Part 3

Great GRACE to young MACLAREN yields his place, And RANGITSINHJI follows after GRACE. Mid Harrow's noblest sons let MAC be reckoned, Who tops the list with such a mighty second. And well I know that RANJIT'S fame will stand Firm and secure on India's coral strand. Oft have I seen upon the level sward That's owned, or used to be, by Mr. LORD, While countless thousands, watching ball and bat Rang out loud cheers and waved th' applausive hat, Oft have I seen that cricketer or this Bat, bowl, or field, or catch (or even miss), And oft, astounded by some piece of play, Have marked with letters red th' auspicious day; Yet ne'er before three heroes have I seen More apt and splendid on the well-rolled green; Men of one skill, though varying in race, MACLAREN, RANJITSINHJI, Grand Old GRACE.

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Old Saw Re-set.

Mr. GEORGE NATHANIEL CURZON May be a "superior purzon," But Mr. TOMMY GIBSON BOWLES Is the sturdiest of souls; And "those who at Bowles will play Must expect rubbers,"--so men say!

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THE LAY OF THE LANCASHIRE LASS.

["What will Lancashire think to-day when she reads the declarations of Lord GEORGE HAMILTON and Mr. A. J. BALFOUR?"--_Leeds Mercury._]

Oh, was it for this that I rushed to the poll To register votes for the Tories? When they told me repeal was the Unionist goal, Were they tales of (Stan) hope, or mere stories? The snare of the FOWLER they'd help me to scape They vowed--on each Lancashire platform. But Indian Finance _their_ excuse? A poor jape! I thought they _would_ rise above _that_ form! Oh, ARTHUR, oh, GEORGIE! Reeds broken and rotten I fear you are both, on reviewing it. You hinted at taking those duties off cotton, You don't seem to cotton to doing it! And now, when I'm trying your pity to move, Why seem you so deaf to my prayers? Perhaps you are bound to dissemble your love, But oh!--_must_ you kick me down stairs?

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That excellent association, the Society of Women Journalists, has just issued its first annual report. From this interesting document, the world learns that the members have derived many benefits from a body that could justly adopt the motto of "Defence, not Defiance." The institution very properly claims for the authoress the right to receive no wrong.

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

I have just finished _Napoléon et les femmes_, by FREDÉRIC MASSON. On the cover is "_dix-huitième édition_," which shows what a success the book has obtained. The author is an apologist for NAPOLEON. The Emperor can do no wrong. What in the private individual is rank blasphemy, is, to this author, in the Emperor only a pardonable weakness. Whatever NAPOLEON may have been as the "Man of Destiny" and as the greatest military genius of his time, he was, if most of these stories be true, as a man, a satyr, a cad (there is no other English word for it), and a snob. Satyr he was apparently always; satyr and cad in certain instances, especially as regards the "WALEWSKA affair," in which so many personages took part; everyone of them outraging morality, and all disregarding the sacredness of marriage; though to Madame WALEWSKA herself must be apportioned the least share of the guilt in which all were steeped up to the hilt. Madame WALEWSKA yielded herself as a victim to a most cruel combination of circumstances; and of this NAPOLEON availed himself to the utmost. It was in his power to have behaved as a gentleman for once, but he allowed the opportunity to slip. That he appears, on one occasion, to have permitted a poor terrified, artless victim to escape is put forward triumphantly by his apologist as a proof of his magnanimity; but even a satiated animal will refuse food, though if the food be in his possession he will play the dog in the manger. He had a tigerish admiration for the deepest tragedy, and abhorred farce and comedy. He could play like a child with the one child of whom he hoped great things. Cad he was always, in his dealings with men and women. As an imperial cad he was toadied by his grovelling courtiers; but when there is much to be gained by toadying a cad, and everything to lose by not toadying him, all will be toadies from the highest to the lowest. The exceptions are rare. A thorough snob did "the Corsican upstart" show himself in his eager anxiety for recognition by the royal and aristocratic families of Europe, and by his servility to the Austrian EMPEROR, in order to obtain the hand of the high-born MARIE-LOUISE. If ever tyrant deserved defeat and disgrace NAPOLEON did so. Like Cardinal WOLSEY, what "best became him in his life was the leaving of it." Those interested, and who is not, in "the NAPOLEON Legend," should not fail to read this book, says

