Chapter 7

Then gently I bore my MARIAN home, and mother greeted her fondly, saying, "Miss MUFFET, I presume?" which pleased me, thinking it only right that mother should use ceremony with my love. But she, poor darling, lay quiet and pale, scarce knowing her own happiness or the issue of the fight. For 'tis the way of women ever to faint if the occasion serve and a man's arms be there to prop them. And often in the warm summer-time, when the little lads and lasses gather to the plucking of buttercups and daisies, likening them gleefully to the gold and silver of a rich man's coffers, my darling, now grown matronly, sitteth on the tuffet in their midst, and telleth the tale of giant SPIDER and his fate.--[THE END.]

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

One of our "Co."--and the Baron may observe that, when "Co." is written it is not an abbreviation of "Coves"--has been reading _Sir George_ (BENTLEY), a Novel, which Mrs. HENNIKER has the courage to put forth in one volume. At the outset, the writing is a little slipshod. Mrs. HENNIKER has, moreover, a wild passion for the conjunction. When she can't summon another "which," she sticks in a "that." On one page appears the following startling announcement--"The March winds this year were unusually biting, and her nervous guardian would therefore [why therefore?] never allow her to walk out without a respirator, till they blew no longer from the East." We assume that, as soon as respirators blew from the West, this injunction would be withdrawn. But, as Mrs. HENNIKER, gets forward in her story, the style improves, "which's" disappear as they did in _Macbeth's_ time, and the tale is told in simple strenuous language. _Uncle George_ is a character finely conceived, and admirably drawn.

The Baron returns thanks to the publisher, W. HEINEMANN, for sending a volume of DE QUINCEY's _Posthumorous Works_. A small dose of them, taken occasionally the last thing at night, may be confidently recommended to admirers of _The Opium Eater_, and will probably be found of considerable value to some who hitherto may have been the victims of _insomnia_. Highly recommended by the Faculty.

(_Signed._) BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & Co.

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EVENINGS FROM HOME.

At the Court Theatre, _Le Feu Toupinel_, adapted for the English stage as _The Late Lamented_, is decidedly funny, that is, if you can once get over the idea that all its humour depends upon the immoral vagaries of an elderly scoundrel, an habitual criminal, who has departed this life in the odour of respectability, without his immoralities ever having been discovered. Had he been found out during his lifetime, he would have been tried for bigamy, convicted, and punished accordingly. This piece has been adapted from the French for the English stage; but, query, is it adapted to an English audience? That's the point. The run must decide. If the best possible acting can carry it along, then that it has got; for, though Mrs. JOHN WOOD has frequently had better chances, yet she has never worked harder, and never has she more deserved the laughter she excites. The same may be said of Mr. STANDING and Miss FILLIPPI, and also of Mr. ARTHUR CECIL, whose make-up is perfect, especially the dressing and colouring of his hair, which is an artistic triumph. Mr. GILBERT FARQUHAR's _Mr. Fawcett_, the Solicitor, contributes much to the fun of the scenes in which he appears with Mrs. JOHN WOOD; and Mr. CAPE, as _Parker_, the Confidential Servant, is excellent. There's plenty of "go" in it, but will it "stay"?

