SCENE XX.--_A few minutes later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[PH[OE]BE _enters to announce dinner_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE END.

* * * * *

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

* * * * *

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

* * * * *

* * * * *

POISON IN THE PUMP.

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE CHAMPION SHAVER;

_Or, A Task against Time_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

HIGHLY PROBABLE.

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

I say, how are you this morning?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sorry I can't.

Then what will you do?

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

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

YULETIDEIAN BARON DE BOOK-WORMS."

* * * * *

* * * * *

A GAME OF CHANCE.

(_From an Imaginative French Source._)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just then the booming of cannon was heard outside.

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

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

* * * * *

Nautical Economy.

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

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

* * * * *

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

* * * * *

LAW AND JUSTICE _v._ DUTY "DONE."

(_An Imaginary Conversation._)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Law._ Costs! That is in my department!

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

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

[_They part hurriedly._

* * * * *

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

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

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

* * * * *

THE STOUT SINGER'S SMILE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

* * * * *

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

* * * * *

Transcriber's Note:

Page 282: 'glosing' is an archaic word.

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

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

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

* * * * *