Part 2

["This bird has long been celebrated for the manner in which it passes over the waves, pattering with its webbed feet and flapping its wings so as to keep itself just above the surface. It thus traverses the ocean with wonderful ease, the billows rolling beneath its feet and passing away under the bird without in the least disturbing it."--_Wood's Popular Natural History._]

Only a Petrel, I, Telling the storm is nigh; Fleet o'er the waves I fly, When skies look stormy. When things are calm and slow, I 'midst Brum rocks lie low; But when wild breezes blow Men may look for me.

Lured from my Midland home, When gales begin to roam Proudly I skim the foam, Flappering and pattering! I with the airiest ease Traverse the angriest seas Round the wild Hebrides Bellowing and battering.

But the wild Irish coast Suits my strong flight the most. Breeze-baffling wings I boast, Nothing disturbs me. Cool 'midst the tempest's crash, Swift through the foam I dash, Wind flout or lightning flash Scares not, nor curbs me.

Sea-birds are silly things, Squat bodies, stunted wings. Where is the bard who sings Penguin or puffin, Grebe, guillemot, or gull? Oh, the winged noodles, null, In timid flocks and dull, Squattin' and stuffin'!

I, like the albatross, Love on the winds to toss, Where gales and currents cross My fodder finding. Let Gulls and Boobies rest Safe in a sheltered nest, I'm bold the breeze to breast Tamer fowl blinding.

Only a Petrel, I, Calm in a calm I lie, But when 'neath darkening sky Strife lifteth her face, When the red lightnings glare, Then, from my rocky lair Darting, I cleave the air, Skimming sea's surface.

Some swear the storm I raise; That's superstition's craze; But on tempestuous days, Wild, wet, and windy, Herald of storm I fly. Only a Petrel, I, But when my form you spy,-- Look out for shindy.

* * * * *

"BENEFITS FORGOT."--This is the title of a serial in _Scribners'_. Many over-strict persons will not read it, being under the impression that the story is essentially theatrical. A natural mistake. Nothing in an actor's life could give occasion for more bitter reflection than the memory of "Benefits Forgot," especially after they had been got up and advertised at great personal expense.

* * * * *

TO A FINE WOMAN.

(_By a Little Man._)

"Can my eyes reach thy size?" Asked the Lilliputian poet, As I've read. Can my head Reach your shoulder? It's below it.

Women all are so tall Nowadays, but you're gigantic; One so vast, sweeping past, Makes my five feet four feel frantic.

Each girl tries exercise, Rows, rides, runs, golf, cricket, tennis, Games for an Olympian-- Greek Olympia, not "Venice."

Stalks and shoots, climbs in boots Like a navvy's not a dandy's, Ice-axe takes, records breaks-- If not neck--on Alps or Andes.

Alps in height, girls affright Men, like me, of puny figure; They are too tall, but you Are preposterously bigger.

At this dance, if I glance Round the room, I see I'm smallest; You instead are a head Over girls and men, you're tallest.

As a pair, at a fair, Any showman might produce us; Dwarf I'd do, giant you---- What! They want to introduce us?

Can I whirl such a girl? Calisthenics could not teach it. I, effaced, clasp your waist? I'll be hanged if I can reach it!

* * * * *

THE ADVENTURES OF PICKLOCK HOLES.

(_By Cunnin Toil._)

No. I.--THE BISHOP'S CRIME.

I was sitting alone in my room at 10.29 on the night of the 14th of last November. I had been doing a good deal of work lately, and I was tired. Moreover, I had had more than one touch of that old Afghan fever, which always seemed to be much more inclined to touch than to go. However, we can't have everything here to please us; and as I had only the other day attended two bankers and a Lord Mayor for measles, I had no real cause to complain of my prospects. I had drawn the old armchair in which I was sitting close to the fire, and, not having any bread handy, I was occupied in toasting my feet at the blaze when suddenly the clock on the mantelpiece struck the half hour, and PICKLOCK HOLES stood by my side. I was too much accustomed to his proceedings to express any surprise at seeing him thus, but I own that I was itching to ask him how he had managed to get into my house without ringing the bell. However, I refrained, and motioned him to a chair.