THE STUDIOUS BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

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The annual "Timmer" Market, or Timber Fair, has been waking the echoes of sober Aberdeen "with lively din." The Aberdonian youth, so says the _Daily Free Press_, "shook the nerves of peace-loving citizens by the hideous and discordant noise of tin trumpets and corncrakes." This is odd, for one might imagine that the Caledonian ear, which attunes itself so easily, willingly, and often to the screeches of that national instrument of torture the bagpipe, would hail the comparatively soothing strains of tin trumpet and corncrake with eager enthusiasm. Not so, however. For the "bra' laddie" the _only_ music is that which is emitted by the bagpipe. It appeals to his delicate artistic sense, and, like a much advertised remedy, "it touches the spot." _Vive la bag(pipe)atelle!_

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ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, September 2._--A sight for Lords and Commons to see Lord High Admiral JOKIM seated between Cap'en TOMMY BOWLES and ARNOLD-FORSTER, imbibing naval information at the pores, as _Joey Ladle_, in far-off-days, deep in the recesses of his employer's cellar, took his spirituous refreshment.

"How happy could I be with either were t'other instructor away," said JOKIM, rubbing his pleased sides with rapturous content. "Or, happier still," he added, _sotto voce_, "if both would take themselves off."

In his secret heart the CAP'EN looks upon ARNOLD-FORSTER as a landlubber.

"He wouldn't," he says, with fine scorn, "know how to belay a sheet when a ship was stepping fore and aft under a booming north-wester. I'd lay a rope's end to a bumboat-man's back that he couldn't pass a spare spar through the man-hole without first pulling up the trysail."

ARNOLD-FORSTER, on his part, suspects the CAP'EN hasn't seen nearly so much of the wild ocean as casual observations dropped by him may indicate. He makes much of certain variations in the old salt's story of how he came to lose his hand in the service of his country. There is, certainly, some doubt as to whether it was the Prince Consort or ALBERT Prince of Wales who sent him that famous letter accompanying the hook which at this day enables the CAP'EN to overhaul the estimates. But this is due rather to wealth of experience than to poverty of veracity. When a man has seen everything, gone so far, and knows so much as TOMMY, he may be forgiven if occasionally he mixes up a name or two, a date, or an episode.

Some uneasiness in ministerial circles last week upon observation of MACARTNEY going about his country's business in white ducks. These are, so to speak, Cap'en TOMMY'S colours. Always ducks them when he goes on the warpath against the Admiralty. For the Secretary of all men, he the only man, to follow TOMMY'S example in this respect didn't look well. Was said to be a hint to whom it might concern that if the department didn't treat him with more respect, MACARTNEY would carry over to the enemy his stored wealth of naval knowledge. Since Private HANBURY got his stripes, and is now referred to in debate as "The Honourable Corporal," CAP'EN has no party. With MACARTNEY forming the nucleus of one, who knows what might not happen?

House relieved to-night to find Secretary to Admiralty has hauled down sign of revolt, and put on ordinary trousers. If there was anything in the incident, all is well now. That there may have been appears from the CAP'EN'S unusually embittered tone when the subject is alluded to.

"Call _them_ ducks!" he cried in scorn. "They were only white drawers. No member of this House should attempt to walk up the floor in ducks unless he is prepared to keep on his domestic staff a man who has made the garment a life-long study; who knows how to wash it, starch it, iron it, and, above all, to fold it up."

_Business done._--Appropriation Bill brought in.

_Tuesday._--One decided advantage of change of position of sections of parties on formation of new Ministry is to bring SILOMIO within reach of HEMPRER JOE'S knobstick. In last Parliament, united against common enemy, SILOMIO was most deferential to "my right hon. friend," while JOSEPH'S respect for patriotic instinct of Swazi Chief, whose fathers, having come over with the Conqueror, went out in the _Mayflower_, was sometimes past expression. Now HEMPRER JOE has come into his kingdom; his knobstick is exchanged for a sceptre, whilst SILOMIO begins to realise something of the feelings of the Red Man when harried by his haughty ancestors. Like him, SILOMIO'S possessions are taken from him. His Civil Lordship of the Admiralty is given to another, and that other the son of his former trusted right hon. friend. When, therefore, to-night SILOMIO, from his arid exile below the gangway, sings again his old song with its low lament--

Swaziland, my Swaziland!

and when HEMPRER JOE, to the delight of scoffers opposite, rolls him over and over, pinks his fluffy eloquence with scornful stiletto, no wonder he turns at bay, and reminds L'HEMPRER of things he said about HERCULES ROBINSON at a time he sat untrammelled on Opposition benches.

