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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Volume 108, May 25th 1895.

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_




[Illustration: STUDIES IN ANIMAL LIFE.

UNCLE TOBY AND THE WIDOW WADMAN, AS THEY MIGHT HAVE BEEN.

["_Uncle Toby and Widow Wadman._" C. R. LESLIE, R.A. Exhibited at the
Royal Academy in 1831.]]

       *       *       *       *       *

A MARK AGAINST DENMARK.--At the beginning of last week it was
midsummer weather, and _not_ to have cast off winter clothing and
donned light attire would have been deemed "Midsummer madness." But by
Thursday "_on a changé tout cela_," except the clothes, and we were
in midwinter! The _Daily Telegraph's_ weather-clerk observed, that all
"this resulted from a deep depression in Denmark." It certainly caused
deep depression here; and there must be "something rotten in the State
of Denmark" which ought to be looked to immediately. Ere these lines
appear we hope--sincerely hope--that we shall have retraced our steps
towards summer.

       *       *       *       *       *

QUERY SUGGESTED.--We read in the _Financial Times_ that "A corner in
camphor is, it is stated, being arranged." Is to be in "a corner in
camphor" as good as being "laid up in lavender"?

       *       *       *       *       *

A CENTURY OF CENTURIES.

    [By scoring 288 in the match Gloucester _v._ Somerset at
    Bristol, on May 17, Mr. W. G. GRACE, now nearing his 47th
    birthday, made his hundredth innings of 100 runs or over in
    first-class matches.]

  "_O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!_"
  Sang _Punch_ on the seventeenth instant May,
    With a true Jabberwockian chortle,
  As he saw the swipe, on the Bristol ground,
  Which worked GRACE'S hundred of centuries round;
    A record ne'er equalled by mortal.

  "My beamish boy"--of nigh forty-seven--
  There isn't a cheerier sight under heaven
    Than W. G. at the wicket.
  When your "vorpal" bat "goes snicker-snack,"
  _Punch_ loves to lie, with a tree at his back,
    And watch what _he_ calls Cricket.

  And now, as a topper of thirty years,
  After many hopes, and a few faint fears.
    (Which _Punch_ never shared for a jiffy.)
  You've done the trick! Did your pulse beat quick
  As you crept notch by notch within reach of the nick?
    Did even _your_ heart feel squiffy?

  _Punch_ frankly owns _his_ went pit-a-pat
  While he followed the ball and watched your bat
    As the nineties slowly tottled;
  And the boys of the Bristol Brigade held breath,
  In an anxious silence as still as death.
    But oh! like good fizz unbottled,

  We all "let go" with a loud "hooray"
  As the leather was safely "put away"
    For that hundredth hundred. Verily,
  _Now_ you're the "many centuried" GRACE!
  And for many a year may you keep top place,
    Piling three-figure innings right merrily!

       *       *       *       *       *

GAME FROM THE HIGHLANDS.--A "Scotch Golfer of Twenty Years' Standing"
(poor man! he certainly ought to be invited to take the chair at any
Golf meeting!) writes to the _Liverpool Daily Post_ complaining that
novices in England will persist in sounding the letter "l" in the
title of the sport, "although on every green from John o' Groats to
Airlie it remains silent in the mouth of player and caddie alike." As
the Golfer "puts" it, the name should be "goff," or even "gowf." As
long as there is plenty of acreage for the game, an "_ell_" is not
worth mentioning.

       *       *       *       *       *

MUSICAL NOTE of "Herr WILLY BURMESTER"--or "Our" WILLY. "Bless you!"
as the old salt said; "he fiddles like a angel!" Of course, like all
violinists, the hair of his head is peculiar, but his airs on his
violin are marvellous in execution.

       *       *       *       *       *

UNIVERSITY PRIVILEGE NOT GENERALLY KNOWN.--When a resident Oxonion is
suffering from a bronchial attack he is entitled to the professional
attendance (gratis) of "The Curators of the Chest."

       *       *       *       *       *

EXTRA-ORDINARY SELF-ANNIHILATING CANNIBALS.--Children, when they
over-eat themselves.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE WAIL OF THE WALWORTH WOTER.

    ["Many of our men have certainly been got at."--_Walworth
    Liberal Agent._]

  "Got at," my boy? Well, that's a fack;
    Yet not by LANSBURY, READE, or BAILEY.
  But by the burdens on our back,
    As seem a-gettin' heavier daily.
  Trade's bloomin' bad, and rents is high;
    Yet more and more the Guv'ment axes.
  Progress, old man, is all my heye,--
    As means raised rents, and rates, and taxes.
  School Boards, Free Liberies, an' such,
    With County Council schemes, _look_ proper;
  When they _too_ 'ard poor pockets touch
    On them the poor _must_ put a stopper.
  Fust we 'ave got to live, I say;
    To pay our way, and grub our young 'uns.
  Will Rads make that more easier, hay,
    Than wot you call "Bible and Bung'uns"?
  By Jingo, if you want our wotes,
    You'll git 'em, not by playing peeper,
  Or wetoing beer from our poor throats;
    But--making life easier and cheaper!
  _Got at?_ Wy, yus, by want o' grub,
    And rents an' taxes too extensive;
  And so we'll weto--_not_ the Pub,
    _But "Progress" wot comes too expensive!_

       *       *       *       *       *

PARTIES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.--Besides the usual number of parties,
there will always be, during the fine summer weather, Tea-parties.

       *       *       *       *       *

CONTRADICTION.--Tremendous "Crushing Reports" come in from the mines,
and, in spite of this, mining shares are better than ever.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HERCULES AND OMPHALE; OR, PETTICOAT GOVERNMENT.

_Hercules_ (_Prince Bismarck_). "I BELIEVE THAT FEMALE SYMPATHY WITH
OUR POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS IS A MUCH STRONGER BULWARK AGAINST SOCIAL
DEMOCRACY THAN OUR REVOLUTION BILL WOULD HAVE BEEN IF IT HAD BEEN
PASSED." (_See Daily Papers._)]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _New Assistant_ (_after hair-cutting, to Jones, who
has been away for a couple of weeks_). "YOUR 'AIR IS VERY THIN BE'IND,
SIR. TRY SINGEING!"

_Jones_ (_after a pause_). "YES, I THINK I WILL."

_N. A._ (_after singeing_). "SHAMPOO, SIR? GOOD FOR THE 'AIR, SIR."

_Jones._ "THANK YOU. YES."

_N. A._ "YOUR MOUSTACHES CURLED?"

_Jones._ "PLEASE."

_N. A._ "MAY I GIVE YOU A FRICTION?"

_Jones._ "THANK YOU."

_N. A._ "WILL YOU TRY SOME OF OUR----"

_Manager_ (_who has just sighted his man, in Stage whisper_). "YOU
IDIOT! _HE_'S A SUBSCRIBER!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

WAITING FOR NASRULLA.

    ["The original arrangements for NASRULLA KHAN'S reception
    in London have undergone considerable alteration."--_Daily
    Paper._]

"Of course we ought to act on precedent." said Wise Man Number One.
"We can't be far out if we do that."

