Are you coming to the dancing, Mr. GROVER, GROVER, GROVER?
  And I say, I guess I'm coming, Miss Free Trade, dear--as your lover!

  "Come, GROVER, come!" my love will say; "just one turn in the dance,
  And _we_'ll show all competitors they have but little chance.
  That's why I love you GROVER, 'cause you're limber in your feet
  And defy the other fellows, to compete, pete, pete!"

                  _Chorus_--Are you coming, &c.

  Miss Protection, my old partner's a bit _passée, entre nous_,
  Yet I mustn't all forsake her; she's exacting and a shrew;
  And to leave her quite a "Wallflower," and entirely in the shade,
  Would mean ructions; yet I _must_ try just one turn with dear Free Trade!

                  _Chorus_--Are you coming, &c.

  So I'll kiss her little finger, and invite her to the waltz;
  Though the other turns her nose up (temper's one of her worst faults).
  But I say, "I cannot help it, dear; you're danced quite off your feet,
  And a rest will do you good, dear, I repeat, peat, peat!"

                  _Chorus_--Are you coming, &c.

  "The ball-room should be open to a dancer's enterprise.
  I _must_ try a change of partners; your high-tariff step so tries.
  It's so stiff, and so exhausting, and a little Freedom's sweet;
  Whilst _I_ take one turn with Free Trade. _You_ can take a seat, seat, seat!"

                  _Chorus_--Are you coming, &c.

  "Oh! she's been and asked her mother, and her mother's said she might.
  So sit down and don't show tantrums, for they make you look a fright."
  _May_ I ask you for just one turn, Free Trade, before this dance is over?
  And she answers "With much pleasure, Mister GROVER, GROVER, GROVER!"

                  _Chorus_--Are you coming, are you coming,
  Are you coming for one turn, my dear, before this dance is over?
  And she smiles--and I'm her partner--and hope soon to be her lover!

       *       *       *       *       *

"VARIETY! VA-RI-E-TY!"

"The Kilanyi Troupe" at the Palace Theatre of Varieties, with their
strikingly realistic _Tableaux Vivants_, might well change their name
_pro tem._ to "The Kill-any-other Troupe" that might be venturing in
the same line. Of course, they are a great attraction, and would be
still greater, were the Show varied from night to night, altogether
omitting No. 6 in the present programme, and, in view of the
popularity of "A tale of the tide," the humour of which is perceptible
to everyone on account of the waggery in the tail, by substituting two
or three comic for the simply classic _poses_. Mr. CHARLES MORTON,
trading on his acquired store of operatic knowledge, might give us a
statuette of _Les Deux Gendarmes_, who could just vary their attitudes
according to the movement of OFFENBACH'S celebrated duett. After a
short interval of patriotic song about NELSON and "doing duty" there
is a capital French clown, or clown of some nationality, whose fun is
genuine, and whose imitations, animal and orchestral, are excellent
and really amusing. This is a case in which, if a real bassoon or a
real hen intruded itself, either would be hissed, and the false
honestly preferred to the real. Altogether, except that the ballet
which plays the people out, and does play them out effectually, is
old-fashioned, it is an excellent evening's entertainment. The County
Council ought to come in their thousands, and, like the little dog who
was so pleased to see the cow jumping over the moon, they would "laugh
to see such sport."

       *       *       *       *       *

UNDER THE ROSE.

(_A Story in Scenes._)

SCENE XIX.--_The Drawing-room._ Mrs. TOOVEY _is still regarding_ Mr.
JANNAWAY, _after the manner of an elderly bird in the presence of a
young and somewhat inexperienced serpent_.

_Mr. Toovey_ (_coming to the rescue_). Excuse me, young Sir, but
I don't think you quite realise who that lady _is_. (_With mild
self-assertion._) She is my wife, Sir, my Wife! And she is not
_accustomed_ to being hunted all over Upper Tooting, or anywhere else!

_Mr. Jannaway_ (_to himself_). I've got this dear lady on toast. _I_
can see! But I mustn't do anything ungentlemanly or I may get the sack
if the governor gets to hear of it. (_Aloud._) If I'm mistaken I'm
ready to apologise; but the lady bears such a really remarkable
likeness to a Mrs. TOMKINSON JONES, residing (so she gave me to
understand) at The Laburnums, Upper Tooting, that----

_Mrs. Toovey_ (_finding her voice_). I do _not_ reside at Upper
Tooting!

_Mr. Jann._ (_in silky tones_). Precisely _so_, Madam. No more does
Mrs.--hem--TOMKINSON JONES!

_Charles._ And is _that_ the only point of resemblance between your
friend Mrs. JONES and my Aunt, eh?

_Mr. Jann._ That's a matter of opinion, Sir. I've my own. But neither
the lady nor yet myself are particularly likely to forget our meeting.
It was only last Saturday evening, too!

_Mr. Toov._ Why, then you must have met Mrs. TOOVEY at the Zenana
Mission Conference?

_Mr. Jann._ Well that isn't the name _I_ know it by; but if the lady
prefers it, why----

_Mrs. Toov._ (_hoarsely_). I--I deny having ever met the young man
before, anywhere; that is, I--I don't remember doing so. Take him
away!

_Mr. Jann._ I should be most averse, of course, to contradicting a
lady, and I can only conclude that she is so much in the 'abit of
fetching unoffending strangers what I may venture to term, if
you'll permit the vulgarity, a slap in the jaw, that such a trifling
circumstance makes no impression on her. It did on _me_!