Shaft goes home. L'HEMPRER very angry. "A statement that ought not to be made," he says, withering SILOMIO with direful look. Ministerialists loyally cheer; Opposition lightly laugh; SILOMIO, buffeted on all sides, comforts himself with thoughts of faithful friends in far-off Swaziland. There is at least one spot on earth where he is appreciated. Soon he may shake off from his mocassins the dust of civilisation, and hie him thither.

_Business done._--Appropriation Bill read second time.

_Wednesday._--Lo! the poor Indian Budget at last. 'Tis the poor relation of Parliamentary Bills. At commencement of every Session Members interested in India protest against Budget being postponed till very last hours, when most people are gone away, and those who remain are hopelessly weary. SECRETARY OF STATE promises amendment. Here we are something later than usual. Yesterday's sitting was solemnly set apart for Indian Budget. Other things--Chitral, Cotton Duties--crowded it out. Meekly looks in to-day, hoping it doesn't intrude.

Strange peace fallen over House. GEORGIE HAMILTON'S voice echoes over spaces desolate as the outlook of the rupee. Not a single Irish Member left to object to anything. For them the scene of conflict is transferred to Ireland. There the inoffensive TIM stands at bay, JUSTIN MCCARTHY having at length dealt him that "good hard knock" the imminence of which E. R. lately forecast in these prophetic pages. There WILLIAM O'BRIEN, with wet handkerchief mopping wetter eyes, tells stories out of school of TIM'S unnatural naughtiness when good Mr. G. was bringing in his Home-Rule Bill, and upon other enticing occasions. There patriots bang their brothers in pursuit of peace, and hate each other for the love of Ireland.

"Did you ever," I in weak moment asked the unsympathetic SARK, "read _The Dead of Clonmacnois_, a Gaelic lyric of a time immemorial? There are two verses of the musical English rendering that haunt me when I listen to an Irish debate.

In a quiet watered land, a land of roses, Stands Saint Kieran's city fair; And the warriors of Erin in their famous generations Slumber there.

Many and many a son of CONN the Hundred Fighter In the red earth lies at rest; Many a blue eye of Clan COLMAN the turf covers, Many a swan-white breast."

"Pretty," said SARK, with quite unexpected approval. "First line perfection. But, you will observe, the poet studiously refrains from affirming the final extinction of the family of the estimable CONN. 'Many and many a son,' he says, in the red earth lies at rest. One at least is left. They in their time had CONN the Hundred Fighter. We have TIM the Hundred-and-Fifty Fighter."

_Business done._--All.

_Thursday._--Parliament prorogued. World must go round as best it may till February next.

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ROUNDABOUT READINGS.

In the London correspondence of a provincial paper it is stated that "Lord HOTHFIELD, who recently gave up the errors and heresies of Liberalism to seek security in Conservatism, has been elected a member of the Carlton. His characteristic exclamation on entering the club the first time after his election was, 'Thank God, I can now have a quiet game of whist,' meaning I suppose, that his mind was now at rest." This explanation of Lord HOTHFIELD'S meaning does credit to the ingenuity of the correspondent. It is a sublime spectacle, that of a Radical peer forswearing his errors merely that he may have a quiet game of whist at the Carlton. Such a coruscating specimen of the wit and wisdom of our hereditary peerage should go far to reconcile even Mr. LABOUCHERE to the existence of the House of Lords.

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Confusion on your programmes, your turbulence, your din: Your tattered mob of Radicals, how blind they are and lame. Lord HOTHFIELD proudly leaves your ranks, the Carlton takes him in; Behold him in the whist-saloon enjoying of his game.

Some men are led by blighted hopes to leave the ancient fold, And some by mere conviction, and some by thirst for fame; And some because the Government were far too fond of gold; Lord HOTHFIELD quits the Radicals because he wants a game.