"I am not so sure," replied Number Two of the Series. "When the SHAH
came over we gave him a prize-fight at Buckingham Palace, and the
entertainment subsequently caused much hostile criticism in Clapham."

"It is to be regretted," sighed the Third, "that the Polytechnic
Institution no longer exists. It would have amused his Highness to
have descended in the diving bell."

"No doubt," put in the initial speaker; "but something of the same
effect might be obtained by conducting NASRULLA either to the Museum
of Mines in Jermyn Street or the Diploma Gallery at Burlington House."

"Quite so. And what do you say to the Natural History Museum, and a
special visit in semi-state to the top of the Monument?"

This suggestion was well received. Then a trip to Kew, and a ride on
the Elephant at the Zoo were considered not unfavourably.

"Shall he go to any of the theatres?" was the next question.

"It may be a little dangerous to his morals if he understands
English," seemed to be the popular answer.

Then a visit to a music-hall under the immediate supervision of the
London County Council was proposed.

Then a Wise Man (less sage than the majority of his fellows) proposed
a little "slumming."

"He might visit the East End, and pass a night in a Casual Ward."

Fortunately for the honour of the British Empire the proposal was
negatived without the formality of a division.

"Could he be exhibited at a side show, either at Sydenham, Earl's
Court, or West Kensington?"

Again there was a shout of "No." The visit of the Representative of
the Ameer was not to be made a source of income to the Imperial, or,
if it came to that, any other Exchequer.

"Besides," said the initial speaker, "the British Public does not care
for paying for its raree-show. When we _do_ get hold of a native, we
like to find him on view free, gratis and for nothing."

Then it was agreed that NASRULLA should appear at the Queen's Birthday
Parade, and other "features" were discussed with animation.

"But what the KHAN will ultimately do, Sir," murmured an experienced
official at the conclusion of the confab, "only Time can show--with
the assistance of the Government."

       *       *       *       *       *

A NEW TERROR.--Politics on the stage. In ENRY HAUTHOR JONES'S _Bauble
Shop_ at the Criterion we were taken into the House of Commons and got
somehow mixed up with Party Politics; but in _The Home Secretary_,
Mr. CARTON, it appears, has attempted to drag his audience, with Mr.
CHARLES WYNDHAM, into the inner circle of Parliamentary life. What
next? A debate on the Budget in Four Acts? Or shall we have, in five
Parliamentary Acts, with a Prologue and Epilogue, the Comedy with
a short Jonesian title called _Home Rule for Ireland: or, how the
O'Reillys, the Maguires, and the Kellys went into the Opposition
Lobby, and how one Government came in and the other went out, &c.
&c.?_ Save us from politics on the stage! There was just enough of the
political element in _Dora_ to give it a peculiar interest. But then
_Dora_ was written by VICTORIEN SARDOU.

       *       *       *       *       *

ROYAL MILITARY TOURNAMENT.--The initials being "R. M. T." will _not_
be descriptive of the state of the seats in the Agricultural Hall
during the performance. The announcement will be "Are Quite Full," not
"R. _M. T._"

       *       *       *       *       *

QUOTATION FOR LONDONER LAST WEEK, ON SEEING THE DUKE OF YORK IN PALL
MALL.--"I know that man, he comes from Sheffield."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE NEW COINS.--It was announced that the reverse was to have been
altered. On the contrary, it is quite the reverse.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: CLASSIC QUOTATIONS ILLUSTRATED.

(_For the Use of Schools._)

EXAMPLE II.--"PALMAM QUI MERUIT FERAT."]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE POET AND HIS INTERVIEWERS.

I do not dwell in a back-attic with the windows pasted up with brown
paper, neither do I wallow up to my eyes in a litter of manuscript
with flue on the carpet and dust on all the furniture. If ye, or the
Public, have any such impression, ye are very much mistaken. I may be
a literary person and a prose-poet; but I live quite respectably, and
have everything handsome about me. Come and see!

Ye will find the doorsteps freshly scoured, and the door-handle
brightly polished--which ye will make a note of after ye have rung the
bell.

A trim parlourmaid--whom ye will allude to as "a neat-handed
PHYLLIS"--will open the door, and request ye to wipe your dirty boots
upon the doormat in the passage--which ye are expected to mention as
the "spacious entrance hall."

I shall stand on the threshold of my dining-room, and receive ye with
as much surprise as if the visit were not by previous appointment;
shall accompany ye through all my rooms, and tell ye interesting facts
about the china and the chimney ornaments. I shall not object to your
bringing a camera and taking views of my "cosy corner" and my hat and
umbrella-stand.

They are exactly like those of everybody else, so they are sure to be
pleasing to an art-loving Public.

Ye will find in the drawing-room the perfume of many flowers--provided
I do not forget to send out for some penny bunches of violets
beforehand--and ye can take a photograph of the cottage piano and
my pet canary (which usually has its habitation in the kitchen, as I
loathe all birds--but this is _not_ for publication).

I will show ye the stand of wax-flowers fashioned by my maternal
grandmother--which will give ye an opportunity of commenting upon the
heredity of genius in my talented family--and ye may peer into the
silver _épergne_ that was presented to my Uncle at the Cattle Show for
a prize pig. Ye will probably think it necessary to make a copy of the
inscription.

In the study--to which I shall humorously allude as my "den"--there
is little of general interest except my old carpet slippers. Mayhap
ye will point to a few pipes that lie on the mantelpiece; but they
are merely "properties," for the public expects all striking literary
personalities to write with pipes in their mouths.

Come to me! I fear ye not. It is ye who confer celebrity. I know ye
so well. I shall follow ye out into the garden, and ye shall carry
stylographs in your waistcoat pockets, and I will relate to ye
my early literary experiences, give ye my theories on the Social
Question, and let ye kodak my child in its perambulator.

I know ye; ye will convey a totally false impression of my views,
which I shall have to write to all the leading journals to correct. Ye
will force me into the publicity and self-advertisement from which my
sensitive soul shrinks. Ye will describe the insides of my rooms,
for the benefit of the buzzing swarm which has hitherto shown no
overwhelming curiosity concerning the insides of my works.

Still, I do not mind your coming, provided that ye give me an
opportunity of revising a proof of the interview. Ye are necessary
nuisances.

       *       *       *       *       *

BETWEEN THE LINES.

    ["The insertion of advertisements at enhanced prices in
    the very body of a magazine is the noblest achievement of
    journalistic enterprise. This intrinsically beautiful idea,
    however, admits of considerable development in the near
    future, unless, as is improbable, the reading public declines
    to take its romantic literature in piebald strata."--_The Type
    Worm._]

A TWENTIETH CENTURY IDYLL.

