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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, March 15, 1890
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 98, March 15, 1890" ***

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  VOLUME 98.

  MARCH 15, 1890.

       *       *       *       *       *



_Or, The Bull who knew his Business._


_Jack Parker ("was a cruel boy, For mischief was his sole employ." Vide_

_Miss Lydia Banks ("though very young, Will never do what's rude or

_Farmer Banks_        } By the Brothers GRIFFITHS.
_Farmer Banks's Bull_ }

_Chorus of Farm Hands._

SCENE--_A Farmyard._ R. _a stall, from which the head of the Bull is
visible above the half-door. Enter_ Farmer BANKS _with a cudgel_.


_Farmer B. (moodily)._

  When roots are quiet, and cereals are dull,
  I vent my irritation on the Bull.

    [_We have_ Miss TAYLOR'S _own authority for this rhyme_.

Come hup, you beast! (_Opens stall and flourishes cudgel--the Bull comes
forward with an air of deliberate defiance._)

  Oh, turning narsty, is he?

(_Apologetically, to Bull._)

  Another time will do! I see you're busy!

    [_The Bull, after some consideration, decides to accept this
    retractation, and retreats with dignity to his stall, the door of which
    he carefully fastens after him. Exit_ Farmer BANKS, L., _as_ LYDIA
    BANKS _enters_ R., _accompanied by Chorus. The Bull exhibits the
    liveliest interest in her proceedings, as he looks on, with his
    forelegs folded easily upon the top of the door._

_Song_--LYDIA BANKS (_in Polka time._)

  I'm the child by Miss JANE TAYLOR sung;
  Unnaturally good for one so young--
  A pattern for the people that I go among,
  With my moral little tags on the tip of my tongue,
  And I often feel afraid that I shan't live long,
  For I never do a thing that's rude or wrong!

_Chorus (to which the Bull beats time)._

  As a general rule, one _doesn't_ live long,
  If you never do a thing that's rude or wrong!

_Second Verse._

  My words are all with wisdom fraught,
  To make polite replies I've sought;
  And learned by independent thought,
  That a pinafore, inked, is good for nought.
  So wonderfully well have I been taught,
  That I turn my toes as children ought!

_Chorus (to which the Bull dances)._
  This moral lesson she's been taught--
  She turns her toes as children ought!

_Lydia (sweetly)._ Yes, I'm the Farmer's daughter--LYDIA BANKS;
  No person ever caught me playing pranks!
  I'm loved by all the live-stock on the farm,

    [_Ironical applause from the Bull._

  Pigeons I've plucked will perch upon my arm,
  And pigs at my approach sit up and beg,

    [_Business by Bull._

  For me the partial Peacock saves his egg,
  No sheep e'er snaps if I attempt to touch her,
  Lambs like it when I lead them to the butcher!
  Each morn I milk my rams beneath the shed,
  While rabbits flutter twittering round my head,
  And, as befits a dairy-farmer's daughter,
  What milk I get I supplement with water,

    [_A huge Shadow is thrown on the road outside_; LYDIA _starts_.

  Whose shadow is it makes the highway darker?
  That bullet head! those ears! it is----JACK PARKER!

    [_Chord. The Chorus flee in dismay, as_ JACK _enters with a reckless


  I'm loafing about, and I very much doubt if my excellent Ma is aware
    that I'm out;
  My time I employ in attempts to annoy, and I'm not what
    you'd call an agreeable boy!
  I shoe the cats with walnut-shells;
  Tin cans to curs I tie;
  Ring furious knells at front-door bells--
  Then round the corner fly!
  'Neath donkeys' tails I fasten furze,
  Or timid horsemen scare;
  If chance occurs,
  I stock with burrs
  My little Sister's hair!

    [_The Bull shakes his head reprovingly._

  Such tricks give me joy without any alloy,--
  but they do not denote an agreeable boy!

    [_As_ JACK PARKER _concludes, the Bull ducks cautiously below the
    half-door, while_ LYDIA _conceals herself behind the pump_, L.C.

_Jack (wandering about Stage, discontentedly)._

  I thought at least there'd be some beasts to badger here!
  Call this a farm--there ain't a blooming spadger here!

    [_Approaches stall--Bull raises head suddenly._

  A bull! This is a lark I've long awaited!
  He's in a stable, so he should be baited.

    [_The Bull shows symptoms of acute depression at this jeu de
    mot_; LYDIA _comes forward indignantly_.

_Lydia._ I _can't_ stand by and see that poor bull suffer!
  Excitement's sure to make his beef taste tougher!

  [_The Bull emphatically corroborates this statement._

  Be warned by Miss JANE TAYLOR; fractured skulls
  Invariably come from teasing bulls!
  So let that door alone, nor lift the latchet;
  For if the bull gets out--why, then you'll catch it!

_Jack._ A fractured skull? Yah, don't believe a word of it!

    [_Raises latchet: chord; Bull comes slowly out, and crouches
    ominously._ JACK _retreats and takes refuge on top of pump; the Bull,
    after scratching his back with his off foreleg, makes a sudden dash
    at_ LYDIA.

_Lydia (as she evades it)_, Here, help!--it's chasing.
  Me!--it's too absurd of it.

    [_The Bull intimates that he is acting from a deep sense of duty._

_Lydia (impatiently)._ You stupid thing, you're ruining the moral!

    [_The Bull persists obstinately in his pursuit._

_Jack (from top of pump)._ Well dodged, Miss BANKS! although the Bull
I'll back!

    [_Enter Farm-hands_.

_Lydia._ Come quick--this Bull's mistaking me for JACK!

_Jack._ He knows his business best, I shouldn't wonder.

_Farm-hands (philosophically)._ He ain't the sort o' Bull to make a

    [_They look on._

_Lydia (panting)._ Such violent exercise will soon exhaust me!

    [_The Bull comes behind her._

  Oh, Bull, it is unkind of you ... you've _tossed_ me!

    [_Falls on ground, while the Bull stands over her, in
    readiness to give the coup de grace_; LYDIA _calls for help_.

_A Farm-hand (encouragingly)._ Nay, Miss, he seems moor sensible nor
  He knows as how good children perish early!

    [_The Bull nods in acknowledgment that he is at last understood, and
    slaps his chest with his forelegs._

_Lydia._ Bull, I'll turn naughty, if you'll but be lenient!
  Goodness, I see, is sometimes inconvenient.
  I promise you henceforth I'll _try_, at any rate,
  To act like children who are unregenerate!