_Mr. Toov._ (_outraged_). Young man! are you endeavouring to suggest
that my wife goes about--er--administering "slaps in the jaw" to
perfect strangers at Zenana meetings?

_Mr. Jann._ Pardon me, I said nothing whatever about any--er--Pyjama
meetings. I don't know what may go on _there_, I'm sure. The incident
_I_ alluded to occurred at the Eldorado music-hall.

_Mrs. Toov._ (_to herself_). There; it's out at last! What _have_ I
done to deserve this?

_Charles_ (_to himself_). The Eldorado! Why, THEA _said_----What _can_
Aunt have been up to? She's got herself into the very deuce of a hole!

    [CURPHEW _and_ ALTHEA _exchange significant glances_.

_Mr. Toov._ At the Eldorado? Now, do you know that's very
singular--that really is very singular indeed! You're the _second_
person who fancied Mrs. TOOVEY was there last Saturday evening! So
that you see there _must_ have been a lady there most extraordinarily
like my wife!

_Mrs. Toov._ (_to herself_). Dear, good, simple Pa; _he_ believes in
me! After all, I've only to deny everything; he can't _prove_ I was
there! (_Aloud._) Yes, Sir, and on a mere resemblance like that you
have the audacity to bring these shameful charges against me--_me_!
All you have succeeded in establishing is that you were in the
music-hall yourself, and I doubt whether your employer would approve
of a clerk of his spending his time in such places, if it came to his
ears!

_Mr. Jann._ It's very kind of you to concern yourself on my account,
Madam; but there's no occasion. It was Mr. LARKINS himself gave me the
ticket; so I'm not at all uneasy.

[Illustration: "Why, Cornelia, my love, so you've _found_ your
spectacles!"]

_Mr. Toov._ Why, dear me, that must have been the ticket Mr.
CURPHEW--I should say, Mr. WALTER WILDFIRE--sent me. I remember I left
it with Mr. LARKINS in case he could find a use for it. So you were in
_my_ box; quite a coincidence, really!

_Mr. Jann._ As you say, Sir, and not the only one neither, seeing
that----

_Mrs. Toov._ Pa, isn't it time this young man finished the business
he came about, and went away? I am not accustomed to seeing my
drawing-room made use of as an office!

_Mr. Toov._ (_snatching up the transfer_). By all means, my love.
(_To_ Mr. J.) Er, I really think we should be more comfortable in the
study. There--there's a bigger inkstand.

    [_He leads the way to the door._

_Mr. Jann._ (_following_). As _you_ please, Sir. (_Turning at the
door._) I must say I think I've been most cruelly misunderstood. If
I've been anxious for the pleasure of meeting Mrs. TOMKINSON JONES
again, any revengeful motives or lowness of that description was far
from my thoughts, my sole object being to restore a piece of property
which the lady, whoever she may have been, left behind her, and which,
as I 'appen to have brought it with me, would, if recognised, settle
any question of identity on the spot. But that can wait for the
present. Business first, pleasure afterwards!

    [_He goes out. A silence. Presently a succession of violent
    sniffs proceed from behind "The Quiver." All rise in concern._

_Charles._ I say, Aunt, you're not going to give way _now_, are you?
That fellow hasn't frightened you?

_Alth._ (_kneeling down and embracing_ Mrs. T.). Dearest mamma,
_don't_ you think you'd better tell us all about it? It was _you_ who
slapped that horrid little man's face--now, _wasn't_ it? And serve him
right!

_Mrs. T._ (_in a burst_). I took him for your father! Oh, what have I
_said_? I never meant to admit anything! And what must you all think
of me?

_Curph._ No one who has had the benefit of your opinions of
music-halls or their entertainers, can possibly imagine you went to
one with any idea of _amusing_ yourself, Mrs. TOOVEY.

_Mrs. Toov._ (_without heeding him_). And Pa, what will _he_ say? When
I think of all the wicked stories I've had to tell that poor dear man!
And after he once finds them out, there's an end of all his
respect for me, all my influence over him, all my power in this
house--_everything_! Why, for anything _I_ can tell, Pa may actually
believe I went to that detestable place on what (_to_ CURPHEW) I
suppose your friends would call the--the (_utterly breaking down_)
Tee-hiddle-dy-hi!

_Charles_ (_after a highly suspicious fit of choking_). Don't think
there's any danger of that, Aunt; but look here, how if I went into
the study and kicked that little cad out, eh?

_Mrs. Toov._ And have the whole affair in the police reports! _You_'re
a pretty solicitor, CHARLES! But Pa _knows_ by now, and oh, what in
the _world_ am I to do?

_Charles._ Well, my dear Aunt, it sounds an immoral suggestion, but,
as you seem to have given Uncle a--hem--slightly picturesque version
of your doings last Saturday, hadn't you better _stick_ to it?

_Mrs. Toov._ What's the use? Didn't you hear that wretch say he'd
found something in the box? It's my spectacles, CHARLES; a pair in
a Rob Roy tartan case, which Pa gave me himself, and couldn't _help_
recognising! I remember now, I left them there, and----(_The door
opens._) They're coming back!

_Mr. Toov._ (_entering_). That's really a very honest young fellow, my
love, nothing will satisfy him but bringing in the article he's found,
and seeing whether it belongs to you or not.

_Mrs. Toov._ (_breathlessly_). And have _you_ seen it, Pa--have you
_seen_ it?