Great attraction at the Lyceum! _The Corsican Brothers_ and _Nance Oldfield_! ELLEN TERRY as _Nance_ is delightful. Chorus, Gentlemen, if you please, "_For_--all our fancy, Dwells upon Nancy!" Our ELLEN is charming in this, so natural and so theatrical: herself as _Nance_, and then as _Mrs. Oldfield_, the actress, in the characters that _Nance_ assumes. For 'tis ELLEN playing _Nancy_, and _Nancy_ again playing Tragedy and Comedy. It is an old piece revived: there never was so old a piece, for there are only four characters in it, and they're all Old. There are two _Oldfields_ and two _Oldworthys_. Mr. WENMAN as _Oldfield Senior_, or the Old Obadiah, is a trifle too blusterous, but on the other hand, I am not prepared to say that a country attorney of that period wouldn't be uncouth and blusterous. His son _Alexander_, the Young Obadiah, is prettily played by Mr. GORDON CRAIG, who is a trifle too windmilly with his hands and arms; but in the whole play nothing becomes him so well as the pathos of his broken-hearted exit. He was touching and going. Henceforth, this young actor may justly describe himself as of the "Touch-and-go" school, and be, like "the livin' skeleton" mentioned by _Sam Weller_, "proud o' the title." Miss KATE PHILLIPS as _Anne's_ sister--though, as Mr. J.L. T-LE observed, as she is younger than _Anne_, she cannot well be her Anne-sister--is as bright and lively as need be, considering her menial position, which is rather odd in her sister's house. Visit Mistress NANCE TERRY; you'll find her very much "at home" in the part. After which _The Corsican Brothers_ revived, Ghost and all.

When some years ago the Irvingesque version of it was produced, the twin who lived in Corsica, Brother _Fabien_, used to behave in the wildest Corsican way. Who that saw it some years ago does not remember how he used to chuck his gun up in the air, when it caught on to a hook in the wall! with what gusto he used to light a tiny cigarette from an enormous flaming brand snatched from the burning wood fire on the hearth! and how badly the starving guest from Paris fared in the Corsican household where he hadn't a chance against the appetite of Master _Fabien_, who, after a hard day's sport, came in ready for anything, and ate everything! It was the only occasion when this fearless son of destiny ever "bolted." But, my! how the food used to disappear! what a short time the supper occupied, and how very much third best the poor stranger came off under the hospitable roof of the _Dei Franchis_. Even now the supper is a brief one, but justice is done to it, _and_ to the weary traveller. Never was such an unhappy tourist! He comes to a house in the wilds of Corsica; he is choke-full of Parisian gossip, he has a lot to say of course, but he never gets a chance, as _Fabien_ tells him family stories one after the other, as if he hadn't had such an opportunity or so good a listener for ever so long. Then, when on the entrance of his mother _Fabien_ breaks off in the middle of one of his many anecdotes, which evidently can't be told before ladies, the Parisian gent, who now sees something like an opening for some light Boulevardian chit-chat, is presented with a flat candlestick and bowed off to bed, without being allowed a word to say for himself. All this is just the same as ever; there have been no alterations nor repairs; the piece is as curiously old-fashioned as are the exquisitely correct costumes; while the Masked Ball at the Opera and the Duel in the snow are as effective as ever, and the latter, if anything, more so. They make a first-rate fight of it, do Messrs. _Irving dei Franchi_ and _M. Terriss de Château Renaud_, until the latter collapses, and "subsequent proceedings interested him no more." As long as the strong right arm of the Corsican Brother can draw a good and shining rapier, he will draw as good and brilliant a house as he did on the first night of this revival. Why ought this piece to go well in the first theatre in Ireland? Why? because it's a great play for Doublin'. _Exeunt omnes._

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THE EPIDEMIC.--Up to now Members of Parliament have been generally considered as "influential personages." This year many M.P.'s will be remembered as "very influenzial personages."

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IN A MAZE.

"Mr. BALFOUR brought up a new sub-section, which he admitted was so obscure that he only 'more or less' understood it himself, and which, indeed, is of '_plusquam_-Thucydidean' dimness and involution.... There is no excuse, we must say, for the muddle into which the Government has got over the Bill.... The House of Commons has adjourned for a short holiday, but the Irish Land Purchase Bill is not yet through Committee.... There still remained all the new clauses, for which no time had been found."--_Times_.