    [_The Bull, after turning this over, decides to accept a compromise._

_Jack._ And, LYDIA, when you ready for a lark are,
  Just give a chyhike to your friend--JACK PARKER!

    [_They shake hands warmly._


_Lydia._ I thought to slowly fade away so calm and beautiful.
  (Though I didn't mean to go just yet);
  But you get no chance for pathos when you're chivied by a bull!
  (So I thought I wouldn't go just yet.)
  For I did feel so upset, when I found that all you get
  By the exercise of virtue, is that bulls will come and hurt you!
  That I thought I wouldn't go just yet!

_Chorus._ We hear, with some regret,
  That she doesn't mean to go just yet.
  But a Bull with horns that hurt you is a poor return for virtue,
  And she's wiser not to go just yet!

    [_The Bull rises on his hindlegs, and gives a forehoof each to_ LYDIA
    _and_ JACK, _who dance wildly round and round as the Curtain falls_.

    [N.B.--Music-hall Managers are warned that the morality of this
    particular Drama may possibly be called in question by some members of
    the L. C. C.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A RETIRING YOUNG MAN.

(_Positively his Last Appearance._)]

  I linger on the same old stage
    Which I have graced so long,
  Though oft, when sick, or in a rage,
    I've sworn to give up song,
  Still somehow, like mellifluous REEVES,
    I flow, and flow, and flow.
  Stage-stars, though fond of taking leaves
    Are very loth to go.

      Teutons, once again,
        Greet me once again!
      Old songs I'm singing,
        Shall I sing in vain?

  Once more I front the same old House,
    And hear the same "_Encore!_"
  My rivals slink as slinks the mouse
    When Leo lifts his roar.
  I'll take my turn with potent voice,
    In solo or in glee.
  At my _rentrée_ my friends rejoice
    They only wanted ME!

      Teutons, once again!
        Greet me once again!
      Old strength is waking,
        Shall it wake in vain?

       *       *       *       *       *


(_For Playing Fields._)

    [A conference of delegates of various Athletic Clubs was held on
    March 4, in the Memorial Hall, Farringdon Street, for the purpose of
    considering the necessity for the further provision of Playing
    fields for the people of the Metropolis.]

  Would you see Town Children playing, O my brothers,
    With their bats and leathern spheres?
  They are herding where the slum-reek fumes and smothers,
    And _that_ isn't play, one fears.
  The young rustics bat in verdant meadows,
    The young swells are "scrummaging" out west;
    _They_ are forming future GRACES, STODDARTS, HADOWS;
  They are having larks, which, after all, is best.
    But the young Town Children, O my brothers,
  They are mooning all the day;
    They are idling in the play-time of the others,
  For they have no place to play!

  Do you recollect they used to play at cricket
    In the bye-streets years ago,
  With a broomstick for a bat, a coat for wicket?
    Now the Bobbies hunt them so!
  The old ladies grumble at their skipping;
    The old gents object to their tip-cat;
  So they squat midst slums that shine like dirty dripping,
    Not knowing what the dickens to be at.
  And the young Town Children, O my brothers,
    Do you ask them why they stand
  Making mud-pies, to the horror of their mothers,
    In their dirty Fatherland?

  They look up with their pale and grubby faces,
    And they answer--"Cricket? Us?
  Only wish we _could_, but then there ain't no places;
    Wot's the good to make a fuss?
  Yes, you're right, Guv, this _is_ dirty fun and dreary;
    But 'Rounders' might just bring us 'fore the Beak,
  And if we dropped our peg-top down a airey,
    They would hurry up and spank us for our cheek.
  Arsk the swell 'uns to play cricket, not us nippers;
    We must sit here damp and dull,
  'Midst the smell of stale fried fish and oily kippers,
    'Cos the Town's so blooming full."

  True, true O children! I of old have seen you
    Playing peg-top, aye, like mad.
  In the side-streets, and upon a village green you
    Could scarce have looked more glad.
  I have seen you fly the kite, and eke "the garter",
    Send your "Rounders'" ball a rattling down the street.
  If you tried such cantrips now you'd catch a tartar
    In the vigilant big Bobby on his beat.
  If you tossed the shuttle-cook or bowled the hoop now,
    A-1's pounce would be your doom.
  In the streets at Prisoner's Base you must not troop now,
    There's no longer any room!

  So you sit and smoke the surreptitious 'baccy,
    And deal in scurril chaff;
  Vulgar JENNY boldly flirts with vicious Jacky,
    You're too knowing now by half.
  They're unchildish imps, these Children of the City,
    Bold and _blasé_, though their life has scarce begun,
  Growing callous little ruffians--ah, the pity!--
    For the lack of open space, and youthful fun.
  Bedford's Bishop says the Cricket pitch is driven
    Further, further, every day;
  And the crowded City grows--well not a heaven,
    Where there is no room for play.

  So, if Cricketers and Footballers, who gather,
    Find Town Children space for sport,
  _Punch_ will be extremely pleased with them; so, rather,
    Will the thralls of lane and court.
  ALFRED LYTTLETON, so keen behind the wicket;
    Lord KINNAIRD, who once was hot upon the ball,
  Give our Arabs chance of football and of cricket.
    And you'll fairly earn the hearty thanks of all;
  For the young City Children, doomed to rummage
    In dim alleys foul as Styx,
  Never else may know the rapture of a "scrummage,"
    Or "a slashing drive for Six!"

       *       *       *       *       *

A DESIRABLE "RAIKES'" PROGRESS.--In the direction of concession to the
overworked and underpaid Post-Office _employés_.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: APPRECIATIVE.


_Sarcastic Friend._ "COULDN'T YOU GO FIRST!"]

       *       *       *       *       *


DEAR MR. PUNCH,--After _The Cotter's Saturday Night_, which is a fine
broad Scotch setting of Rantin' Roarin' Robbie's poem, came _The Dream
of Jubal_. This, as I take it, was a work produced in the Jubalee Year.
I don't know who JUBAL was, at least I've only a vague idea.
Rather think he was a partner of TUBAL. TUBAL, JUBAL & CO., Instrument
Makers. From this Oratorio I gather that JUBAL was an enthusiastic
amateur, but that the only musical instrument he possessed was a
tortoise-shell,--whether comb or simple shell I couldn't quite make out.
However, comb or shell, he worked hard at it, until one morning, when he
was practising outside the house (I expect TUBAL & CO. wouldn't stand
much of it indoors), the birds started a concert in opposition to his
solo. This quite drowned his feeble notes, and drove him half frantic.
In despair he lay down under the shade of a tree and fell asleep, and in
his dreams he saw the instrument which he had invented gradually
developed into a "Strad", and from that into the most glorious
instrument of our time; namely, the banjo. This so soothed and pleased
him, that, waking up, he adorned his tortoise-shell with flowers, and
sang aloud to all his descendants in all time and tune, and out of all
time and tune, if necessary, to join him in praising the invention of
Music generally, and of this Jubalee instrument in particular.