Lazily, dreamily, we floated down the pellucid stream, ASPASIA at the
single thwart, I, her loved one, at the tiller. The last gleaner
had left the fields. Over the grave of the dead sun I saw the eye of
Hesperus, early and thoughtful. The words of the Poet Laureate came
back to me; it seemed that "in yonder Orient star a hundred spirits
whispered

[Illustration]

[_KEEP YOUR HAIR ON! Try our own Fertiliser. The Next-of-Kin-but-One
to the Hohenpfefferkorn dynasty writes:--"I have tried your lotion
for a vacancy in the crown, and should in all human probability have
succeeded, but for the birth of an infant in the direct line. Make
what use of this you like. It has been none to me."_]

"Peace!" Now the light shallop trembled to the stroke of ASPASIA'S
sculls, and the brawny muscles lifted beneath her flannel suiting.
Myself so frail, I adore the pride and prowess of womanhood, that
moves through the world conquering and to conquer. This life of the
open air, so free, so expansive, that despises the thought of

[_COHESIVE CORSETS.--Supply the want, or disguise the existence, of
adipose deposit. Send immediately a plaster cast of your bust. Insure
against fracture in the Parcel Post._]

control or seclusion, how different from that of men, studiously
repressed in a hothouse atmosphere of fashion and traditional
proprieties. We only guess of their world from hearsay or from books.
And most of these are by women for women, and Papa says they are not
fit for innocent men to read. And so we have to be content to study
dress and the lures that fascinate the other sex. But they--they go
forth to fight our battles, make our laws, have their part in the stir
and excitement of

[_THE BENEFICENT COVER SYSTEM.--You pay your money and we pocket it._
No further liabilities whatever.]

the world, while we sit at home and tattle over the tea-things and
marry when we're asked. And, _à propos_, how I longed to tell ASPASIA
that my heart is hers! But I am a man; it was for _her_ to speak.

At last she pulled herself together with the self-assurance of a woman
who knows that

[_OUR MATCHES STRIKE ONLY ON THE TROUSERS._]

the weaker sex is at her mercy. "Dear ARIEL," she began, and her deep
mulierile notes vibrated through my fluttering chest; "dear ARIEL,
this halcyon eve, this ethereal air that breathes the subtle incense
of eucalyptus--all, all, invite me to offer you

[_LITTLE TEASERS.--For the liver. As used in the Russo-Japanese
negotiations. The Arch-Prince General VON SCHPLITVISKI sends us the
following despatch:--"Plenipotentiary ITA BINO had a difference
with me on the question of a peninsula. Two of your LITTLE TEASERS,
however_, came home to him, _and he is now more amenable. You have
my authority for stating that your system of internal adjustment has
averted a disastrous and even stupid war."_

    [_Left advertising._

       *       *       *       *       *

OPERATIC NOTES.

_Opening of Opera._ _Monday, May 13._--Crowded house. _Grand Otello
Co._ unlimited. The Orchestra has been sunk four feet, thus giving
Stalls clear view of stage. DRURIOLANUS proposes a puzzler "Orchestra
_lowered_," he says, "yet all performers in it _hired!_" Royal
Highnesses present. DRURIOLANUS, taking happy musical publishers'
points of view, looks towards Royal Box and murmurs "'Royalties' on
music." ALBANI surpasses herself as _Desdemona:_ quite wonder that
_Otello-Tamagno_ has the heart to smother her with pillow after her
song about the willow. Signor PESSINA as _Iago:_ rather a ponderous
villain. Pecuniary operatic prospects exceptionally good: at all
events, possessing JEAN DE RESZKE, TAMAGNO, and BERTRAN, DRURIOLANUS
has "three tenners" in hand to start with.

[Illustration: Vocal and Orchestral. Marguerite and Strauss.]

_Tuesday._--BOÏTO'S _Mefistofele_. "An opera that 'grows on you,'"
says LOUNGER in the Lobby. "If there were a probability of many
such growing on _you_, my dear LOUNGER," quoth Sir DRURIOLANUS, with
satirical affability, "you would be worth cultivating." The advantage
of a long opera, with disconnected acts, is, that you can "pick
'em where you like," as the coster says of the walnuts, and come in
anywhere for something good. MAGGIE MACINTYRE is "getting a big girl
now." Charming as _Margherita_ and _La belle Hélène_. Signor DE LUCIA
a rather timorous and bashful _Faust_, with one eye for MAGGIE and the
other for NELLI (short for MANCINELLI), as if praying the latter to
conduct him safely and keep him from temptation to go wrong. _Faust_
in situation of TOOLE in _The Houseboat_, when he used to exclaim,
"SARAH! I'm slipping!" PLANÇON equally good as _Jupiter_ or
_Mefistofele_; this time it is _Mefisto_.

_Wednesday._--_Le Prophète._ In spite of name, unprofitable opera.
Signor TAMAGNO (or familiarly TAM AGNO), as _Jean of Leyden_, rather
over-laden, but bearing burthen bravely. TAM receives big _encore_
in Star-spangled Banner Hymn. The two CORSIS and CASTELMARY ably
represent Liberator Firm of _Jonas, Zaccaria, Mathisen & Co._, always
ready to draw on their false prophet in order to save their own
credit. Two CORSIS and dessert to follow. Beaming BEVIGNANI conducts
invisible orchestra.

_Thursday._--Sudden change from summer to winter. Comparatively thin
house. Ladies as wrapperees in furs. Everyone welcoming _Pagliacci, or
the Mummers_, as pantomime suitable to season. In spite of this, warm
welcome to _Pagliacci_ and to Madame FANNY MOODY as _Nedda_. She is
quite the character: Moody yet lively. ANCONA and DE LUCIA good and
dramatic as ever as _Tonio_ and _Canio_. _Début_ of Miss MARIE ENGLE,
who, whether German or French, will be a favourite with the
Engle-ish, starting uncommonly well as _Little Bo-Peep-Baucis_. _King
Jove-Plançon_ and _Vulcan-Castelmary_, the limping Olympian, excellent
as usual. Everyone suffering from wintry blasts in stalls envies
_Vulcan_ rubbing his hands and warming himself at _Bonnard-Philémon's_
fire. Such a night in May is enough to knock any piece to shivers. The
conductors of the operatic 'bus were, for the first journey, Soothing
SEPPILLI; and for the second, Beaming BEVIGNANI.

_Friday._--Still wintry. Italian-German opera _Lohengrin_, with
Cosmopolitan Caste, going stronger than ever. House full and fully
satisfied. Hard to please if it had not been so, with ALBANI as
_Elsa_,--(says WAGSTAFF, affecting a drawl, "Nobody else-a can touch
her in this"),--_Jupiter-Plançon_ as a King, not of gods but men, and
BERTRAN, from La Scala, as a _First-Knight Lohengrin_. As to intruder
_Ortruda_ and Terrible _Telramonda_, these heavy weights are lifted
by Mlle. OLITZKA and Signor ANCONA. Monarchical MANCINELLI treats Time
like a dusty carpet, beating it strongly.