_Mr. Toov._ Not yet, dear love, not yet. He's getting it out of his
great coat in the hall.

_Curph._ (_starting up from behind_ ALTHEA). I think, if you will
allow me, _I_'ll go and speak to him first. It strikes me that I may
know the lady who was in that box, and I'm naturally anxious to avoid
any----

    [_He goes out._

END OF SCENE XIX.


SCENE XX.--_A few minutes later._

_Mrs. Toov._ (_to herself, in a fever_). Why doesn't he come back?
What are those two plotting together? Oh, if Mr. WILDFIRE imagines he
will get a hold over me, so as to obtain my consent to---- I'd sooner
tell Pa everything! (_To_ CURPHEW, _who reenters, smiling_.) W--where
is--the other?

_Curph._ The other? Oh, _he_'s gone. I made myself known to him; and
you would have been surprised, my dear Mrs. TOOVEY, at the immense
effect my professional name had upon him. When he realised I was
WALTER WILDFIRE he was willing to do anything for me, and so I easily
got him to entrust his find to me.

_Mr. Toov._ (_inquisitively_). And what is it--a fan, or a glove?
There would be no harm in showing it to _us_, eh?

_Curph._ Well, really, it's so very unlikely to compromise anybody
that I almost think I _might_. Yes, there can't be any objection.

    [_He takes something out of his pocket, and presents it to_
    Mr. T.

_Mr. Toov._ (_mystified_). Why, it's only a hairpin! What a
scrupulously honest young man that is, to be sure!

_Mrs. Toov._ (_relieved_). Only a hairpin? (_Then, uneasily, to_
CURPH., _in an undertone_.) Where is--you know what? Have you kept it
to use for your own advantage?

_Curph._ (_in the same tone_). I am a very bad man, I know; but I
don't blackmail. You will find it behind the card-basket in the hall.

    [Mrs. T. _goes out_; ALTH. _draws_ CURPH. _aside_.

_Alth._ CLARENCE, I--I _must_ know; how did you come to have a--a
hairpin? where did it come _from_? (_As he softly touches the back of
her head._) Oh! it was _mine_, then? _What_ a goose I am?

_Mr. Toov._ (_as_ Mrs. T. _returns_). Why, CORNELIA, my love, so
you've _found_ your spectacles! Now where did you leave them _this_
time, my dear, eh?

_Mrs. Toov._ Where I shall not leave them _again_ in a hurry,
THEOPHILUS!

_Mr. Toov._ Don't you be too sure of that, my love. By the way, Mr.
CURPHEW, that lady of your acquaintance--_you_ know, the one who
made all this disturbance at the Eldorado--is she at all _like_ Mrs.
TOOVEY, now?

_Curph._ (_after reflection_). Well, really, there _is_ a
resemblance--at a distance!

_Mr. Toov._ (_peevishly_). Then it's annoying--very annoying; because
it might compromise my poor dear wife, you know. I--I wish you could
give her a quiet hint to--to avoid such places in future!

_Curph._ Do you know, Sir, I really think it will be _quite_
unnecessary.

    [PH[OE]BE _enters to announce dinner_.

_Mr. Toov._ Dinner, eh? Yes, yes, dinner, to be sure. Mr. CURPHEW,
will you take in my dau----(_correcting himself_)--oh, but, dear me, I
was quite forgetting that--h'm!----

_Curph._ ----that Mrs. TOOVEY has been expressing an ardent impatience
to close your doors on me for ever?

_Mrs. Toov._ (_not over graciously_). That was before---- I mean
that--considering the manner in which we all of us seem to have been
more or less mixed up with the music-hall of late--we can't afford to
be too particular. If Mr. WILDFIRE chooses to stay, he will find as
warm a welcome as--(_with a gulp_)--he can _expect_!

_Curph._ Many thanks, but I'm sure you see that I can't stay here on
sufferance. If I do stay it must be as----

_Mrs. T._ As one of the family! (_She chokes._) That--that's
understood, of course. (_To herself._) They know too much!

_Mr. T._ (_to_ Mrs. T., _chirpily, as the others precede them in
to dinner_). Do you know, my love, I'd no more idea you would ever
have---- Well, well, it might have been worse, I daresay. But we must
never let it get out about the _music-hall_, eh?

_Mrs. T._ Well, Pa, _I_'m not very likely to allude to it!

THE END.

       *       *       *       *       *

"CRYSTAL-GAZING."--The Crystal Palace Company should adapt some of Mr.
ANDREW LANG'S article on "Superstition" in this month's _Fortnightly_.
Far more entertaining is the Sydenham building than any amount of
"Crystal-gazing," and the directors have only to say (we make them
a Christmas present of the suggestion), quoting from the article
above-mentioned, "it is an ascertained fact that a certain proportion
of men and women, educated, healthy," &c., &c., can obtain curious
information, combined with amusement, by looking into the Crystal ...
Palace.

       *       *       *       *       *

EXAMPLE OF "BURNING WORDS."--Lighting the dining-room fire with the
torn pages of an old book.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OUR COSTLY CLIMATE.

"HULLO? OFF OUT OF TOWN SOMEWHERE?"

"OFF TO CAIRO, MY BOY!"

"CAIRO? WHY, ONLY THE OTHER DAY YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE AS POOR AS A
CHURCH MOUSE!"