Mr. JOSEPH BENNETT has given a most effective description of the dream;
the accompanied recitation being very fine indeed, and splendidly
performed by Miss JULIA NEILSON, who, like JUBAL, has been in the Tree's
Shadow at the Haymarket. Fine triumphal march and chorus. Your own
MAGGIE MCINTYRE, and your Mr. BARTON McGUCKIN, were in excellent form,
and everybody was delighted, with the exception of one person,--who is
always _à peu près_, never quite satisfied, and therefore rightly named,

    "ALL-BUT HALL, S.W."

       *       *       *       *       *

"HARLOWE THERE!"--This now familiar exclamation might be appropriately
adopted as the motto of the Vaudeville Theatre during the run of
_Clarissa_. She does run, too, poor dear--first from home, then from
_Lovelace's_, and then "anywhere, anywhere, out of the world!" By the
way, is it quite fair of Mr. THOMAS THORNE, in the absence of a friend
and brother comedian, to speak of himself, as he does in this piece, as
"a mere Toole"? How can such a metamorphosis have taken place? We trust
that Mr. THOMAS THORNE, Temporary Tragedian, will amend his sentiments.

       *       *       *       *       *

SIR W. V. HARCOURT, on the night when he was so huffy, "left the House."
True: he certainly did not "carry the House with him."

       *       *       *       *       *


(_By Mr. Punch's Own Type-Writer._)



The Giddy Lady is one who, having been plunged at an early age into
smart society, is whirled perpetually round in a vortex of pleasures and
excitements. In the effort to keep her head above water, she is as
likely as not to lose it. This condition she naturally describes as
"being in the swim." In the unceasing struggle to maintain herself
there, she may perhaps shorten her life, but she will apparently find a
compensation in the increased length of her dressmaker's bills. She is
ordinarily the daughter of aristocratic parents, who carefully allowed
her to run wild from the moment she could run at all. By their example
she has been taught to hold as articles of her very limited faith, that
the serious concerns of life are of interest only to fools, and should,
therefore (though the inference is not obvious), be entirely neglected
by herself, and that frivolity and fashion are the twin deities before
whom every self-respecting woman must bow down.

Having left the Seminary at which she acquired an elementary ignorance
of spelling, a smattering of French phrases as used by English lady
novelists, and a taste for music which leads her in after-life to prefer
Miss BESSIE BELLWOOD to BEETHOVEN, she is soon afterwards brought out at
a smart dance in London. From this point her progress is rapid. Balls
and concerts, luncheons and receptions, dinners and theatres, race
meetings and cricket matches, at both of which more attention is paid to
fashion than to the field, follow one another in a dizzy succession. She
has naturally no time for thought, but in order to avoid the least
suspicion of it, she learns to chatter the slang of the youthful
Guardsmen and others who are her companions. A certain flashing style of
beauty ensures to her the devotion of numerous admirers, to whom she
babbles of "chappies" and "Johnnies," and "real jam" and "stony broke,"
and "two to one bar one," as if her life depended upon the correct
pronunciation of as many of these phrases as possible in the shortest
time on record. She thus comes to be considered a cheerful companion,
and at the end of her third season, marries a jaded man of pleasure,
whose wealth is more considerable than his personal attractions, and
who, for some inscrutable reason, has been approved by her parents as a
suitable husband.

She treats matrimony as an emancipation from rules which she has rarely
seen any one else observe, and has never honoured herself, and after a
few years, she becomes one of that gaudy band of Society ladies who
follow with respectful imitation the giddy vagaries of the Corinthians
of a lower grade. She dines often without her husband at smart
restaurants, where she has constant opportunities of studying the
manners of her models. She adores the burlesques at the Gaiety and the
Avenue, and talks, with a complete absence of reserve and a disregard of
pedantic accuracy, about the lives and adventures of the actresses who
figure there. She can tell you, and does, who presented LOTTIE A. with a
diamond star, and who was present at the last supper-party in honour of
TOTTIE B. Nor is she averse to being seen and talked about in a box at a
Music-Hall, or at one of the pleasure-palaces in Leicester Square. She
allows the young men who cluster round her to suppose that she knows all
about their lapses from strict propriety, and that she commends rather
than condemns them. _Causes célèbres_ are to her a staple of
conversation, her interest in them varying directly as the number of

It is impossible, therefore, that the men who are her friends should
treat her with that chivalrous respect which an obsolete tradition would
seem to require, but they suffer no loss of her esteem in consequence.
Such being her behaviour in the society of men, the tone of her daily
conversation with friends of her own sex may be readily imagined, though
it might not be pleasant to describe. Suffice it to say, that she sees
no shame in addressing them, or in allowing herself to be addressed by a
name which a Court of law has held to be libellous when applied to a
burlesque actress. She is always at Hurlingham or the Ranelagh, and has
seen pigeons killed without a qualm. She never misses a Sandown or a
Kempton meeting; she dazzles the eyes of the throng at Ascot every year,
and never fails at Goodwood.

Twice a year the Giddy Lady is compelled by the traditions of her caste
to visit Paris, in order to replenish her exhausted wardrobe. On these
occasions she patronises only the best hotel, and the most expensive and
celebrated of men-dressmakers, and she is "fitted" by a son of the
house, of whom she talks constantly and familiarly by his Christian name
as JEAN, or PIERRE, or PHILIPPE. During the shooting season she goes
from country-house to country-house. She has been seen sometimes with a
gun in her hands, often with a lighted cigarette between her lips.
Indeed she is too frequent a visitor at shooting-luncheons and in
smoking-rooms, where a woman, however much she may attempt to disguise
her sex, is never cordially welcomed by men. The conventions of the
society in which she moves seem to require that she should be attended
during her visits by a _cavaliere servente_, who is therefore always
invited with her. Their pastime is to imitate a flirtation, and to
burlesque love, but neither of them is ever deceived into attributing
the least reality to this occupation, which is often as harmless as it
is always absurd.