_Saturday._--Crowded house to welcome old friend _Trovatore_. PESSINA
as the wicked nobleman; and TAMAGNO--now known as "TAM"--in splendid
voice for the Trovatore himself. "TAM" doubly encored after
"_Di quella pira_." JULIA RAVOGLI not quite the _Azucena_. Mlle.
BAUERMEISTER'S first appearance this season: as heroine's sympathetic
companion BAUERMEISTER combines the "_utile_" with the "_dulce_."
MAGGIE MACINTYRE vocally good, dramatically puzzling. House happy:
DRURIOLANUS delighted. Fine finish to first week.

       *       *       *       *       *

ROUNDABOUT READINGS.

There is only one Parish Council in England which is presided over
by a lady. Her name is JANE SHAKESPEARE, and she rules the parochial
deliberations of Netherseal in Leicestershire. No doubt it will be
found by her councillors that JANE hath a way with her, and thus she
will be brought into line with her illustrious namesake.

       * * *

    [At Gamlingay, in Cambridgeshire, Mr. DEW declined to
    undertake the duties of cemetery superintendent for a salary
    of £5, and Mr. HOWE was consequently appointed to the post.]

[Illustration]

  Mr. DEW, when he heard of the offer, looked blue;
  He considered a fiver was less than his due.
  How do it? The question gave rise to no row,
  For Miss Echo replied, and her answer was HOWE.

       * * *

_Congratulations to Mr. F. Mitchell, of Cambridge University, on his
innings of_ 191 _runs against Somerset_.

  The men of the county had studied their pitch ill;
  They did what they could, but they couldn't bowl MITCHELL.
  His masterly cutting the bowlers appals,
  For the grass being short, he makes hay of their balls.

       * * *

A writer in _The Manchester Guardian_ declares that the main road
between Bolton and Bury is in a shocking condition. What is the road
between Bolton and Bury? Bolton suggests that he who fights and runs
away lives to fight another day, but Bury seems to indicate a path of
glory leading to the grave--which things are a paradox. In any case, I
endorse the writer's suggestion--

  That Alderman HULTON should harness his colt on,
  And drive o'er the road between Bury and Bolton.
  The chock-holes and paving are terrible--very,
  And he may find his tomb e'er he comes back to Bury.

       * * *

There was a gas explosion the other day in Dublin at the house of a
Mr. ATOCK. The report states that Mr. ATOCK'S injuries were dressed
and he and his family afterwards left for the house of Mr. ATOCK
senior, at Phibsborough. Ph[oe]bus, what a name! As the capital city
of the regions of, shall we say, perverted veracity, nothing could be
fitter. In any case, condolences to Mr. ATOCK. Is the Blarney stone in
Phibsborough?

       * * *

What is "dockisation"? Whatever it is, they have been debating upon it
at Bristol, and the proceedings are described as "decidedly lively."
The protagonists were Mr. DE RIDDER and Alderman PROCTOR BAKER.

  Dockisation, I think, is a question of docks,
  And at Bristol it lately gave rise to hard knocks.
  "Let's be rid of a scheme which is bad for the town,"
  Said DE RIDDER, whose statements excited a frown.
  But they smiled on beholding this argument-maker
  By a Proctor well caught and done brown by a Baker.

       *       *       *       *       *

LEEDS LEADS!

_Or, Welcome News from the North._

    ["The tenor of market reports concerning all the main
    industries out of which the citizens of Leeds make their
    living ... suggests the advent of a turn for the better,
    commercially, that may almost claim to rank as an industrial
    revolt."--_The Yorkshire Post._]

  Hooray! Food for hope the Tyke Town surely yields.
  The "Sun of York" shines on the Cardigan Fields
        (Which now should be called the Elysian).
  The Capitalist and the Builder unite
  To throw light upon Leeds. Let's sing, "Leeds! kindly light!"
        (Which we hope will not shock the precisian.)
  Oh! Bradford and Huddersfield, Dewsbury, Batley!--
  (These Yorkshire names fall into rhythm most patly)--
        Your returns and reports Trade is heeding,
  In hope that the storm, like the North, we may weather,
  With WALKER AND SONS (there is nothing like leather!),
        Those great "Men of (Leeds) Light and Leading!"

       *       *       *       *       *

APPROPRIATE.--Fixed service for "Tied Houses" should be the bounden
duty of Tide-waiters.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AN EMBARRASSING QUESTION.

"WHY HAVE YOU GOT SUCH A BARE NECK, MUMMIE?"

"I'M GOING TO A DANCE, DARLING. ONE _HAS_ TO DRESS LIKE THIS FOR A
DANCE!"

"DO THE LADIES DANCE IN ONE ROOM, AND THE GENTLEMEN IN ANOTHER,
MUMMIE?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PREMIER'S CRUISE.

_Portsmouth, Monday._--Thank heaven! Got rid of politics for a season.
Off to Cowes, as guest of SPENCER, on board _Enchantress_. Admirable
institution, an Admiralty yacht; reconciles one to Naval Estimates,
almost. But there!--must _not_ think of Estimates now. Must try and
remember this is a holiday, to get ozone and sleep--especially sleep.

_Cowes._--SPENCER really _very_ nautical. Talks of fast cruisers and
water-tube boilers all the time. Great on torpedo-destroyers. Says
the _Havoc_ "goes twenty-five knots an hour." Well then, why can't
HARCOURT get up the same pace with our Bills? Wish he'd turn into a
Parliamentary _Havoc_. Mention this to SPENCER, who laughs, and says,
"It's the Opposition who indulge in twenty-five Nots an hour."
Believe SPENCER means it as a joke. Turn in, and think of HARCOURT and
SPENCER'S joke and Twin-Screw Cabinets and Water-veto-boiler Bills.
Wretched night!

_Portland, Tuesday Morning._--Rather unfair of SPENCER. Now he's got
me safely on board, he's always trying to persuade me that Navy
wants more money spent on it. More money! Refer him to HARCOURT, the
"inexorable _Jorkins_." Try to hide from SPENCER. No good. He finds me
behind a coil of rope on half-quarter-deck--_is_ it half-quarter-deck?
Not sure, and don't like to ask--and begins again. Seems he would
like a few more millions for guns. Thought we had heaps of guns. Talks
about a ship he calls _The Hecckler_. What a name! Reminds me of every
political meeting I've ever attended. Why will Lords of Admiralty give
such names? SPENCER explains--seems it's _Hecla_, not _Hecckler_. Oh!
All right. Fear SPENCER begins to think me rather a land-lubber. Got
me at an advantage here. Wait till I take him to Newmarket Heath!

_Off Plymouth._--Down in engine-room. Tell head stoker that House of
Lords is an effete institution. Stoker winks. _Can_ he be a Tory? Tell
him it's a "gilded prison." Stoker seems surprised, and asks, "Why I
don't chuck it up, then?" Curious--no repartee handy. And I am so good
at them, generally. Must consult "_Fridoline_," _traduit de l'Anglais
de "Happy Thoughts,"_ to see what would be a "repartee to a stoker."
Bed. SPENCER won't hear of it as bed; talks of "turning-in to his
bunk." What an enthusiastic "First Lord" SPENCER does make! Thinking
of First Lord, wonder who'll be Last Lord? Go on wondering till dawn.
What a noise swabbing the deck makes! Wish I were back at the Durdans!