_Little Bill loquitur_:--

Oh do, if you please, Mr. BALFOUR, Sir, if you _can_,--and who can if you can't, Sir?-- Get me out of this Maze, where for days and days I have strayed till I'm all of a pant, Sir. Twelve months ago we started, you know, and I've been on my feet ever since, Sir. And oh, if you please, I feel weak at the knees, and the pains in my back make me wince, Sir. Mister HOOD's "Lost Child" wasn't half as had, for he only strayed in the gutter, While this dreadful Maze is enough to craze; and _my_ feeling of lostness is utter. Oh, my poor feet! This is worse than Crete, and old Hampton Court isn't in it. Oh stop, _do_ stop! for I feel I shall drop if I don't sit down half a minute.

I really thought you knew the way out--which I own _I_'m unable to guess, Sir-- And now 'twould appear you are far from clear, and are puzzled "more or less," Sir. The paths are really so twirly-whirly, the hedges so jimble-jumbled; It must be hundreds and hundreds of miles along which we have staggered and stumbled. I thought you _were_ a cool card. Mister BALFOUR, and did know your way about. Sir, But what I should like to know at present is, when we are like to get out, Sir. How LABBY will laugh at the Labyrinth-maker, who gets lost in his own Great Maze, Sir! Don't say, Sir, pray, that you've lost _your_ way,--you, whom people so cosset and praise Sir. You won't be hurried, and you can't be flurried, and you're always as cool as a cucumber. Can a little 'un like me, your own child, don't you see, such a smart pioneer as are _you_ cumber? You, the modern Theseus? Where's your Ariadne? Oh, I know you are cool, and clever. Yet I feel a doubt. When _shall_ we get out?--which I _can't_ go on wandering for ever!

_Mazemaster loquitur_:--

Poor little man! Yes, I _had_ a plan, and a perfectly plain one, too, boy; But--I fear--for a moment--I've--lost the clue! Ah! I'm awfully sorry for _you_ boy! You have been on your feet for a precious long time, and all this roundaboutation, _Is_ "_plusquam_-Thucydidean," perhaps, and at any rate mean aggravation. But you'll please understand I'm a very "cool hand;" there's abundance of "humour" about me, And though for a jiffy I _seem_ at a loss, don't you come for to go for to doubt me.

'Tis most complicated, this Miz-Maze! I've stated the clue I've let slip for a moment, And LABBY, no doubt, and his henchmen, will shout and indulge in invidious comment: The _Times_, too, may gird, and declare 'tis absurd not to know _one's own Labyrinth_ better. The _Times_ is my friend, but a trifle too fond of the goad and the scourge and the fetter; You really can't rule the whole civilised world with the aid of the whip and the closure; Though I _should_ enjoy--but no matter, my boy, let us try to maintain our composure! _When shall we get out?_ That's a matter of doubt, cross-hedges my pathway still chequer, The clue I've let slip, but you just take my tip; we'll get clear--if you keep up your pecker!

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CHANGE FOR THIRTY-FIVE SHILLINGS.

There is a singular directness of purpose in the following advertisement which appears in the _Daily News_:--

REPORTER (27), now on Weekly, WANTS CHANGE. 35s.

The advertiser not only wants change, but he mentions the exact sum. It seems odd. One often wants change for a sovereign, and even oftener wants the sovereign itself. But what precise coin a man hands you when he wants thirty-five shillings change is not quite clear.

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LEAVES FROM A CANDIDATE'S DIARY.

_Billsbury, May 5_.--Received the following letter from TOLLAND yesterday:--

45, _Main Street, Billsbury, May 3._

DEAR MR. PATTLE,

A committee Meeting of our Council has been summoned for the day after to-morrow (May 5) at eight o'clock P.M., at the Beaconsfield Club, to consider some important questions affecting your Candidature and the plan of campaign to be adopted in prosecuting it. I trust that you may be able to make it convenient to attend, and shall be glad to receive a wire from you to this effect. I may mention to you that I have lately heard, in confidence, that Sir THOMAS CHUBSON's health is causing considerable anxiety to the Radical leaders here. He has attended very few divisions lately, and has offended many of the advanced section by his conduct over the Strike Subvention Bill, which was backed by the Labour Members. Sir THOMAS, however, abstained from the division on the Second Reading. It is just possible that, under the circumstances, he may decide to apply for the Chiltern Hundreds very shortly, and we must be prepared for every emergency.