These and similar occupations, of course, leave her no time to attend to
her children, who are left to grow up as best they may under the
fostering care of nursery-maids and of such relations as may choose,
from time to time, to burden themselves with the olive-branches of
others. Her husband has long since retired from all competition with
her, and leaves her free to follow her own devices, whilst he himself
follows the odds. She is often supposed to be riding for a fall. It is
certain that her pace is fast. Yet, though many whisper, it is quite
possible that she will ride to the end without open damage.

Of her dress and her jewels it need only be said that she affects
tailor-made costumes and cat's-eye bangles by day, and that at night she
escapes by the skin of her teeth from that censure which the scantiness
of her coverings would seem to warrant, and which Mr. HORSLEY, R.A., if
he saw her, would be certain to pronounce.

In middle age she loses her brilliant complexion. Yet, for reasons best
known to herself, her colour continues to be bright, though her spirits
and her temper seem to suffer in the effort to keep it so. As old age
advances, she is as likely as not to become a gorgon of immaculate
propriety, and will be heard lamenting over the laxity of manners which
permits girls to do what was never dreamt of when she was a girl

       *       *       *       *       *


How curious that our youngest boy, aged fifteen months, should have
already become partially paralysed, and be afflicted, besides, with
anæmia, rickets, and growing inability to digest the smallest particle
of food!

If it were not that we procure our milk from the "Hygienic Unskimmed
Lacteal Fluid and Food for Babes Company, Limited," I should begin to
believe that there might be something wrong with the beverage which
forms the staple of his infantile dietary.

The Company professes to sell milk "pure from the cow." From the quality
of this morning's supply, I should be inclined to fancy that that cow is
suffering from an advanced stage of atrophy.

As our eldest child, aged two-and-a-half, is still totally unable to
walk, and its legs have become mere shrivelled sticks, I really must
call in an Analyst to test our milk.

Heavens! The Analyst reports that more than half the cream has been
"separated"--which seems to mean removed--and that its place has been
supplied by "65 per cent. of impure water."

Under these circumstances, I hardly think that the fine of five
shillings, and half-a-crown costs, which the Magistrate has inflicted on
the Company, quite meets the justice of the case, or will be sufficient
to stop such adulteration in the future.

       *       *       *       *       *

Buffalo Bill and Leo Pope.

  Went BUFFALO BILL to see the Pope pass by.
  Then were the Cow-boys cowed by the POPE'S eye,
  With which, like many an English-speaking glutton,
  They'd often met, and fastened on, in mutton.
  The difference vast at once they did espy,
  Betwixt a sheep's eye and a Leo's eye.
  Says Shiney WILLIAM to himself, "I'm blest!"
  And so he was, and so were all the rest.

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM A NAUTICAL INQUIRER.--"Please, Sir, what's the uniform of an
Admiral of the 'Bouillon Fleet'? I see this Fleet advertised, but have
been unable to obtain any information about it at the Admiralty, where I
have called repeatedly to make inquiries." [Consult "The First Lord!"
The first lord you meet will do.--ED.]

       *       *       *       *       *


I must confess, my dear Editor, I was greatly gratified at your
gracefully recognising my twenty years' service, spent in the defence of
my QUEEN and my country (in the Militia), by asking me to be present at
the initial performance of the Guards Burlesque Company of _Fra Diavolo_
in the Theatre Royal, Recreation Room, Chelsea Barracks, S.W.

The place was not entirely new to me. Last year it had been my good
fortune to see _Ivanhoe_, with Mr. NUGENT in the principal character--a
gallant and talented gentleman, who was, alas! conspicuous by his
absence on the present occasion. I was given to understand that this
year the Grenadiers were ordered "to the front," and that the command
had been obeyed, the list of the _Dramatis Personæ_ amply proved.

The music was admirably selected by Mr. EDWARD SOLOMON, the "_Baker
Roll_" from _Pickwick_ going capitally. The scenery, by the Hon. ARNOLD
KEPPEL (late Scots Guards), was good, and "the writing up to date," by
Mr. YARDLEY (never to be forgotten on the field of cricket), was better.

For the rest, I may say that the Guards' Burlesque Company, from a
theatrical professional stand-point, were hardly "Gaiety form," but, as
amateurs, they were simply magnificent. There was no supper--but this is
a detail. Yours sincerely,


    _The Plains of Waterloo, in rear of the Army and Navy Stores, S. W._

[Illustration: The 19th Sent'ry Guards Burlesque.]

       *       *       *       *       *

"LENT LECTURES."--A Correspondent signing himself "MISSING LINK," says,
that he frequently sees Lectures advertised as above, and wants to know
if they come into the same category with "Borrowed Sermons." [Don't
know. Consult Mr. F. JEUNE, Q.C., or the Archbishop of CANTERBURY.--ED.]

       *       *       *       *       *

"THAT ought to be an interesting and amusing article in _Lippincott's
Magazine_ for March," observed Mrs. RAM--"I mean the one called, 'Who
are the Christy Minstrels'?" We referred to the number. No such article
in it; but one entitled, "Who are Christian Ministers?" Probably this
was it. Near enough for Mrs. R.

       *       *       *       *       *


(_A Delightful "All-The-Year-Round" Resort for the Fashionable


  I am waiting in darkness to greet her--
    Why in darkness I cannot explain,
  For there's plenty of gas in the meter,
    And enough, I suppose, in the main!
  But 'tis darkness so unpenetrating,
    And 'tis darkness so dismally deep!
  And I'm waiting, and waiting, and waiting,
    Like the chap in "A Garden of Sleep."

  I've been patiently waiting to meet her,
    Till I'm thoroughly sick of this gloom;
  It is ten by my Benson repeater--
    It was six when I entered the room!
  But I must not begin to grow weary,
    And to stamp, and to fret, and to curse!
  The surroundings are certainly dreary,
    But they might be decidedly worse!

  I am waiting, still waiting, to greet her!--
    Here all night I'm determined to stand,
  For a prettier girl, or a sweeter,
    There is not to be seen in the land!
  If I go, I am sure to regret it,
    So I'll make up my mind here to stay.
  What though time _is_ departing? Well, let it!
    _I_ shall wait here for ever and aye!