"THAT'S JUST IT. I'VE SPENT FIVE YEARS' INCOME ON CLOTHING ALREADY
THIS WINTER, AND I'M NOT WARM YET; AND I'VE CALCULATED THAT IT'LL TAKE
SEVEN YEARS' INCOME MORE BEFORE I CAN KEEP THE COLD OUT. SO I'M OFF TO
CAIRO TO STOP AT THE BEST HOTEL--IT'S FAR CHEAPER!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

POISON IN THE PUMP.

    [A medical writer in the _Gentleman's Magazine_ says, "more
    people are killed by drinking water than are killed by
    drinking alcohol."]

  Think of that, teetotal folks, heed not WILFRED LAWSON'S jokes
    And his gay, impromptu poems which he reads when on the stump,
  Here's a doctor says that you will indubitably do
    Quite a foolish thing in swearing by your sweetly sober pump.

  Surely that should give you pause when you advocate your cause,
    With your button-hole adorned with tiny scrap of sky-blue silk;
  There's not half the danger in whisky, brandy, rum, or gin,
    As in typhoid-bearing water or in diphtheritic milk.

  We're not all gin-sodden sots, though we do not empty lots
    Of those enigmatic bottles, which to you are always dear,
  Filled with liquor, washy, sweet, aërated. Such a treat
    Is your execrable lemonade, your beastly ginger-beer!

  Other people do not rave from the cradle to the grave.
    The Frenchman takes his _petit verre_, his _Bordeaux_ or his _bock_;
  The German's limpid beer or his _Rheinwein_ none need fear.
    Even you would not be overcome by claret, say, or hock.

  Then if you are truly wise, you will cease to close your eyes
    To the fact that moderation is convincing, and should be
  In your words, as in our drink. Then we might more kindly think
    Of your thickly, sickly cocoa, and your nerve-exciting tea.

       *       *       *       *       *

"EUREKA! EUREKA!"--His wife had heard the word. Had been told it was
Greek: but what it meant she did not know. One night he came home from
a bachelor smoking-party. "Oh," she exclaimed. "You absolutely reek of
tobacco. _You reeker!_" Then it broke upon her like an ancient light
that she was talking Greek without knowing it!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE FESTIVE SEASON.

_Precocious Infant._ "HELP YOURSELF, AND PASS THE BOTTLE!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE CHAMPION SHAVER;

_Or, A Task against Time_.

  _Largo al factotum!_ Shave all the world, one per minute!
  _Figaro_ beaten, _Poll Sweedlepipe_ plainly not in it!
  WICK of King's Road, Chelsea's champion chin-scraper, out of it!
  ROMOLA'S garrulous razor-man whipped, there's no doubt of it!

  Rustic's rough stubble, or working-man's wiry chin-bristle,
  Mown from his gills in a twinkling, as clean as a whistle.
  Even a bristly Hibernian boar he would gaily
  Tackle, and trim him as smooth as that downy young _Bailey_.

  Grand Old Tonsorial Hand with the soft-soap and lather;
  Knight of the Razor, of hand-sweep redoubtable--rather!
  PAT--or SHAGPAT-HODGE or BLUEBEARD, blue-gill'd British Workman,
  Muscovite hairy, or whiskered, moustache-twisting Turkman:

  Downy-cheeked boy, or big, wire-brushy Don Whiskerando!--
  All one to him! All that sharp steel and soap-lather _can_ do
  Here is a Barber will buckle to, blade-armed, instanter,
  Challenge competitive rivals, and win in a canter.

  Neat NELLY WICK (thirteen men in ten minutes) is rather
  A good 'un to mow, to say naught of her champion father;
  But this Grand Old Shaver would shave,--against time, too, yes,
          trust us!--
  _Elephas Primigenius_ (the Mammoth), or _Brontops Robustus!_

  Truly a Tonsor Titanic to chin-needs to minister!
  Yet are there some who declare his dexterity sinister;
  Say that 'tis not without reason this bland badger-waver.
  And stirrer of soap-suds, is called--well, an Artful Old Shaver.

  Like most of his craft he the Gift of the Gab shares stupendously.
  And takes by the nose and belathers, with soft-soap, tremendously.
  They call him for custom from all sorts and sizes a cadger,
  And swear that he badgers the Mob to submit to his badger.

  Be that as it may--and his rivals do rail at him viciously--
  _If_ you require "a clean shave," rattled off expeditiously,
  Lather that's fragrant and frothy, and steel that slides slickly,
  Sit down in his chair, and he'll polish you off pretty quickly.

  He's had two tough customers lately; a workman stiff-stubbled
  (He looks at his gills in the glass with a glance slightly
          troubled),
  And him the young yokel whose beard's like a big bed of thistles,
  Who flops in the chair and demands to be shorn of his bristles.

  To shave--against time--such a shag-beard as is this young rustic,
  Is hard, and the chance of success seems a bit nubibustic.
  But list! The old Champion Shaver is courteously glosing!
  "Bit bristly, my friend, but I'll leave you clean-mown before
          closing!"

       *       *       *       *       *

HIGHLY PROBABLE.

(_A Conversation Tapped on its way through the Telephone._)

I say, how are you this morning?

Still rather weak. But the weather here is lovely, and I am enjoying
myself immensely. I think I have discovered a new system.

Never mind about the tables. Thought you had gone to Nice.

No, Monte Carlo. It's more healthy, and they say that if you have
success you should clear your expenses easily.

Yes, but I did not want to talk about that. You know there's been more
outrages in Dublin? They have spread from Paris.