"My friend," said this extraordinary man, without the least preface, "you've been smoking again. You know you have; it's not the least use denying it." I absolutely gasped with astonishment, and gazed at him almost in terror. How had he guessed my secret? He read my thoughts, and smiled.

"Oh, simply enough. That spot on your shirt-cuff is black. But it might have been yellow, or green, or blue, or brown, or rainbow-coloured. But I know you smoke Rainbow mixture, and as your canary there in the corner has just gone blind, I know further that bird's-eye is one of the component parts of the mixture."

"HOLES," I cried, dropping my old meerschaum out of my mouth in my amazement; "I don't believe you're a man at all--you're a devil."

"Thank you for the compliment," he replied, without moving a single muscle of his marble face. "You ought not to sup----" He was going to have added "pose," but the first syllable seemed to suggest a new train of thought (in which, I may add, there was no second class whatever) to my inexplicable friend.

"No," he said; "the devilled bones were not good. Don't interrupt me; you had devilled bones for supper, or rather you would have had them, only you didn't like them. Do you see that match? A small piece is broken off the bottom, but enough is left to show it was once a lucifer--in other words, a devil. It is lying at the feet of the skeleton which you use for your anatomical investigations, and therefore I naturally conclude that you had devilled bones for supper. You didn't eat them, _for not a single bone of the skeleton is missing_. Do I make myself clear?"

"You do," I said, marvelling more than ever at the extraordinary perspicacity of the man. As a matter of fact, my supper had consisted of bread and cheese; but I felt that it would be in extremely bad taste for a struggling medical practitioner like myself to contradict a detective whose fame had extended to the ends of the earth. I picked up my pipe, and relit it, and, for a few moments, we sat in silence. At last I ventured to address him.

"Anything new?" I said.

"No, not exactly new," he said, wearily, passing his sinewy hand over his expressionless brow. "Have you a special _Evening Standard_? I conclude you have, as I see no other evening papers here. Do you mind handing it to me?"

There was no deceiving this weird creature. I took the paper he mentioned from my study table, and handed it to him.

"Now listen," said HOLES, and then read, in a voice devoid of any sign of emotion, the following paragraph:--"This morning, as Mrs. DRABLEY, a lady of independent means, was walking in Piccadilly, she inadvertently stepped on a piece of orange-peel, and fell heavily on the pavement. She was carried into the shop of Messrs. SALVER AND TANKARD, the well-known silversmiths, and it was at first thought she had broken her right leg. However, on being examined by a medical man who happened to be passing, she was pronounced to be suffering from nothing worse than a severe bruise, and, in the course of half-an-hour, she recovered sufficiently to be able to proceed on her business. This is the fifth accident caused by orange-peel at the same place within the last week."

"It _is_ scandalous!" I broke in. "This mania for dropping orange-peel is decimating London. Curiously enough I happen to be the medical man who----"

"Yes, I know; you are the medical man who was passing."

"HOLES," I ejaculated, "you are a magician."

"No, not a magician; only a humble seeker after truth, who uses as a basis for his deduction some slight point that others are too blind to grasp. Now you think the matter ends there. I don't. I mean to discover who dropped that orange-peel. Will you help me?"

"Of course I will, but how do you mean to proceed? There must be thousands of people who eat oranges every day in London."

"Be accurate, my dear fellow, whatever you do. There are 78,965, not counting girls. But this piece was not dropped by a girl."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Never mind; it is sufficient that I do know it. Read this," he continued, pointing to another column of the paper. This is what I read:--

"MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE.--A great conference of American and Colonial Bishops was held in Exeter Hall this afternoon. The proceedings opened with an impassioned speech from the Bishop of FLORIDA----"

"Never mind the rest," said HOLES, "that's quite enough. Now read this":--

"The magnificent silver bowl to be presented to the Bishop of Florida by some of his English friends is now on view at Messrs. SALVER AND TANKARD'S in Piccadilly. It is a noble specimen of the British silversmith's art." An elaborate description followed.