_Scilly Islands, Wednesday._--Blue sea, lovely weather. Delightful to
have left all worries, all politics, far behind, and to---- Boat seen
approaching from land. Man says he has a telegram for me! Oh, hang
telegrams! Wish I were well out at sea. What can it be about? Japan?
Siam? Chitral? No. Only to tell me result of Walworth and West Dorset
elections! Hem! Seems I _am_ at sea--politically. Thoughtless of
ASQUITH to have wired me on the subject. HOMER handsomely beaten. Why
didn't he stick to his Iliad? And READE--deserves the Old Bailey for
being licked by the new one! Question now is--where's our majority?
Ask SPENCER. SPENCER replies it's "as plain as a marlinspike." Says
Walworth lost because not enough money spent on Navy. Assures me
Navy "much more important than Army; in fact, it's the Predominant
Partner." This is _too_ much! Ask SPENCER, as a favour, to maroon me
on some desolate isle--say Lundy. Won't do it. Bribe a sailor. Landed
at Lizard. Off to town! Next time I want sea air, shall run down to
Clacton on the "Belle."

       *       *       *       *       *

OXFORD DEGREES.--Certainly Messrs. DAN LENO and ALBERT CHEVALIER
should have Masterships of Arts conferred on them. The "_Voces
Stellarum_" at the Oxford Observatory (otherwise Music Hall) are well
worth hearing. Mr. BURNETT (J. P.) has just issued a brochure on this
Music-Astronomical subject, chiefly remarkable for a brief essay on
"The Pantomimic Art," by PAUL MARTINETTI, whose right to speak on such
a theme, as an authority, may be arrived at by any one who sees this
most artistic pantomimist in a short melodramatic piece--a piece
which thoroughly tells its own tale without words--now being performed
nightly at the Oxford. It is admirable. If action can do so much, then
why not a Shakspearian play in action, and "the student" could read
the words to himself at home? We recommend the idea to Mr. PAUL
MARTINETTI, and should advise him to re-arrange _Don Quixote_, as "a
piece without words," for Mr. HENRY IRVING, who now looks and acts the
part to perfection; the piece itself might then be of the actor, that
is,--if action were substituted for its very poor dialogue.

       *       *       *       *       *

POLITICS À LA PERKYN MIDDLEWICK.--The Radical wire-pullers now regard
the middle-class Walworth voters (for Mr. BAILEY) as "Shop 'uns,"
and the county division which returned Colonel WILLIAMS as "inferior
Dosset"!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "GREAT CRY AND LITTLE WO(O)L-MER!"

BATHING WOMAN. "COME ALONG, MASTER SELBORNE, AND TAKE YOUR DIP LIKE A
LITTLE NOBLEMAN!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE SCARLET PARASOL.

SCENE I.--_Terrace in front of quaint old country house._ VIOLA
TRAVERS _and_ MURIEL VANE _on garden-chairs._ VIOLA _is twenty,
dark-eyed, and animated; she holds a scarlet parasol._ MURIEL _is
eighteen; she has very fair hair, parted with puritanical precision;
the naïve innocence of her manner is not without a suggestion of
artistic premeditation._

_Muriel_ (_embroidering_). It is a marvel to me, VIOLA, that you can
ever have a discontented moment in a house so Elizabethan as this.

_Viola._ It _is_ lovely, MURIEL; a background for mystery and romance.
And I have no romance. I have everything else; but I have not a
romance.

_Muriel._ You have ALBERT.

_Viola._ You know that ALBERT is not a romance.

_Muriel._ Once----

_Viola._ Ah, when everyone opposed our marriage. I married him for
love, and because he was poor and "unsuitable." How could I know
that his uncle would die and leave him money and a country house?
Everything has turned out so well! It is rather hard to have made "a
good match," as they say, without intending it. Of course, I never
reproach him.

_Muriel._ No; you have been very nice about it.

_Viola._ ALBERT is perfectly happy, playing at being a country
gentleman. He was so amazed to find there were real ducks and fowls in
the country--and buttercups! He tells me everything. He boasts we
tell each other everything. Oh! I should _so_ like to have some little
thing to conceal from him--some secret, just for fun! Of course I
should tell him all about it afterwards, you know.

[Illustration: "Enter Alan Roy."]

_Muriel._ I am sure you would, dear. You have dropped your
handkerchief. (MURIEL _picks up handkerchief, book, and paper-knife,
and gives them to_ VIOLA.)

_Viola._ Dear MURIEL, it is so nice to have you here. You are so calm,
and soothing, and decorative, and you never take anyone away from
anyone else!

_Muriel._ I think I _have_ been rather unfortunate lately, VIOLA. No
one seems to like me but middle-aged married men--often, too, with
whiskers!

_Viola._ You mean poor Mr. AVERIDGE? He has been married so long that
he has forgotten all about it. To-night CLAUDE MIGNON is coming to
stay with us. He is the most accomplished idiot in London. He sings,
plays, paints, plays games, flirts--I think his flirting, though, has
rather gone off. It is getting mechanical. By the way, have you an
ideal, MURIEL? I wonder what is your ideal?

_Muriel_ (_promptly and cheerfully_). A man past his first youth, who
has suffered; with iron-grey hair and weary eyes, who knows everything
about life and could guide me, and would do exactly what I told him.

_Viola._ And _mine_ is a young man of genius, just beginning
life, with the world before him, who would look up to me as an
inspiration--a guiding star!

_Muriel._ You have dropped your handkerchief again, VIOLA. Who is this
coming out?

_Viola._ It is only Dr. ROBERTS. He has been to see JANE, the
housemaid. She has been rather ill.

_Muriel._ I suppose she had a housemaid's knee.

_Viola._ You are quite wrong. She had writer's cramp, poor thing!

_Muriel._ How absurd, VIOLA! How are you, Dr. ROBERTS!

    [Dr. ROBERTS _has iron-grey hair and dark eyes. As he joins
    them_ MURIEL _leans down to pat a dog with all the graceful
    self-consciousness of youth._ Dr. ROBERTS _looks at_ VIOLA
    _admiringly_.

_Viola._ I hope poor JANE is better?

_Dr. Roberts._ Oh yes; she is quite out of the wood now, Mrs. TRAVERS.
In fact, I don't think I need see her anymore. (MURIEL _looks up._)
Perhaps though, I had better just look in--say--on Thursday?

_Viola._ Do; and stay and have some tennis.

    [Dr. ROBERTS _accepts with evident enthusiasm, and takes leave
    with obvious regret_.

_Muriel_ (_watching him drive away_). Dr. ROBERTS admires you
dreadfully. Is that a romance?

_Viola._ For him perhaps--not for me! And it isn't a mystery!

    [_A telegram is brought in._

_Viola._ Oh, how delightful! ALAN ROY, the wonderful boy harpist, is
coming down! He's coming by the early train! He'll be here directly!

_Muriel._ You never told me you had asked him! I suppose you forgot
it--or remembered it. Doesn't he profess to be even younger than he
is? I mean, when he was four, didn't he say he was three? I wonder if
he'll come down in a sailor-suit.