Have they? Get some Johnnie on the spot to look after them.

But I told the House that although you were in the South of France,
you were in telegraphic touch with your colleagues.

What did you do that for? My doctor will be awfully angry.

I dare say. But what are you going to do about this dynamite scare?

Leave it to ROSEBERY; he's equal to anything and everybody.

Yes, as a rule; but not just now. He's on leave. Bad cold.

Well, let ASQUITH have a shot. He is a rising young man.

But he's away, too; and so is HARCOURT, SPENCER, RIPON, and the
others. They all say they can do nothing further.

Sorry. Can I help it? Impossible to govern Ireland from Monte Carlo.

Not if you give your mind to it. But, of course, if you will go in for
systems, you haven't much chance.

Well, frankly, I can't manage it. You must get some one else.

Sorry I can't.

Then what will you do?

Why, manage it myself. After all, if I have twice the years of you
fellows I have four times the energy. As I am doing all the other work
of the Ministry, I may as well make a complete job of it. I will do it
myself!

[Illustration: "THE CHAMPION SHAVER!"

MR. G. "YOU'RE A BIT BRISTLY, SIR, BUT I THINK WE SHALL POLISH YOU OFF
BEFORE CLOSING TIME!!"]

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

"The ever-advancing _Woman_," observes one of the Baronesses, "has
quite come forward this Christmas, daintily attired." Wonderful
money-prizes are to be won by the lucky person who guesses the author
of "Bid Me not Go," which is the Christmas story of the enterprising
_Gentlewoman_.

"As for Christmas Cards being Christmassy," quoth a young Baron
brusquely, "why it's all WALKER!" The Baron was about to rebuke the
scion of his noble house, but discovered, on application, that the
youth had been alluding to the Christmas Card publisher of that name,
whose designs are not peculiarly Christmassy, but what the Baroness
terms "so dainty!"

S. HILDESHEIMER & Co.'s clever and amusing Christmas Cards will be
much appreciated by young people.

Three books full of stories, to suit all ages. HUTCHINSON'S House.
_Fifty-two Stories for Children_, _Fifty-two Stories for Girlhood and
Youth_, and _Fifty-two Stories for Boyhood and Youth_. Just a story a
week, will last the year. Collected by ALFRED H. MILES. You won't find
a better if you go for Miles.

_Valdmer, the Viking_, by HUME NISBET, was a wonderful Dane, who,
after invading England in the Tenth Century, took a trip from Thanet
(having invented Ramsgate and Margate) all round America, and thought
nothing of it. Those who read this will probably think something of
it.

_The Hoyden_, written by Mrs. HUNGERFORD, and published by HEINEMANN,
is the story of a rather frivolous nineteenth-century tomboy; "but,"
quoth the Baroness, "though it does not come within measurable
distance of _The O'Connors of Ballinahinch_, it is pleasant light
reading."

_Mr. Gladstone's Life; Told by Himself_, is an alluring title, which,
in spite of the volume being issued by so respectable a house as KEGAN
PAUL'S, savours of a flam. But it is genuine enough. Every word in the
little volume has been spoken or written by Mr. GLADSTONE. Mr. LEECH,
whilst modestly disclaiming any imposition of responsibility upon
the PREMIER, has ingeniously linked passages from speeches or letters
published under his name during the past sixty years. The result is a
really fascinating work. Mr. GLADSTONE has always been prone to drop
into autobiography. Nothing, my Baronite tells me, was more delightful
than the speeches he used to deliver in the House of Commons on
Friday and Tuesday nights. Some chance reference to CANNING, PEEL,
or PALMERSTON brought up a flood of recollections, and Mr. G. used to
chat of old times with the entranced House.

In a pleasant little book called _Essays on Idleness_, the authoress,
AGNES REPPLIER, speaking of her cat, observes, "It were ignoble to
wish myself in her place, and yet how charming to be able to settle
down to a nap, _sans peur et sans reproche_, at ten o'clock in the
morning." Surely instead of "_sans peur_" she should have written
"_sans purr_," as far more applicable to a cat asleep.

"HERE is a work that I prize indeed!" quoth the Baron, surveying with
unmixed pleasure two handsome volumes, readable from every point of
view of type, handiness, and matter that is of substance and spirit,
being a re-issue of the immortal _Autocrat of the Breakfast Table_,
by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. "Mind you," he continues, tenderly regarding
them, "though this I admit is an _édition de luxe_, yet do I far
and away prefer the simple volume without illustrations. Why
illustrations? Why try to impose on us, as by artistic authority, the
faces, forms, and the situations that we would infinitely prefer to
idealise? Without the faculty of imagination no one can enjoy this
work, pictures or no pictures: possessed of the faculty, what need of
the illustrations, save so far as they may carry out our own notions
of the author's meaning? If they do not, then we quarrel with them.
But many thanks for these two volumes, brought out by Messrs. GAY AND
BIRD (delightful association of adjective and substantive, as we have
had afortime occasion to remark); for among all hooks, whether at this
Christmas Season, when they come in quite with a Charles-Lamblike and
Washington-Irvingesque flavour, or at any other time, these be most
welcome to the constant lover of old Literary Friends.

  YULETIDEIAN BARON DE BOOK-WORMS."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A CONDUCTOR OF HEAT.]

       *       *       *       *       *

A GAME OF CHANCE.