"These paragraphs," continued HOLES, in his usual impassive manner, "give me the clue I want. Florida is an orange-growing country. Let us call on the Bishop."

In a moment we had put on our hats, and in another moment we were in a Hansom on our way to the Bishop's lodgings in Church Street, Soho. HOLES gained admittance by means of his skeleton key. We passed noiselessly up the stairs, and, without knocking, entered the Bishop's bedroom. He was in his night-gown, and the sight of two strangers visibly alarmed him.

"I am a detective," began HOLES.

"Oh," said the Bishop, turning pale. "Then I presume you have called about that curate who disappeared in an alligator swamp close to my episcopal palace in Florida. It is not true that I killed him. He----"

"Tush," said HOLES, "we are come about weightier matters. This morning at half-past eleven your lordship was standing outside the shop of SALVER AND TANKARD looking at your presentation bowl. You were eating an orange. You stowed the greater part of the peel in your coat-tail pocket, but you dropped, maliciously dropped, one piece on the pavement. Shortly afterwards a stout lady passing by trod on it and fell. Have you anything to say?"

The Bishop made a movement, but HOLES was before-hand with him. He dashed to a long black coat that hung behind the door, inserted his hand deftly in the pocket, and pulled out the fragmentary remains of a large Florida orange.

"As I supposed," he said, "a piece is missing."

But the miserable prelate had fallen senseless on the floor, where we left him.

"HOLES," I said, "this is one of your very best. How on earth did you know you would find that orange-peel in his coat?"

"I didn't find it there," replied my friend; "I brought it with me, and had it in my hand when I put it in his pocket. I knew I should have to use strong measures with so desperate a character. My dear fellow, all these matters require tact and imagination."

And that was how we brought home the orange-peel to the Bishop.

* * * * *

Ben Trovato.

A penny-a-liner heard--with a not unnatural choler-- That he of all invention was apparently bereft; And so he up and told them that a smart left-handed bowler, "Manipulates the leather with the left!" That's very chaste and novel, and alliterative too; As a sham Swinburnian poet we should think that man might do!

* * * * *

* * * * *

CRICKET CONGRATULATIONS.

843! Well done! Well played! Well hit! It opens _Mr. Punch's_ eyes a bit To see our friends of the Antipodes Pile up their hundreds with the utmost ease. BRUCE leads the way, and shows Blues--Dark and Light-- Left-handed men may play the game aright. Then BANNERMAN, safe as a GUNN is he, Exceeds the Century by thirty-three, While five more than a hundred runs are due To TRUMBLE, whom his friends call simply "HUGH." Well played, Australia! Banks may fail--they do, And, truth to tell, you _have_ lost one or two, But this at any rate's a clear deduction-- Your Cricket Team can need no reconstruction!

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, July 31._--No one who chanced last Thursday to see HAYES FISHER and LOGAN engaged in controversy on Front Opposition Bench would suspect them of essentially retiring disposition. This conclusively proved to-night. Decided on further consideration that something must really be done in direction of modifying effects of Thursday's riot. Someone must apologise. This put to HAYES FISHER, who delighted WALROND with swiftness, even enthusiasm, of acquiescence.

"Right you are, dear boy," he cried. "I have thought so from the first. Indeed I have publicly placed the matter in its true light. Daresay you read my little affidavit written within an hour of what I quite agree with the SPEAKER in alluding to as 'the regrettable incident.' Here's what I said: 'To put a stop to his (LOGAN'S) aggressive conduct, I immediately seized him by the neck and forcibly ejected him on to the floor of the House. That began the scrimmage.' Then I go on to point the moral, though indeed it points itself. This is where you and I particularly agree. 'In my opinion the responsibility for the discreditable scene rests even more with Mr. GLADSTONE than with Mr. LOGAN.' Yes, WALROND, you are quite right in what you are about to say. I have shown clearly that Mr. G. was at the bottom of the whole business, and he should apologise. Don't you think he'd better be brought in at the Bar? And if he spent a night or two in the Clock Tower it would have most wholesome effect, vindicate dignity of House, and prevent recurrence of these regrettable scenes."