The Walery-Gallery Co.--for WALERY has transformed himself into a
Limited Liability--is bringing out a series of "Sporting Celebrities,"
with sporting notes, monographs, and dramatic notes too. The photographs
are excellent. Two in each monthly number. The monographs are right
enough, but the sporting and dramatic notes in a monthly, are either not
sufficient or too much. Three portraits and three monographs, one
sportswoman and two sportsmen in each number would be better, at least,
so it seems to the learned Baron, who would sum up the requisites for
making the Walery-Gallery Sporting Series a success in a Shakspearian
quotation, adapted for this special occasion,--"More art and less

The Baron is always much interested in the _Revue de Famille_, directed
and largely contributed to by M. JULES SIMON, who is also a pretty
regular contributor to its pages. In December last, M. SIMON wrote a
thoughtful and interesting article on _L'Education des Femmes_, and M.
FRANCISQUE SARCEY, a very amusing paper on _Le Timide au Théâtre_. The
number for February (it is only a bi-monthly publication) has a paper on
_L'Influence_ (not the influenza) _des Femmes en France_, the only fault
of which is its length; and GYP gives a satirical sketch called _Nos
Docteurs_, which hardly seems in keeping with the family character of
the _Revue_. The March Number is now out, and can be procured at
HACHETTE'S. It is one of the best French serials.

A delightful book is _Yorkshire Legends and Traditions_, collected and
recounted by the Rev. THOMAS PARKINSON. He who writes of fairies and of
witches should of course possess some potent spell--(how many members of
the School-Board, had they lived a couple of hundred years ago, would
have been punished as witches for teaching "spelling," it is pleasant to
imagine)--and Mr. PARKINSON'S great charm is his apparent belief in the
wonders he relates. Even when he occasionally alludes to "popular
superstition," you feel it is only a phrase introduced evidently out of
consideration for the unphilosophic prejudices of his "so-called"
Nineteenth-Century readers, who pride themselves on being HUXLEYS in the
full blaze of scientific light, and yet would shrink from passing a
night in a haunted room, or, if alone, would go a mile out of their way
to avoid an uncanny spot. The greatest mistake made by narrators of the
marvellous is attempting to account for the unaccountable. This book is,
I believe, one of a series now being published by ELLIOT STOCK, of
Paternoster Row, a stock which Your Own Baron recommends as a safe
investment, for the book alone is a good dividend, the interest being
kept up all through; and it is satisfactory to hear that, as the other
counties of England, and perhaps of Ireland and Scotland, are being
dealt with in a similar manner, there is a good reserve-fund of
information and amusement.

Mr. RUNCIMAN, in _The Fortnightly_, brings a serious indictment of
plagiarism against Mr. RIDER HAGGARD, which it strikes me he would be
unable to sustain in a Court of Common Sense before MR. PRESIDENT PUNCH,
unless it were first laid down as a fixed principle, that a writer of
fiction must never have recourse to any narrative of facts whereon to
base his Romance.


       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: MAXIMS FOR THE BAR.

No. I.

"When Cross-examining a Lady, treat her with Deference."]

       *       *       *       *       *

SWEET LAVENDER.--Miss SPRULES, whose "Lavender Farm" in Surrey was
recently visited by a ubiquitous _P. M. Gazetter_, appears to be a real
scenter of attraction. "Does it pay?" asked the Interviewer. And of
course the Lady's answer was, "Scent per scent."

       *       *       *       *       *

"JUNKETING" IN LONDON.--Last Saturday a grand Devonian Dinner took place
at the Criterion. Of course, only _La Crême de la Crême_ of Devon were

       *       *       *       *       *

ferat._" Has the gallant Corporal any more to Tel-(el-Kebir)?

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM "1ST FLAT, COLNEY HATCHWELL."--The song of "_Be Mine_" is a great
success. The song "_Be Minor_" ought to be a greater.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW NOVEL, shortly to appear, by a Director of the London and
Westminster Bank, entitled, _Allsopps and Conditions of Men_.

       *       *       *       *       *

UNGRAMMATICAL BUT QUITE CORRECT.--When a Gentleman asks, at a
book-stall, "Have you a number of _Woman_ here?"

       *       *       *       *       *

WHAT'S "a bore for coal is fun for us!" Mem. by Shareholder, S. E. Line.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: NIL DESPERANDUM.


_Fair Hostess._ "SO DO I!"]

       *       *       *       *       *


  "Off?" Thank goodness, yes!
    Always was--confound it!--
  An unsavoury mess,
    Foulness reeking round it.
  Resurrection pie
    Not in it for nastiness.
  Dished-up--who knows why?--
    With unseemly hastiness.
  Of the _chef's_ poor skill,
    Feeblest of expedients.
  Sure we've had our fill
    Of its stale ingredients.
  _Toujours perdrix_? Pooh!
    That is scarce delightful;
  _Toujours_ Irish Stew
    Very much more frightful.
  Thrice-cooked colewort? Ah!
    That no doubt were tedious;
  But this hotch-potch? Pah!
    Thought of it is hideous.
  It has been too long
    _Pièce de résistance_;
  Take its odour strong
    To unsniffing distance.

  Waiter's self looks sick
    At the very thought of it.
  Oh, remove it, quick!
    Customers want nought of it.
  Eh? One hungry sinner
    Asks another plateful?
  He should have his dinner
    Snatched by harpies fateful.
  Kitchen never yet
    Knew a failure greater.
  Few its end regret.
    Surely not the Waiter.
  He his finger had
    In the pie--or gravy.
  Did he? Well, 'tis sad.
    He must cry "_Peccavi!_"
  But whoever mixed,
    Or whoever boiled it,
  Our opinion's fixed,
    He, or they, quite spoiled it.
  'Tis the general scoff,
    Butt of chaff and rudeness.
  Irish Stew is "Off",
    Finally--Thank Goodness!

       *       *       *       *       *

REVISED VERSION. "IN GLOBO."--The author of Dixon's Johnsonary, who last
week sent us a paragraph about the Globe Theatre (where, he said, it was
pleasant to find the name of SHAKSPEARE once more associated with that
of his great contemporary, JOHN BENSON), was wrong in saying that Miss
DOROTHY DENE is taking the part of _Hippolyta_ in _The Midsummer
Matinée's Dream_. It is very kind of so conscientious an _artiste_ to
"take anybody's part." But, as a matter of fact, Miss DOROTHY is
appearing as _Helena, La belle Hélène_, in the same drama.

       *       *       *       *       *

"SPRING HATS FOR LADIES."--Are they going to adopt the _gibus_?