_Viola._ He's quite nineteen. Here are those tiresome AVERIDGES again!
I thought I got rid of them for a long drive. (_Aloud._) Ah! Here is
dear Mr. AVERIDGE!

_Mr. Averidge_ (_ponderously, to_ MURIEL). And how is Miss VANE
to-day? Looking as she always does, like a rose in June.

_Muriel_ (_coldly_). Yes, Mr. AVERIDGE?

_Viola_ (_to_ Mrs. AVERIDGE _and_ ALBERT, _who are coming up the steps
of the terrace_). ALAN ROY is coming down, _the_ ALAN ROY. He will be
here directly.

_Albert._ All right, though I don't approve of child artists. Poor
little chap!

_Viola._ He is very nearly quite grown up, ALBERT! He has golden hair
and any amount of _usage du monde_.

_Muriel._ ALBERT will call it _cheek_--I daresay!

_Mrs. Averidge._ He is most amusing. I met him at Lady BAYSWATER'S. He
looks quite an angel playing the harp.

_Albert._ I hope he'll bring his halo in a hat-box. What is that text
about "Young lions do lack----"

_Muriel._ Oh, ALBERT!

_Servant._ Master ALAN ROY!

_Albert_ (_aside_). Now, don't make the poor child shy.

    _Enter_ ALAN ROY. _Tall young man, in light grey suit. He
    wears a turned-down collar, a pink button-hole, and carries a
    little stick._

_Alan._ How _are_ you, Mrs. TRAVERS? So sweet of you to ask me! Isn't
it a _dear_ day!

    [_Greetings._

_Mr. Averidge._ And how did the infant prodigy manage to get here all
alone?

_Alan._ I pushed myself in a perambulator. Miss VANE, you look like a
Botticelli in a Paris dress. I didn't bring my harp, _does_ it matter?

    [_Chorus of sham disappointment and real relief._

_Alan_ (_smiling_). It was dreadful of me! But I have been keeping the
poor thing up so late; I thought a rest----

    [_Lunch is announced._ MURIEL _stoops to collect_ VIOLA'S
    _handkerchief, &c._

_Alan_ (_to_ VIOLA). Oh, what a _sweet_ scarlet parasol!

  _Curtain. End of Scene 1._

  (_To be continued._)

       *       *       *       *       *

NEITHER FREE NOR EASY.--The Larne Town Commissioners cannot make up
their minds whether they shall acquire the McGarel Town Hall which
apparently (to judge from a report in the _Northern Whig_) appears
to be in the market. The room, it seems, would be used for a free
library. The Committee, after a very lengthy discussion, have
adjourned the consideration of the question to some distant date
for further information. In the meanwhile, no doubt, they will
appropriately adopt for the municipal motto "Live and Larne."

       *       *       *       *       *

CYNIC TO POET.

    [The great lack of the Age is its want of distinction."

    COVENTRY PATMORE.]

  Alas, our poor Age! How against it we rage!
    In the seat of the scorner the critics ne'er sat more.
  If the pessimist bore would master her lore,
    We've only to send him to Coventry--PATMORE!
  The bards do not love it. But how to improve it?
    That question the poets, like that of the Sphinx, shun.
  Distinction my lad? If the Age is so bad,
    I think its "great lack" is not that, but _extinction!_
  'Tis easier far to abuse it than mend it,
    Must we try MORLEY'S other alternative--end it?

       *       *       *       *       *

A MUSICAL NOTE.--Such has been the success of Mlle. YVETTE GUILBERT,
that, _on dit_ (French must be used when speaking of this _lionne
comique_), it is not improbable she will be engaged to appear in a
part in the forthcoming Sullivan Savoy Opera, in which the relation
of librettists to composer is to be as two to one. If this be so,
then once more at the Savoy will there be a Sullivan-and-Guilbert
Combination.

       *       *       *       *       *

"WHITAKER."

    [Mr. JOSEPH WHITAKER, founder and chief proprietor of
    _Whitaker's Almanack_, died on the 15th May, aged 75.]

  Gone! His praises to rehearse
  Might engage a friendly verse.
  Time, for whom he did so much,
  Surely dealt with gentle touch
  With this man, of lucky star,
  Who the famous calendar,
  Schemed on an ingenious plan,
  Gave to ever-grateful man.
  Millions now would feel the lack
  Of the wondrous Almanack.
  To adapt BEN JONSON'S phrase
  To a worthy of our days,
  One might say of our lost brother,
  Death; ere thou hast slain another
  Good and useful as was he,
  "Time shall throw his dart at thee."

       *       *       *       *       *

CHAMPIONS.--Sir EDWARD GREY, M.P., ought to be a great acquisition at
a dance if his prowess as a tennis champion is any indication. "The
power with which he often finished the ball" was recently highly
praised. His opponent, Mr. GRIBBLE, seems a dangerous man among the
ladies, having at Cambridge "won the singles." Quite a Pasha among the
"Love sets!" But he could only take one single out of the singles he
won.

       *       *       *       *       *

ODD.--"Doctor GREEF" is advertised to give three pianoforte recitals.
If his performance is equal to what we hear of his promise, then those
will experience considerable pleasure who "come to GREEF."

       *       *       *       *       *

SMALL BUT HARMONIOUS FOOTBALL TEAM FOR SUMMER.--"The Shinner
Quartette."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: WHAT OUR ARCHITECT HAS TO PUT UP WITH.

_Our Architect_ (_spotting Sixteenth Century gables_). "THAT'S AN OLD
BIT OF WORK, MY FRIEND!"

"OI, SIR, YEU BE ROIGHT THEER, THAT YOU BE!"

_O. A._ (_keen for local tradition_). "YOU DON'T KNOW EXACTLY _HOW_
OLD, I SUPPOSE?"

"WELL, NOA, SIR; BUT OLD IT BE! WHOI, I'SE KNOWED IT MESELF THESE
_NOINE_ YEARS!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

ODE TO AN OVERCOAT.

(_By a Shivery Person, in Spring-time._)

  "Cast ne'er a clout till May be out,"
    The old Scotch proverb says.
  Thee, did I doff, "Immensikoff,"
    For three most sultry days.
  But wind and dust, in gruesome gust,
    Search bosom, back and throat;
  And to my nose I button close
    My fur-lined Overcoat.
  The Merry May has such a way
    Of blowing hot and cold,
  That fur and cloth I'm always loth
    Away, in Spring, to fold.
  _Gr-r-r!_ There's a blast! I'll hold thee fast
    Dear friend on whom I doat;
  Nor lay thee by till--say--July,
    My own, my Overcoat!

       *       *       *       *       *

LEGAL NOTE.--It is presumably unfortunate for the prisoner-at-the-bar
when, as is constantly announced in the papers, "Mr. So-and-So, Q.C.,
will appear to defend SNOOKS." Hard on SNOOKS when his Counsel only
_appears_ to defend him. But what a sweet surprise for the unhappy
SNOOKS should the Counsel, who only "appears to defend him," _really_
defend him and be victorious!