(_From an Imaginative French Source._)

War had broken out between France and Great Britain. In the
Mediterranean--owing to several French ironclads having got through
into the Black Sea and being unable to get out again--the French fleet
was shut up in Toulon harbour by a powerful English squadron. It was
just at this time that some curious events were taking place in the
neighbouring seaside resort of Sablettes-les-Bains, recently purchased
by an English company, which was running the place as a kind of
compromise between Boulogne and Monte Carlo.

"_Messieurs, faites vos jeux!_"--was heard the monotonous refrain of
the burly "Croupier," who, with face rather pale, and a
preoccupied air, was presiding over one of the numerous games of
"_Petits-Chevaux_," combined with "_Rouge et Noir_" which were
proceeding in the gorgeously-upholstered and magnificently-lighted
"_Salle des Papas Perdus_" of the "_Cercle des Etrangers_" of this
Paradise of the Middle Sea.

Suddenly the Croupier sprang from his seat, threw off his loose
outer coat, and displayed the well-known uniform of an Officer in
Her Majesty's Royal Shropshire Yeomanry Carabineers. All the other
Croupiers did the same. Astonishment and dismay were depicted on the
countenances of the players.

"Gentlemen," said the Croupier, "I am sorry to say you are all my
prisoners. Resist, and you will be shot without mercy!"

"But I had just staked twenty thousand Louis on the black!" ejaculated
a bewildered Gaul.

"You have lost your stake, Monsieur," replied the Croupier, with
politeness. "It is red, not black;" and, in a moment, all the English
visitors who thronged the rooms had also thrown off _their_ overcoats,
and the hall was filled with red-coats.

"Treachery! _Perfide Alb_----" the Gaul shouted; but ere he could
rise from his seat to give the alarm to the Toulon garrison, as he had
fully intended doing, a hundred swords (made in Birmingham) had passed
simultaneously through his body. Their stakes fell from the trembling
hands of the players.

"Then are we to understand," asked another Frenchman, who had
somewhat recovered from the first shock of surprise, "that the English
Government has suppressed Sablettes-les-Bains because it disapproves
of the game of _Petits-Chevaux_?"

"Not at all," replied the Croupier-Officer. "It is a military
_coup-de-main_, that's all. The English company running this place,
was, of course, in the pay of the British War Office. By a prearranged
system of signals we have been making known everything that is going
on at Toulon to the British Admiral out at sea. You may perhaps have
noticed what an extremely large orchestra took part in last night's
free classical concert; they were English marines disguised as
musicians. And the gardens attached to the Casino, which rival those
of Monte Carlo, what do you think those grassy slopes crowned with
olives and orange-trees are in reality? Why, the artfully-contrived
glacis of the impregnable fortress inside which you are now standing,
and which I have the honour to command!"

Just then the booming of cannon was heard outside.

"It is our guns playing on the defences of Toulon!" exclaimed the
Officer. "Toulon is ours!"

And the treacherous Britons, having cleared the tables of the
five-franc pieces still remaining on them, proceeded, with the aid of
the Germans and Italians, to the dismemberment of France.

       *       *       *       *       *

Nautical Economy.

["It is no use our building ships without the men to man
them."--_Times' Correspondent._]

PROVERB suggested by the above:--"Do not spoil the ship for a pound
of tar."

       *       *       *       *       *

NOVEL PROCEEDING.--New Issue, _Japhet in Search of Something
Farther_. By MARRIOTT.

       *       *       *       *       *

LAW AND JUSTICE _v._ DUTY "DONE."

(_An Imaginary Conversation._)

  SCENE--_Opposite the Griffin_.
  TIME--_The present day_.
  _Enter two well-known personages._

_Justice._ Welcome, Sister. We sometimes are severed, but when we do
meet the right prevails.

_Law._ Certainly, Sister--to a great extent. And what is the cause of
our present communion?

_Justice._ I have to call your attention, Sister, to many great works
of mercy recently performed by wielders of the pen--in fact some of my
servants.

_Law._ Your servants are noted for their good works.

_Justice._ You are very kind. Well, these good servants have defended
the poor, protected the weak, and denounced hypocrites.

_Law._ Very right indeed. But how did they manage it without my
assistance?

_Justice._ You have a short memory. It was with your aid that they
brought these good things about. Surely you have not forgotten them?

_Law._ Well, since I have been combined with Equity I have been doing
so much excellent work that I have neither time nor inclination
for the recording of details. Well, and your _protégés_, were they
successful?

_Justice._ Certainly; they won all along the line. Never was the power
of the Press manifested to better advantage.

_Law._ Surely they were not in actions for libel?

_Justice._ Yes; and although they did much good, were practically
mulcted in costs.

_Law._ Costs! That is in my department!

_Justice._ And not in mine. Costs in such a matter have nothing to do
with Justice!

_Law._ But (as you say) are inseparably connected with Law!

    [_They part hurriedly._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY.]

_She._ "AND YOU'LL HAVE TO MAKE A SPEECH AFTER DINNER, WON'T YOU?"

_He._ "OH--I SHALL JUST HAVE TO TALK A LITTLE NONSENSE TO THEM, YOU
KNOW!"

_She._ "AH--AND NOBODY'S BETTER QUALIFIED TO DO THAT THAN YOURSELF!"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE STOUT SINGER'S SMILE.

  O buxom maiden, blithe and gay,
    With movements light and airy,
  Some five-and-twenty stone you weigh,
    Fair, fat and forty fairy!

  A fairy of the music-halls,
    Some men might call you ripping;
  In tights, and satin coat and smalls,
    You enter, gaily skipping.