       *       *       *       *       *


The dinner given by Mr. JAMES STAATS FORBES, Chairman of the L.C. & D.
Railway, last Wednesday, to M. EIFFEL, and the French Engineers, was a
big success. As the _P. M. G._, which, being now edited by a _chef_,--at
least, he is a man-Cook,--authoritatively informed us, in anticipation
of this feast, "The Continent and Great Britain have been ransacked for
delicacies." There is to be another banquet, we hear, and more
"ransacking." Once again will that delightfully-entertaining Chairman,
J. S. FORBES, of the Lucullus Chatting and Dining Line, present a menu
which will be unexampled in culinary history. By great favour we are
permitted to present a few of the delights of this bill of fare, in
which a SOYER would have rejoiced, a UDE have delighted, and of which a
BRILLAT-SAVARIN might indeed have been proud. No expense in ransacking
has been spared. They are sending to the prairie for prairie oysters; to
Egypt for _Pot-au-feu (soupe à la mauvaise femme)_; to Jerusalem for
artichokes, to Bath for chaps, and Brussels for sprouts. Bordeaux will
be ransacked for pigeons, Scotland for Scotch woodcock, Wales for
rabbits, Sardinia for sardines, and Turkey for rhubarb. Special
messengers are travelling through Germany in search of sausages; others
are in Ireland seeking supplies of the stew of that country. Bombay is
being ransacked for its celebrated Bombay ducks, Guinea for fowls,
Norfolk for dumplings, and Chili for vinegar. Merchant traders are
already in treaty with Madeira for cakes; and while Naples is being
ransacked for ices, the Government Stationery Office at home will yield
an almost inexhaustible supply of wafers.

The guests, led by a choir arrayed in twenty-four sheets, also supplied
by the Stationery Office, will sing a delightful compound of the
drinking chorus in _Through the Looking-Glass_, and "_The Bonnets of
Bonny Dundee_," which will go as follows, all (who can) standing:--

  Let's fill up our glasses with treacle and ink,
    And anything else that is pleasant to drink,
  And hook the best port and let us gay free,
    And hurrah for STAATS FORBES and the L. C. & D.!

We can only give these few hints, as of course, this is but a small
portion of the _menu_, a mere pennyworth to any amount of ransacking.


       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THANK GOODNESS!!!



       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: His Hunting Costume is rather startling.]

[Illustration: His Method of Amusing himself in Covert was unusual.]

[Illustration: His style of Riding was a trifle reckless.]

[Illustration: And when he compelled some Bullocks to join in the chase,
it was hardly the thing.]

[Illustration: But all this wouldn't have mattered so much, if he hadn't
galloped through the Hounds--]

[Illustration: And murdered the Fox with his infernal Whip!]

       *       *       *       *       *


(_A Vindication._)

MON CHER MONSIEUR PUNCH,--That you have been the victim of "a 'oax,"
crafty, ingenious, and abominable, there is now no shadow of a doubt.
That letter palmed off on to your good and trustful nature the week
before last, with the signature of "LE HEADS MASTERRE," professing to
deal with the subject of the International athleticism, I should
unfailingly pronounce, after cursory investigation, to be a forgery,
impudent and profound. For survey the facts: while it proposed, in a set
of regulations _bizarre_ and fantastic, to abolish "Le 'Arf-back," as a
superfluous officer in the French game, a contest took place in the very
centre of this Paris, in which not only the "'Arf-back," but the
"Three-quarterre-back" was referred to as having been _changed four
times in the progress of one game_! Nor was this all. So highly and
efficiently trained by the indefatigable Principal had been the French
"'Ome-team," that,--glorious announcement to make,--they succeeded in
carrying off the victory, not merely from one of your Public School
Clubs, representing only one country, but from a united "_Onze_," that
might have been regarded with a natural and excusable patriotic pride,
as the combined force of all the whole civilised world. Yes, the force
opposed to our courageous youths of the _Lycée Janson de Sailly_
comprised not only Englishmen, but other nationalities, including sons
of the American United States and Holland. Against this formidable
combination the active and sportsmanlike youth of our re-awakened
athletic France scored a victory, easy, swift, and complete, of two
tries to nothing.

For further particulars, I refer you to the newspapers of the period,
that furnish the details of the affair. In them you will see that, so
far from "_Le Scrimmage_" being abandoned, on the contrary, several, of
a character hotly contested, and severe, appear to have arisen in the
efforts necessary to secure _les deux "tries"_; for though no mention is
made of the Hospital ambulance, yet it is hinted that much
sticking-plasterre must have been used in fastening up and healing the
many contusions, grave, startling, and various, resulting from the
furious kicking of legs, and struggling of bodies, inevitable in the
progress of "_Un Scrimmage_" in which _Three-quarters-back_,
_'Arf-backs_, _Forwards_, and _even Goal-keeperes_ were often mingled in
confusion, bewildering and prolonged, and only saved from being deadly
and prostrating by the admirable _élan_ and courageous spirit with which
it was encountered.

No, _mon cher Monsieur Punch_, I do not say that when our Athletic
Committee commence their investigations of the dangers obvious and
definite connected with the conduct of your _jeu de Cricquette_, that
they may not alter the constitution and weight of the ball, which I
understand is made of lead, and weighs ten pounds and three-quarters,
and reduce the size of _les batte-clubs_, themselves instruments to an
excessive degree ponderous and grotesque, probably eliminating entirely
from the field such dangerously-located officers as "Le Long-stoppe,"
"Le square-legge," and, above all, "Le wicket-keepere," but this does
not affect their action in considering the reformation of the rules for
the legitimate and reasonable conduct of the game of "Kicke-ball." No,
_mon cher Monsieur_, these they are agreeable to leave as they are,
remembering that the ball, formidable though he may be on account of his
size, is harmless as a butterfly in the contact, being filled only with
air. Moreover they see no reason to change when an "_Onze_" of this New
Athletic France can, with the old rules, claim as she does the noble
victory of _le deux_ "tries" to nothing, and enables the writer of this
letter of correction, with a satisfaction that is keen and infinite, and
a pride that is profound and pardonable, to subscribe himself hereunder,


       *       *       *       *       *

QUESTION OF PARENTAGE.--Prof. HUXLEY, returning to the charge against
Socialism, declares Capital to be "the Mother of Labour". If so, surely
"the child was mother of the--woman!"--to adopt WORDSWORTH'S seeming
paradox. The first family, when first doomed to Labour, had surely very
little Capital.

  When ADAM delved and EVE span
  Where was then the--"Middleman"?

       *       *       *       *       *

A City Correspondent sends us this Advertisement from the _Daily

    SUPERINTENDENT of WAITERS. Applications, accompanied by
    Testimonials, must be made in writing, on or before the 15th March,
    to the Secretary, the Stock Exchange, from whom full particulars of
    the duties and salary can be obtained. Candidates must be under 40
    years of age.