       *       *       *       *       *

"VOX CLAMANTIS."--The voice of the Claimant is heard once again. No
joke; no Wagga-Waggery. He is publishing his "Entire Life and Full
Confession" in the _People_ newspaper. According to his own statement,
his claim to the Tichborne estates might be described, not only as a
fraud, but as a "Wapping" one.

       *       *       *       *       *

TO A COUNTRY HOST.

(_A Candid Answer to a Hospitable Invitation._)

  You're kind enough to bid me spend
    The "week-end" at your country seat,
  You offer tennis and a friend
    You feel I'm sure to like to meet.
  I hope you will not think me rude--
    You're very kind to ask me down--
  But if the simple truth be told,
    I much prefer to stay in town.

  You tell me that the ground is bare,
    And only gets by slow degrees
  Recovered from our Arctic spell,
    That leafless still are all the trees.
  Well, here, in spite of smoke and soot,
    And all the bustle and the hum
  Of men and things, we don't await
    The Spring--because the Spring has come.

  Each morning as I go to work
    I take my 'bus to Marble Arch,
  And thence amid a wealth of flowers,
    And air perfumed with odours, march
  To Hyde Park Corner. Tell me where--
    I honestly should like to know--
  The much belauded "country" can
    Produce a comparable show?

  Our grass is green, though yours is brown.
    On every tree the lovely bud
  Is bursting into lovelier leaf,
    The Spring runs madly in one's blood.
  To leave such joys I can't consent,
    Too great a struggle it would be,
  But just to show you don't resent
    These lines--come up and stay with me!

       *       *       *       *       *

HOW (OF COURSE) IT IS NOT DONE.

(_Imaginary Sketch of impossible Incident._)

    SCENE--_Editor's Room._ TIME--_Within measurable distance of
    publication._ Editor _discovered in consultation with his_
    Chief Sub.

_Editor._ We can't find room for everything.

_Chief Sub._ Quite so, Sir; still it seems a pity to slaughter this
telegram from the front.

_Editor._ Does it make very much?

_Chief Sub._ No, Sir. If you will allow me, I will run through it.
(_Reads._) "Yesterday the Loamshire Regiment, headed by its Commander,
Colonel SNOOKS, made one of the gallantest charges on record."

_Editor._ Sure it was SNOOKS?

_Chief Sub._ Oh yes. We verified it in the _Army List_. SNOOKS went
out with the Second Battalion when they were ordered to the front.
(_Continues reading._) "The soldiers dashed forward over the Tam-Tam
river, and up the steep sides of the Yah-Yah mountains, carrying all
before them."

_Editor._ Sure of those names?

_Chief Sub._ Yes, Sir; verified them on the map. (_Resumes reading._)
"Nothing could withstand the rain of lead and the row of steel. The
Chutnese attempted to use their 'pungarees'--a rude sort of pruning
knife--but without the slightest effect. Uttering their weird yells of
'Tomata, tomata,' and beating their drum-like vessels known over here
as 'bang-wangs,' they faltered, floundered and fled."

_Editor._ Sure that those names are correct?

_Chief Sub._ Quite, Sir. We verified the local colouring with MOKE'S
_Six Months in Chutney on the top of a Camel_.

_Editor._ Very good. Is there much more?

_Chief Sub._ About a third of a column, describing the taking of
the native village, the storming of the stockade, and the bivouac by
moonlight after the victory at Pennavilla.

_Editor_ (_after consideration_). Well, it might give us an effective
line for the bill. (_A whistle is heard:_ Editor _listens at a
speaking-tube._) Afraid we must sacrifice it. Manager tells me there
is another rush of advertisements, so space is more precious than
ever. You had better boil it down into a three-line paragraph.

_Chief Sub._ No need to do that, Sir. If there's a scarcity of room we
had better give the original telegram.

_Editor._ The original telegram?

_Chief Sub._ Yes, Sir; from which we have worked up the extended
account. Here it is. (_Reads._) "Loamshire, after a skirmish, has
reached Pennavilla." That, with a suitable heading, will just complete
the column.

_Editor._ Quite so.

    [_Scene closes in upon the arrangement._

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "WAS HE VERY MUCH CAST DOWN AFTER HE'D SPOKEN TO PAPA?"
"YES. THREE FLIGHTS OF STAIRS!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A MOAN IN MAYTIME.

_By a Weary Waltonian._

  Oh, Maytime is a gay time for the artist and the dangler,
    The pretty girl, the parson, and the scout;
  And it ought to be a time of rosy rapture for the angler,
    In the capture of the delicate May trout.
  But though SMUDGE, R.A., "feels fine" with his six upon the line,
    And the dangler "does" the galleries with delight;
  Though white-chokered clerics muster amidst eloquential fluster,
    And our girls salute the Season sweet and bright;
  Though the "Cattylog" vendors shout, and cab-runners scout and tout,
    The disciple of Old IZAAK is not gay,
  For although the "Grawnom" 's off, and the trout at "Alders" scoff,
    The May Fly--drat it, does _not_ rise in May!

       *       *       *       *       *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, May 13._--"Well," said the Member for the
Otley division of Yorkshire, "I suppose I've gone through as many
vicissitudes as most men. First I was a BARRAN, now I'm a baronite.
Really, I don't know but what, if they'd made me an earl, I wouldn't
go and sit in the House of Lords. Not because, as good Radical, I
don't despise them, but just to give them advantage of my company, and
place in their way a useful example. Instead of which, here's WOLMER
become Earl of SELBORNE, and insists upon continuing to sit with us!"

Incursion of the Pirate Peer effectively managed. Those old
campaigners, GEORGE CURZON and ST. JOHN BRODRICK, took the business
in hand. The thing was to be a great surprise. Accordingly, took
the SPEAKER into confidence, also the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD (The Little
Minister, MACFARLANE, who has just been reading BARRIE, calls him),
PRINCE ARTHUR, JOSEPH, and a score or two others. The Pirate Peer
was to come down in hansom at four o'clock, to be met by BRODRICK
in Palace Yard; CURZON, armed to the teeth, standing at fifty paces
nearer entrance to House of Commons.

BRODRICK, who likes to do the thing thoroughly, suggested that the
Pirate Peer should fly a black flag out of port-hole at top of
cab. CURZON liked idea, but thought it would attract inconvenient
attention. Finally compromised by arrangement that cabby should
tie bit of black ribbon on his whip. Effect symbolic without being
obtrusive.

Everything went off excellently. Not a hitch in the arrangements.
Whilst questions still going on GEORGE CURZON, with frock-coat lightly
but firmly buttoned over a belt teeming with pistols, sauntered in
from lobby. Glanced carelessly round House. Accidentally, as it were,
placed himself between unsuspecting Sergeant-at-Arms and glass door
giving entrance to House. If the armed official attacked Pirate Peer
it should be across his (CURZON'S) body.