  It is not that which brings me joy,
    Nor face, nor form entrances,
  It is your smile, so very coy,
    Your bashful, girlish glances.

  Some twenty years ago, no doubt,
    You were a slender maiden,
  But now, so long you have been "out,"
    With weight of years you're laden.

  So when you sing of love-sick grief,
    And smile so very sweetly,
  I, too, behind my handkerchief,
    Smile quite unseen, discreetly.

  The more you sing the more you smile,
    Stout charmer, winsome, winning,
  Dressed like _Lord Fauntleroy_--meanwhile,
    Like Cheshire Cat I'm grinning.

  Then comes the end; you curtsy low,
    With looks to heaven soaring;
  You are extremely funny so,
    I'm positively roaring.

  They clap, they shout, they thump the floor,
    These "gents" serenely smoking,
  You kiss your hand, smile yet once more,
    And leave me simply choking.

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday evening, December 4._--Slight coolness
sprung up between Major RASCH and Members in immediate neighbourhood.
STANLEY LEIGHTON observed an insect of unfamiliar appearance
disporting itself on the Major's back. Closer inspection revealed
presence of others, one carefully pricking its way through his
bristling hair. In these days, when microbes are a little too familiar
in their habit, this curious phenomenon led to some uneasiness.

"Dear me," said Major RASCH, when his attention was delicately called
to matter; "some of 'em must have got out. Only locusts, dear boy;
needn't be frightened; put down question to HERBERT GARDNER as to
importation of Russian hay which is swarming with locusts. GRAND YOUNG
GARDNER absent; engaged in cultivating the influenza microbe; HERBERT
GLADSTONE undertaken to answer question. I know these young Ministers;
sure to pooh-pooh question. So, being an old soldier, prepared
counter-movement; got handful of locusts; clapped 'em into box;
brought 'em down, intending to hand box over to HERBERT. They seem,
however, to have anticipated proceedings. Prized lid off box, and
swarmed all about; looking for wild honey, I suppose. Hope they won't
catch SPEAKER'S eye. Lend us a hand to net a few before they attack
HANBURY."

If Session goes on much longer will get itself counted out. Members
falling around us like leaves in wintry weather. PRINCE ARTHUR not yet
back; GRANDOLPH off to sunnier climes; JOHN MORLEY, out too soon after
approach to convalescence, gone to break the bank at Monte Carlo; not
likely to be seen here again this side of Christmas. And now BOBBY
SPENCER down; fallen on the field of battle. Came into lobby just
now at usual brisk pace; made his way to Whip's room; drooped on
threshhold. Happily nothing serious; only a passing faint; but
eloquent of strain upon Members in these times. For BOBBY, of course,
the weight is exceptionally heavy. _Nous autres_ come and go; make
holiday when we can get a pair; as often as we have the heart to do
so meet with light negative BOBBY'S touching appeal, "You dine here
to-night?" But for him, always on the spot, his young head full of
State cares, his manly bosom enfolding innumerable State secrets, it
is different. Now the long pending blow suddenly falls, and BOBBY, not
without reminiscence of the elder PITT in an earlier Parliament, fails
at his post--"Young LYCIDAS and hath not left his peer."

  Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more,
  Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
  I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
  And with forced fingers rude
  Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
  Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear
  Compels me to disturb your season due:
  For LYCIDAS is down, down ere his prime.

"'Compels,'" said the Member for Sark, nothing if not critical.
"Wouldn't you write 'compel'?"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE PARLIAMENTARY BILLIARD TOURNAMENT. "A LONG BREAK."]

       *       *       *       *       *

"Yes, I should; but MILTON didn't; and, on the whole, I prefer his
style."

_Business done._--Pegging away at Parish Councils Bill.

_Tuesday._--Since Parish Councils Bill went into Committee, Mr. G.
has been silent in I don't know how many languages. It is highest
compliment to Minister in charge of a Bill that his Leader should
find it possible not only to refrain from taking part in debate, but
habitually to absent himself through long periods of a sitting.
HENRY FOWLER has earned this distinction. His management of intricate
measure has been excellent; conciliating Opposition without causing
revolt in sensitive ranks on own side. His Parliamentary position
distinctly advanced.

To-night Mr. G. drawn into fray. It was JOKIM who did it. At opening
of sitting FOWLER resisted Amendment by STRACHEY making it permissible
to transfer parochial trusts to management of Parish Council. After
nearly two hours' debate, RIGBY put up to say that Amendment on same
lines standing further down, in name of the contumacious COBB,
would be accepted. "A put-up job!" cried GOSCHEN, sternly eyeing the
irreproachable RIGBY.

[Illustration: "A put-up job!"]

This too much for Mr. G. Sat bolt upright from recumbent position in
which he had listened to debate. His eyes blazed; a Jovelike frown
clouded his brow; his hands moved restlessly, as, leaning a little
forward in attitude to spring, he waited till the unconscious JOKIM,
blinking at other side of table, should sit down. Spoke for only ten
minutes; his energy supernal; his voice, long unused, magnificent. "A
put-up job!" he repeated in scornful tones, with sweeping gesture of
the arm. Drew graphic picture of Editors of new Dictionary coming upon
this phrase in Parliamentary Report citing it, as thus:--

"JOB, a put-up." (_The Right Hon. J. Goschen, M.P._)

Young Bloods behind Front Opposition Bench in historic corner,
whose recesses MELLOR'S glance cannot penetrate, didn't like
this. "Question! Question!" they roared. "It is a very interesting
question," said Mr. G., ready for a tussle with them if they insisted.
Pretty to see JOKIM turn round and rebuke the Young Bloods on back
Benches. He was the object of attack; on his head the vials of
bubbling wrath overflowed. But JOKIM has not lived in House of Commons
all these years without its traditions of high courtesy and respect
due to age and position being ingrained. He was shocked to hear speech
of Leader of House broken in upon with noisy cries of "Question!" and,
though they came from his own camp-followers, he did not hesitate to
administer sharp rebuke. _Business done._--Got into fresh tight place
with Parish Councils Bill.