WALROND'S face a study, whilst HAYES FISHER, carried away by enthusiasm of moment, rubbed his hands and smiled in anticipation of the scene.

The Opposition Whip had tough job in hand. To FISHER'S logical mind the proposal that _he_ should apologise was a _non sequitur_. Why, what had he done? As he told House later, seeing LOGAN come up and sit down on bench below him, he thought he was going to strike him. Natural attitude for a man meaning to let out straight from the shoulder at another is to sit down with back turned towards intended victim. FISHER'S quick intelligence taking whole situation in at glance, he promptly proceeded to take in as much as his hands would hold of the back of LOGAN'S neck, with intent to thrust him forth. That, as he wrote, "began the scrimmage." In other words, Mr. GLADSTONE was responsible for the whole business, even more so than LOGAN, who had wantonly brought the back of his neck within reach of FISHER'S hand.

However, there were reasons of State why the guilty should go unpunished. Not the first time Innocency has been sacrificed that Guilt might stalk through the land unfettered. FISHER would apologise; but here again the untameably logical mind asserted itself. LOGAN must apologise first. It was he who had been forcibly ejected. On Thursday night FISHER had come up behind him; _argal_, he must follow him now. Thus it was settled, or so understood. But when critical moment arrived, House waiting for someone to speak, hitch occurred. FISHER waited for LOGAN; LOGAN, in excess of politeness, hung back. Awkward pause. SPEAKER observed he had certainly understood something might be said by the two gentlemen. Another pause. LOGAN and FISHER eyed each other across the floor.

Lord CHATHAM, with his sword drawn, Stood waiting for Sir RICHARD STRACHAN; Sir RICHARD, longing to be at 'em, Stood waiting for the Earl of CHATHAM.

At length PRINCE ARTHUR interposed; gently, but firmly, drew the coy FISHER to the front. His apology followed by one from the lingering LOGAN. Scene ended amid mutual tears.

"Yes, it's all very well," said FISHER, wringing his pocket-handkerchief and glaring angrily at Mr. G. "But, after all, the real criminal has escaped, and logic, as applicable to events of daily life, has received a staggering blow."

_Business done._--ACLAND explained English Education Estimates in speech admirable alike in matter and manner.

_Tuesday._--Some men are born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards. Of these is WILLIAM O'BRIEN. It would seem that fate had expended its malignity when PRINCE ARTHUR deprived him of his breeches. Now JOSEPH has appropriated his dinner-table. The lynx eye of BARTLEY detected the irregularity which disclosed existence of this fresh outrage. BARTLEY favourably known in House as guardian of its honour and dignity. From time to time spirit moves him suddenly to rise and point fat forefinger at astonished Mr. G., whom he has discovered in some fresh design upon stability of the Empire or symmetry of the Constitution. At stated hours, formerly on Thursdays ten o'clock now generally on stroke of midnight, he is seen and heard shouting "Gag! gag!"

"Odd," says Member for Sark, "how phrases change in similar circumstances though at different epochs. When Closure first invented, put in motion by dear OLD MORALITY, and supported by BARTLEY, HANBURY, JIMMY LOWTHER, and the rest, it used to be spoken resentfully of as 'pouncing.' Now it is 'gagging.' But it is precisely the same, inasmuch as the minority of the day, against whom it is enforced, denounce it as iniquitous, whilst the majority, who took that view when they were on other side of House, now regard it as indispensable to conduct of public business. BARTLEY having lived through both epochs is useful illustration of this tendency. When OLD MORALITY pounced on Irish members his lusty shout of approval used to echo through House with only less volume than now his roar of anguish goes up to glass roof when OLD MORALITY'S original thumbscrews are fitted on him and his friends. A quaint, mad world, my TOBY."