At preconcerted signal BRODRICK rapidly entered; bustled down to Front
Opposition Bench. Attention of Members thus attracted, the Pirate
Peer followed, strode with firm step down House. "Just as if he were
walking the plank," said DONALD CURRIE, looking on admiringly. Before
House knew what had happened, there he sat, smiling and blushing,
between those pillars of Law and Order, JOE and COURTNEY. Never since
Parliaments began had British Constitution received such a staggering
blow. SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE, whilst anxious to see destruction of
House of Lords, is not disposed to have stray fragments incorporated
with fabric of Commons. Called SPEAKER'S attention to presence in
their midst of the Pirate Peer. Asked what they were going to do with
him?

An anxious moment. GEORGE CURZON tugged nervously at the arsenal
scarcely concealed under his frock coat. ST. JOHN BRODRICK
involuntarily stretched forth his hand in direction of Mace. Suppose
he were to seize it, sweep the Treasury Bench clear at a blow, whilst
GEORGE CURZON, with pistol in either hand, and dagger between his
teeth, let fly a volley or two? We might have had a revolution.
Quieter counsels prevailed. SPEAKER directed Pirate Peer to withdraw
below Bar whilst his case was being discussed.

SELBORNE obeyed the mandate, and the ground thus left clear, JOE
and the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD had a tussle. JOSEPH accused the SQUIRE of
acting in a fit of temper. The SQUIRE retorted that it was not only
untrue, but that at the time of offering remark JOSEPH was perfectly
well acquainted with its entire freedom from the trammels of truth.

[Illustration: The Pirate's Convoy. Penny plain, Twopence coloured.]

"Dear me," said Pirate Peer, looking round uneasily. "I hope they
don't talk like that in the House of Lords."

_Business done._--Clause I. Welsh Disestablishment Bill through
Committee.

_Tuesday._--Pirate Peer in the offing again. Ran in, as before, under
protection of guns of consorts, GEORGE CURZON and ST. JOHN BRODRICK.
Lay to under gallery whilst question discussed at large. House never
able to keep up interest in this kind of thing over successive days.
Novel and exciting enough yesterday; steam not to be got up for second
day. Only for JOE, business would have come to conclusion after
formal proposal by SQUIRE OF MALWOOD to refer whole matter to Select
Committee. JOSEPH'S interposition led to inevitable row. Wanted, for
some inexplicable reason, to drag in CARMICHAEL. Quoted _Debrett_ to
establish his claim to dormant Earldom of Hyndford.

JOE left alone in advocacy of this line. SQUIRE OF MALWOOD had rare
good time. Read passage from JOE'S speech of last year, when question
to succession of Coleridge Barony under discussion. Had said then
exactly the reverse of what he to-day averred in respect of succession
to Selborne Peerage, and status of new Peer in House of Commons.

[Illustration: Evidently a Dormant Duke! (Mr. Kn-tchb-ll-H-g-ss-n.)]

"The fatal thing about JOSEPH," said SARK, "is that when he makes a
statement on one side of a case or the other, he does it with such
point, in such felicitous phrase, with such convincing emphasis, that
it sticks in the memory. When, twelve months or nine years later,
circumstances lead him to other side of question, he delivers himself
on it with same incomparable gifts of point and lucidity. The bringing
out of his former assertion is not so conclusive as you would think,
because the two--affirming a thing is white one day, protesting on the
next it is black--are so evenly balanced that the case stands exactly
where it did. This sharp confronting of JOSEPH denying with JOSEPH
affirming would be fatal to some men. To our JOE it is not even
embarrassing. House roars with delight. He sits silent, apparently
unconcerned, and somebody else will suffer by-and-by."

_Business done._--Committee appointed to inquire into case of the
Pirate Peer.

_Thursday._--The longer Major RASCH lives, the fainter grows his faith
in the nobility of human nature. To-night brought down with him a
few carefully selected, choice specimens of the American pea-bug.
Naturally expected everybody would welcome the little stranger.
Especially interesting to Minister of Agriculture. Being a man of
taste, Major had installed the insects in dainty _bon-bon_ box; swung
it lightly between forefinger and thumb as he inquired what HERBERT
GARDNER meant to do about it? "Will the right hon. gentleman," he
said, "have consignments of peas coming from America marked as such,
and put in bond, so that the bugs may develop there, and not in the
British market garden?"

At this way of putting it, SQUIRE OF MALWOOD pricked up his ears. To
quick instincts of CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER bugs in bond suggested
new field of taxation. Made a note of it.

The GRAND YOUNG GARDNER smiled at the claims of long descent put
forward by RASCH on behalf of the tenants of his _bon-bon_ box.
"Nothing new in it," he said superciliously. "Known the creature all
my official life. Your so-called American pea-bug is nothing more than
the pea and bean weevil. Came over with the Conqueror. Agricultural
Department even now publishing leaflet describing manners and customs
of the early settler, and suggesting various ways of soothing its last
moments."

[Illustration: "I may have been Rash."]

This hard; sorer still conduct of Members immediately near the Major.
Began to sheer off, putting him, so to speak, in quarantine.

"I don't care," said TOMLINSON, "whether its American pea-bugs or the
pea and bean weevil. What I do say is that no man has any business to
bring such things with him into the social circle."

"I may have been Rash," said the Major humbly.

"You are," said TOMLINSON tartly.

_Business done._--Coolness sprung up between TOMLINSON and Major
RASCH. Budget Bill read second time.

_Friday._--"Pity the sorrows of the poor postman, whose wandering
steps has brought him to your door." Thus KEARLEY, in a long speech,
from which it appeared that if there is a down-trodden fellow-creature
whose state looks hopeless, it is the postman. The story of the man in
Wales who trudged seventy miles a day, including the diurnal ascent
of a mountain 7,000 feet high, sent thrill of horror through House.
KEARLEY subsequently explained he meant 700 feet high. But that a
detail. Seven seems to be this man's fateful number, for his pay is
seven shillings a week--a shilling a day, including the mountain.

ARNOLD MORLEY, on other hand, showed that the lot of the postman is
truly idyllic. Handsomely paid when on duty; booted and uninformed;
is accustomed to retire in the prime of life on pension amounting to
two-thirds of his salary.

"Why," said WILLIE REDMOND, thinking regretfully of days that are
no more, when JOSEPH GILLIS carried the bag, "as things go now, it's
better to be a postman than an Irish Member." Finally decided
to appoint Committee to inquire into truth of these conflicting
statements.

_Business done._--Didn't get into Committee on Civil Service
Estimates.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW VERSION OF AN OLD PROVERB. (_For the Use of Local
Optionists._)--One Vetoist may keep a toper from his favourite pub;
but fifty cannot make him drink--water.

       *       *       *       *       *

"THE IMMORTAL WILLIAMS" ON THE ANTI-BRITISH MOVEMENT IN EGYPT.--"Oh,
my prophetic soul, DELONCLE!"--_Shakspeare, adapted from the French._

       *       *       *       *       *




Transcriber's Note:

Page 245: 'conseqeuntly' corrected to 'consequently'.

"... and Mr. HOWE was consequently appointed to the post."