_Thursday._--Quite lively to-night. Merriest evening since Home-Rule
Bill left us. Began with SQUIRE OF MALWOOD. GORST, who is thinking
of leaving his property to found almshouses for pious
ex-Solicitor-Generals, is alarmed at probable operation of this Bill.
His prophetic eye sees time when Parish Council of the future will
step in, snap its fingers at him (the Pious Founder); will
probably introduce Conscience Clause in matutinal exercises of aged
ex-Solicitor-Generals. GORST draws up case on back of Orders; presents
it in form of conundrum. SQUIRE OF MALWOOD hugely contemptuous.
Nothing easier than to draw up trust deed in form that should obviate
catastrophe foreseen by GORST'S fervid fancy.

"Just as easy," he says, "as a boy drawing an animal writes over
it 'This is a lion.' You draw your trust; write 'This is an
Ecclesiastical Charity,' and there you are. It will be out of purview
of the Act."

This would have been all very well if JESSE COLLINGS had not chanced
to be among audience. Members evidently carried away by SQUIRE OF
MALWOOD'S sophistry. JESSE pulled them up.

"Supposing," he said, looking unutterably wise, "the boy draws an
animal; writes over it, 'This is a lion,' and it turns out to be an
elephant. Where are you then?"

House really didn't know; positively staggered. "Just like one of
those questions the _Carpenter_ in 'Through the Looking Glass' used
to ask _Alice_," said GEORGE CURZON. "Floors everybody." Instead of
sitting down and bravely facing difficulty suggested by JESSE'S active
mind, Members, catching sight of SOLICITOR-GENERAL contemplating
nature from Treasury Bench, with one accord turned upon him. Cries of
"RIGBY! RIGBY!" filled Chamber. Everything forgotten in excitement of
this new chase. The lion lay down with the elephant, and the SQUIRE
OF MALWOOD led them. PRINCE ARTHUR, back after a bout of influenza,
joined in chase with boyish energy. HENRY JAMES and JOSEPH answered
from opposite camp. J. G. TALBOT delivered what, judging from his
manner, was a funeral sermon over departed but anonymous friend; only
a sentence heard here and there amid the uproar. SOLICITOR-GENERAL
sat silent, with no other sign of consciousness than an occasional
benevolent shaking of the head when the cry of "RIGBY! RIGBY!" rose to
stormier heights.

At length PRINCE ARTHUR moved to report progress. With this pistol
at his head, RIGBY rose, and proceeded in his inimitable manner to
deliver an opinion on the case. When lo! the strangest thing of all
happened. Members on Opposition benches, who had made themselves
hoarse in clamouring for RIGBY, now when he coyly yielded to their
flattering insistence on his stating his views, hurriedly left the
House. But they'd had their joke, a joke two hours long. Were not
going to have it spoiled by an anti-climax.

[Illustration: Baiting the Solicitor-General.]

_Business done._--None; but a merry night withal.

_Friday._--More about Charities as affected by Parish Councils Bill.
Opposition got their back up. They love the Bill more than ever;
but they will not let it pass. A great deal said about charity; but
there's no lovingkindness. Encouraged by hunt of last night turn
again upon SOLICITOR-GENERAL. A thirst for information. PRINCE ARTHUR
insinuatingly suggests that House would be happy if RIGBY would
only give his views as to the precise meaning of phrase "parochial
charities." RIGBY affects not to hear. Diligently makes notes on his
brief with preoccupied air. JOSEPH runs in from behind and pulls
the hair of his right hon. friend the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD. The SQUIRE,
nothing loath, lets fly from the shoulder. Rumpus; somebody moves
Closure; Chairman takes no notice; at end of two hours Committee
divide. Coming back, approach identical question from slightly
different point of view; talk round it for another two hours. At
twelve o'clock we go home with uneasy feeling that for all practical
purposes, as far as progress of Bill is concerned, we might as well
have stopped there. _Business done._--None.

       *       *       *       *       *

ERRATIC.--There was an odd-looking misprint in _Le Figaro_ for
Wednesday last of an "r" for an "i," so that what was intended for "la
Cour d'assises à Old Bailey" read "la Cour d'assises à Old Barley."
Our friend in _Punch_, "Old BILL BARLEY," would be pleased to find
himself famous in French.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.--Death to dealers in death!

       *       *       *       *       *




Transcriber's Note:

  Page 282: 'glosing' is an archaic word.

  (Glose) n. & v. See Gloze. Chaucer.

  (Gloze) v. i. [imp. & p. p. Glozed; p. pr. & vb. n. Glozing.]
  [OE. glosen, F. gloser. See gloss explanation.]

  1. To flatter; to wheedle; to fawn; to talk smoothly. Chaucer.
  (etc., from Webster's 1913 Online Dictionary).

       *       *       *       *       *