To-night BARTLEY not so well-informed on subject as usual. Thought it was JOHN DILLON, who, acting the part of AMPHITRYON, piloted his guests within preserves of members' private dining-room. Turned out it wasn't DILLON at all, but WILLIAM O'BRIEN, who in most tragic manner tells how, having secured in advance a table for his guests, found when the dinner-hour struck JOSEPH and his Brethren seated thereat, merrily profiting by his forethought. Straightway O'BRIEN led his guests to the table in members' room which Unionist Leaders have marked for their own. This he appropriated, and there, regardless of surprised looks from ex-ministers at adjoining table, he truculently dined.

"Well, at any rate," said TIM HEALY, that Man of Peace, "I'm glad it wasn't mere English or Orangemen who were thus treated. If JOSEPH had appropriated SAUNDERSON'S table, the Colonel would have taken him in his arms, dropped him outside on the Terrace, and, returning to his seat, ordered a fresh plate of soup." _Business done._--BARTLEY adds fresh dignity to Parliamentary debate.

_Thursday._--Was it this day week the House was in volcanic upheaval, with HAYES FISHER--or was it Mr. GLADSTONE?--clutching LOGAN by the back of the neck, a mad mob mauling each other round the white waistcoat of EDWARD OF ARMAGH? According to the almanack this is so; according to appearances an eternity and a hemisphere divide the two scenes.

In Committee on Vote on Account; average attendance from twenty to thirty. Orders bristle with amendments; papers read in support of them; occasionally a Member follows with observations on topic suggested; sometimes he doesn't; then next gentleman who has prepared paper takes the floor; the audience turns over; goes to sleep again; wakened by Chairman putting question "that Amendment be withdrawn." Isn't even vigour sufficient to induce a division.

Only person free from somnolent influence of hour is Mr. G. Has nothing to do in this galley; looks on wistfully whilst LOWTHER (not JIMMY) talks about Vitu and the Pamirs; JIMMY (_lui meme_) is sarcastic on subject of Board of Trade engaging in experiments in journalism; and DICKY TEMPLE wants to know all about reported modifications in constitution of St. Paul's School by the Charity Commissioners. Mr. G. liked to have offered few remarks on one or all these subjects. TOMMY BOWLES nearly succeeded in drawing him. Dropping lightly out of Siam, _via_ Morocco, upon question of Collisions at Sea, TOMMY brought MUNDELLA into full focus and fairly floored him with a problem.

"Suppose," he said, "the right hon. gentleman were at sea, and the whole fleet bore down upon him on the weather bow. What would he do?"

MUNDELLA nonplussed. Mr. G. knew all about it; would have answered right off and probably silenced even TOMMY with proposition of counter man[oe]uvre. But MARJORIBANKS kept relentless eye on him. Vote on Account must be got through Committee to-night. The less speaking the better; so with profound sigh Mr. G. resisted the temptation and composed himself to listen to LENG'S paper on the prohibition of importation of live cattle from Canada. Here was opportunity of learning something which Mr. G. gratefully welcomed. Gradually, as the new knight went on reading extract after extract in level voice, remorselessly deliberate, Mr. G.'s eyes closed, his head drooped, and in full view of the crowded Strangers' Gallery he fell into peaceful, childlike slumber.

_Business done._--Vote on Account passed Committee.

_Friday._--Morning sitting devoted to miscellaneous talk around Ireland. Evening, a long STOREY about iniquities of House of Lords. The evening and the morning a dull day. Had time to look over Mr. G.'s letter about retention of Irish Members. "What do you think of it?" I asked the Member for Sark. "Haven't read it," he said. "When I saw it was a column long, I knew Mr. G. didn't want to say anything that would be understood. When he does, a few lines suffice; when he doesn't, nothing less than a column of print will serve."

_Business done._--Vote on Account through Report Stage.

* * * * *

FRANCE AND SIAM.--The situation at Bangkok will probably result in further Develle-opments.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Note:

Page 64: 'barometre' corrected to 'barometre'. "Le barometre--Beau fixe!"

Page 65: 'Jung Frau' ... the author may have had something else in mind, besides the mountain (Jungfrau)?

"_Interlachen._ Remember the Jung Frau and forget the tourists."

Page 69: 'measeles' corrected to 'measles'. "attended two bankers and a Lord Mayor for measles,"