He is afraid lest it should have escaped our ROBERT'S eye. Under forty
years of age is rather young for a Superintendent, perhaps; but no doubt
ROBERT, who, as he says, "is not for any pertikler age, but for all
time," would be equal to the occasion.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A HOUSE OF CIPHERS.

[Mr. PICTON, M.P., said, "that if every day was to be taken for
Government business, Private Members would become mere Ciphers."]]

       *       *       *       *       *


(_A Report of a Meeting yet to be held._)

A meeting of the Improved Saloon Palace Coach Combination (Limited), was
held at the Offices of the Company on Thursday last, when Lord
BURLINGTON ARCADIA (in the absence of the Duke of UTOPIA) was called
upon to preside.

The noble Chairman said he was delighted to see so many
benevolent-looking shareholders present. He admitted that he felt a
little nervous, as no doubt the Board of Directors (of whom he had the
honour to be one) had acted to a great extent upon their own
responsibility in conducting the business of the Company. Encouraged by
the comments of the Press, the Board considered they owed a duty to the
Public second only in importance to the duty they owed to the
shareholders. Nowadays, great trading communities had no right to act
selfishly--they must think not only of those who owned the capital, but
also of that vast majority whose comfort it should be their pleasure to

The paper to which he specially referred suggested that various
improvements should be made. All the Saloon Palace cars of the Company,
it was proposed, should be repainted in various colours, to facilitate
identification; but this would cost money--(_loud cheers_)--and he was
happy to say they had money to spend. They had spent it. (_Murmurs._) He
was sure that they would be pleased when they learned the manner in
which that money had been spent. Instead of being hoarded up to swell
the dividend--(_groans._)--it had been absorbed in improvements which
would confer great benefits upon the community. (_Uproar._)

A SHAREHOLDER. What have we to do with the community?

The CHAIRMAN explained that as the greater included the lesser, the
community must include the Shareholders. ("_No, no!_") He was sorry to
hear those sounds of dissent, but what had been done could not be
undone. (_Loud and prolonged groaning_). He trusted that he would be
treated with courtesy. ("_Hear, hear!_") He had come to the meeting at
considerable inconvenience. (_Cheers._) As a matter of fact, he had
little stake in the Company, as some time since he had disposed of the
vast bulk of his shares. (_Groans._) However, he would continue. As they
knew, the vehicles were now fitted with warm bottles in winter and
air-cushions in summer. Every passenger had a velvet upholstered
arm-chair. Flowers were supplied in great profusion in the interior of
the vehicles, and costly shrubs arranged on the platform supporting the
cushioned garden-seats of the exterior. As the additional weight to be
drawn in consequence of these improvements was considerable, it had been
considered advisable to increase the number of horses to each vehicle
from two to six. (_Groans._) New routes had been selected--for instance,
special services of carriages had been arranged up and down the Belgrave
Road, the Mall, Hammersmith, the Upham Park Road, Chiswick, and round
Brompton Square. Then he might say----

A SHAREHOLDER. We know all this, but how about the dividend? (_Cheers._)

The CHAIRMAN regretted the interruption. However, as the meeting wished
to enter into the subject of finance--(_cheers and cries of_ "We
do")--he might say, that no dividend would be declared this half-year,

At this point of the proceedings there was a rush for the platform, and,
shortly afterwards, the meeting noisily separated.

We are informed, that the inquest upon the bodies of the Chairman and
his co-Directors, will be held early next week.

       *       *       *       *       *


_Young Masham (leaving Cards)._ "IS ANYONE ILL HERE NOW?"

_Footman (fresh from the Country)._ "I'M DOING PRETTY WELL AT PRESENT,

       *       *       *       *       *


Extracted From the Diary of Toby, M.P.

[Illustration: A Distinguished Stranger.]

_House of Commons, Monday, March 3._--OLD MORALITY, decently dressed in
black, stood at table to-night, reading through the space of an hour his
discourse on Report of Parnell Commission. A decorous, almost funereal
function. J. G. TALBOT enjoyed it thoroughly. "So like being in church
on Sunday afternoon," he said. "Wish OLD MORALITY could have seen his
way to put on white neck-tie, and brought his notes bound up in black

Service proceeded very well without these details. JEMMY LOWTHER early
fell victim to gentle influence of occasion. Long before OLD MORALITY
had reached his fourthly, JAMES, with head reverently bent on his chest,
sweetly slept; dreamt he was a boy again, sitting in the family pew at
Easington-cum-Liverton, listening to his revered grandfather bubbling
forth orthodoxy. Up in Distinguished Strangers' Gallery sat a little boy
on his father's knee. Long he listened to the gentle murmur, broken now
and then by a yawn from a back bench, or the rustling of the manuscript
as it was turned over folio by folio. It was a great occasion for him;
his first visit to the Chamber which still echoed with the tones of his
father's uncle, JOHN BRIGHT. He kept gallantly awake as quarter-hour
sped after quarter-hour, and then, reminiscent of a nursery story
somewhere told, his too audible whisper broke in upon the slumbering

"Papa, hasn't the Gentleman brought his Amen with him?"

It came at last. Perhaps none so grateful as OLD MORALITY. Curious to
note how, when beholding the welcome last folio of his discourse, OLD
MORALITY, uplifting his voice, said, "And now to----", there was a
sudden movement in the crowd, a shuffling of feet, a rustling of
garments, a motion as if the congregation were about to rise to receive
the benediction. But OLD MORALITY was only about to observe, "And now to
bring these imperfect remarks to a conclusion, I would entreat the House
to consider the great interests at stake, to vindicate the reputation of
this House, and to do their duty to their Queen and Country."

After peace, the storm. GLADSTONE ruffled prevalent calm with a tornado
of virile eloquence. Grand Old Man in fine form. If he had had the
arrangement of course of events, nothing could have been more
successfully designed than the contrast. For OLD MORALITY'S gentle
commonplaces, his pallid platitudes, his copy-book headings strung
together in timid flight after the Good and the True, here rushed a
flood of burning eloquence, carrying with it the whole audience;
jubilant the Opposition, faintly resisting the Ministerialists.
GLADSTONE had no copy-book before him, only the merest skeleton of
notes. These, with what seemed to the intently-listening audience the
fewest, simplest touches, he informed and inflamed with flesh and blood.
Spoke for an hour and forty minutes--a marvellous feat for any man, a
miracle of mental and physical force for an octogenarian.