A quiet game his Lordship loves; ex-Radical and peer, With what a wealth of irony he puts his foes to shame; And LABBY'S self amazed forbears the customary sneer, When HOTHFIELD in the Carlton sits enjoying of his game.

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I have been reading about the harvest festivals with which the country has been lately teeming. They are all made on one pattern. The interior of the building is very tastefully adorned with fruit and foliage, supplied by friends connected with the church and others. The subject of one reverend gentleman's discourse in the morning is, "Put in the sickle." In the afternoon another reverend gentleman discourses on "A stroll through a corn-field," and in the evening a third clergyman poses his congregation with the question, "What shall be done with the tares?" Thank-offerings in aid of the church funds are then taken, the choir sings special harvest hymns, and somebody invariably "presides" at the organ.

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The temptations of the fruit are sometimes, I am sorry to say, irresistible. I have seen an absent-minded landed proprietor steadily pluck and eat his way through a whole bunch of grapes, while the preacher held forth on the symbolic meaning attached to fruit. The attention of the congregation, I need hardly say, was breathlessly concentrated not on the preacher, but on the devourer of the grapes. At a festival I attended last year, the fruits of the earth were represented by dead rabbits on the window-sills of the church.

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By the way, why does one always "preside" at the organ? At the first blush there would not seem to be anything peculiarly presidential about the playing of the instrument, but then I may be dull. For instance, I have never yet understood why young tobacconists are always alluded to as "commencing." Other traders are content to begin or to start, but a tobacconist must apparently "commence" or be eternally disgraced.

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Oh, dealer in the latest brand Of Claro and Maduro, One question agitates our land, From Ballater to Truro. In Belfast I have heard it put, Where men the Home Rule whim rue; 'Tis asked amid our London soot, And in the realms of Cymru. On gray St. Andrews' windy links, So niblicky and cleeky; In far Glenlivet, famed for drinks; In Auld Athenian Reekie.

Where Cornwall's rock-bound coast defies The surge of the Atlantic, One puzzle-question takes the prize, And drives the public frantic. One matchless question fairly burns, It leads us all a dance, Sir; Ye men who profit by Returns, Return me quick an answer; Explain, tobacconist to me, Without unduly fencing, Why those who end in smoke should be Unceasingly commencing.

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Mr. HENRY BLACKBURN has been visiting Manchester and Liverpool, and has confided his impressions of these great cities to the editor of the _Manchester Guardian_. He admires Manchester for "its admirable tramway, street police, and other traffic arrangements," but there is an _amari aliquid_ in the shape of the Manchester street Arab. Mr. BLACKBURN has all an artist's tolerance; but, as might be expected of a black and white artist, he feels bound to draw the line, and he draws it before street Arabs. He thinks it worth while to mention--

"A pedestrian's experience of his, generally, free fight with the street _gamin_ culminating on Saturday afternoon last at 2.15 by being tripped up and thrown down in the middle of the road near the Central Station, and only saved from further contact with the said tramcars by rolling quickly round and round into the gutter. This rapid act was witnessed, doubtless, by several of your readers, two of whom rendered timely assistance. I am aware that it is the rule in any household or community for a guest to conform to its ways for the time being, and not to complain of any _contretemps_; but, having had a second encounter (of less consequence) on the very steps of the entrance to the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool, on the same afternoon, I venture to think that the juvenile--and in some respects perfectly delightful--street vendors of matches, flowers, and football newspapers have a little too much of a free run in both these cities."

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AT LAST.--Mr. LANE, the Magistrate, appealed to by an Indian gentleman as to whether he--the I. G.--might "turn round upon" rude street-boys, who called him "Lulali," and asked whether he--the Magistrate--would like it himself, replied that he had lived too long in the world to care about such matters. This imperturbable "Beak" is evidently then--at last--the often-talked-of "Long Lane that has no turning."

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Transcriber's Note

Obvious punctuation errors have been repaired.

Page 124: 'fidgetting' may have been correct, in England, in 1895, and has been retained.

Page 129: 'bicyles' corrected to 'bicycles'

"from votes to cigarettes, from bicycles to latch-keys,..."

Page 132: Missing 'to' inserted into blank space.

"... that it is the rule in any household or community for a guest to conform to its ways for the time being,..."