HICKS-BEACH followed; but spell broken; the listening throng, filling
the chamber from floor to topmost range of gallery, swiftly melted away.
Thus it came to pass there were few to see HARCOURT as presently he went
forth whimpering. He, the champion slogger, accustomed to rampage round
the tents of the enemy, and bring his shillelagh down on any head
accidentally protruding, had been himself attacked. HICKS-BEACH girded
at him to-night in comparatively gentle fashion. HARCOURT tossed about
on bench and pettishly protested; claimed SPEAKER'S protection; SPEAKER
declined to interfere. Then, digging lusty knuckles into moist eyes, he
sobbed, "I--I--am not going to stay to be abused in this manner; shan't
play!" and so went forth, amid the jeers and mocking laughter of naughty
boys opposite. _Business done._--Debate on Parnell Commission Report

[Illustration: "I shan't play!"]

_Tuesday._--Haven't seen anything more charming for a long time than
ELLIOTT LEES' plunge into debate on the Parnell Commission Report. Rose
at same time as CHARLES LEWIS, squaring his elbows, stretching his legs
and crooking his knees, as if had just dismounted, after winning
steeplechase. CHARLES LEWIS, Bart., on feet at same time; might
reasonably be supposed to claim precedence, having Amendment on paper,
in addition to wide Parliamentary reputation. LEES didn't even look at
Bart. Began his remarks, taking it as a matter of course that SPEAKER
would call on him. House doesn't like CHARLES LEWIS, Bart., so called on
LEES, and Bart. withdrew, angrily snorting.

Very few Members present. Getting on for dinner-hour. General conviction
that it's going to be a dull night. Nothing can help it. But GLADSTONE
waits, and presently, attracted by LEES' superb sense of superiority,
sits with hand to ear, listening with kindly smile. Nothing delights
Grand Old Man so much as youth, especially aggressive youth--youth that
knows about everything, with fuller information and judgment more
accurate than its elders. This is what, years ago, first attracted him
to RANDOLPH. Now sits listening while YOUNG TWENTY-NINE, who represents
Omniscience and Oldham, in drawling voice, hesitating for a word, but
having no hesitation in keeping the House waiting for it, settles the
question that for two years has riven parties and convulsed continents.

[Illustration: W. Leave-em Bright.]

YOUNG TWENTY-NINE knew all about it from the beginning. Wasn't born in
1860 for nothing. When his own party were rushing headlong down to
destruction, arranging for appointment of Commission, he had warned them
of their error. But no use going back on the irrevocable. Thing is, what
is to be done now? YOUNG TWENTY-NINE casting patronising look on OLD
EIGHTY, listening on the Front Opposition Bench, would really like to
have voted for his Amendment. But, on his conscience, couldn't; too
strongly drawn, doncha; why hadn't he taken counsel of some young
friend, and drafted his Amendment with more moderation? At same time,
YOUNG TWENTY-NINE couldn't do otherwise than condemn the _Times_ for its
recklessness in publishing the forged letters. Generally approved the
conduct of ATTORNEY-GENERAL; regarded the proceedings of Irish Members
with mixed feelings, and, on the whole, would vote for Resolution.
Whereat OLD MORALITY, long on tenterhooks, gave sigh of honest relief,
and Grand Old Man went off to dinner with a twinkle in his eye and an
amused smile lighting up his countenance. Writ moved to-night for new
election for Stoke, WILLIE BRIGHT having had enough of it. "Good-bye,
TOBY," he said, as he cleared out his locker; "they call me W. LEATHAM
BRIGHT, now I suppose it will be W. LEAVE-'EM."

_Business done._--Debate on Report of Commission.

[Illustration: The Hon. G. N. CURZON sees more Shadows. (_Vide "Times"
Letter, March 6._)]

_Wednesday._--Curious little difficulty arose at meeting of House
to-day. No House to meet. On Wednesdays SPEAKER takes chair at twelve
o'clock. Crosses Lobby, accompanied by Sergeant-at-Arms carrying Mace,
and tall gentleman in shorts carrying train. Walks up floor between rows
of Members, standing and bending heads like sheaves of corn over which
wind passes. To-day benches bare. Chamber empty. SPEAKER feels like one
who treads alone some banquet-hall deserted, whose guests are fled,
whose garlands dead, and all but he departed. Only in this case they
haven't arrived. CHAPLAIN in his place, ready to say his prayers.
Everything here but congregation. House, it is well known, thrilled with
excitement over Parnell Commission Report. Throbbing with anxiety to
debate it. Manages somehow to dissemble its feelings, smother its
aspirations. Presently two Members drop in; take their seats.

"Rather a small gathering," whispered the SPEAKER, pleasantly.

"Yes," says CHAPLAIN, forlornly looking round empty chamber. "A very
small gathering indeed; might almost call it a pimple."

Word scarcely Parliamentary in this connection.

"Order! order!" said the SPEAKER, _sotto voce_; and, to avoid the
beginning of the sundering of friendship, CHAPLAIN read prayers.

_Business done._--Debate on Parnell Commission Report.

_Thursday._--For ordinary mild-mannered man, JUSTIN MCCARTHY to-night
dealt CHARLES LEWIS, Bart., what _The Marchioness_ used to call "a
wonner." Yesterday, LEWIS delivered carefully prepared diatribe on
Report. Not particularly friendly to Ministers, especially JOKIM; but
death on Irish Members. MCCARTHY to-day complained that, without giving
notice, Bart. had made personal attack on him; and, what was worse,
holding Report in hand, and purporting to quote from it, had misled
House on matter of fact.

"But then," said JUSTIN, sweetly smiling, "the Hon. Baronet is a
lawyer--a lawyer of the school of _Mr. Sampson Brass_."

Pretty graphic that; House cheered and laughed, consumedly. But what
about the phrase being Parliamentary? Is there to be one rule for
Chaplain of House, and another for Member for Derry?

_Business done._--Still on Commission Report.

[Illustration: After dealing the Bart. One for his Nob.]

_Friday Night._--Supposed to have reached full tide of surging Debate
to-night. Been piling up agony all week. Now nearing crisis. Lobbies
thrilling with excitement; corridors crowded with senators; competition
for SPEAKER'S eye threatens personal danger. A great occasion, a
memorable struggle. That's the sort of thing imagined outside by
ingenuous public. Fact is, when SPEAKER came back from chop at twenty
minutes to nine, House almost as empty as on Wednesday afternoon. Count
called; bell rang; only thirty-five Members mustered; no quorum;

_Business done._--House Counted Out.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions,
whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description,
will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and
Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no

       *       *       *       *       *

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