Yours faithfully, JAMES TOLLAND.

It was a confounded nuisance. I had arranged to take the BELLAMYS to the Scandinavian Exhibition this afternoon, and to dine and go to the theatre with the JACKSONS. Had to put off everything. MARY BELLAMY will be dreadfully annoyed. Wrote specially to her to apologise and explain. They're sure to get that beast POMFRET to take them instead. He's always hanging round. Last week he wrote a lot of verse in MARY's Confession Album, in this style (I copied some of it out, in order to show it to VULLIAMY, who hates him):--

Though, when he's asked his favourite name, a man is apt to stare, he _Must_ answer, if he knows what's what, "My favourite name is MARY."

And this:--

The vice I detest and abhor above all Is not dancing four _times_ with _you_ at a ball.

And this, in answer to the question, "What or who would you rather be, if you were not yourself?"--

I'd rather be the rosebud that nestles in your hair, Or the aunt whose hand you took in yours and pressed upon the stair.

They all admired this slip-slop immensely, and MARY asked me, when I called the other day, if I didn't think it wonderfully clever. I know, when I wrote my answers in her album, it took me days of thought to get them done in prose, and even then they turned out the most ordinary, commonplace things. However I thought they pleased MARY, and now POMFRET steps in with his confounded rhymes. Mrs. BELLAMY's father once published a volume of verse, and is still talked of in the household as "your grandfather the poet." She told me that she thought "a faculty for versification was the mark of a truly refined and delicate mind." Bah! POMFRET's one of the most selfish and calculating ruffians outside a convict prison, and always haggles over his luncheon bills at the Club, till the head-waiter and all the rest nearly go off their heads.

However, I had to come to Billsbury, nilly-willy. Met the Committee after dinner. They were anxious that I should do some canvassing soon, and wanted me, when next I spoke, to explain myself more fully (1) on the Temperance Question and the question of Compensation to Publicans; (2) on the Women's Suffrage Question; (3) on the Labour Question; (4) on Foreign Policy; and (5) with reference to the Billsbury Main Drainage Scheme. I said I would, but I should probably require more than one speech to do it in. Afterwards a very solemn member of the Committee, whose name I forget, got up and made a long speech, in which he observed that my habit of appearing in dress clothes at the meetings had annoyed a good many of my supporters, and that he ventured to suggest to me, for my own good, that I should wear ordinary dress. It seems a good many of the lower lot thought it looked uppish. I'm glad enough not to have to do it any more. There were other points, but I'm too tired to remember them. By the way, I have subscribed to about a dozen more Clubs and Institutions, and have promised to get Mother to open a bazaar here at the end of the month. Back to London to-morrow. What a life!

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THE LATEST "LABOR PROGRAM."

(_BY A NEW-UNIONIST._)

I am all for myself, and 'tis perfectly true That the "labor" I love is regardless of "u." But, _per contra_, informing my "program" you see Though I wink (with two I's), I eliminate "me."

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IN A LOCK.--A WHITSUNTIDE WARBLE.

"_Lock! Lock!_"--Shock! Rock! That's a pretty frock bulging over the gunwale! She looks like to choke with that horrible smoke, which is fuming out of the Steam-Launch funnel. Pleasant old cry! All in, and dry. though we're awfully crowded this first Spring holiday, Better this than St. Stephen's dead-lock! Our serious Senators out for a jolly day Might do worse. Who carries the purse? That ten-foot rod with the toll-net ending it Means a hint. They must make "a mint"; and, by Jove, there are many worse ways of spending it,-- Money, I mean. Now were G-SCH-N seen collecting cash for his dry Exchequer With pole and net, it were nicer, you bet, than keeping up his financial pecker With Spirit Duties! Those two blonde beauties in Cambridge blue are exceeding bonny; B-LF-R now at that same boat's bow would be quite in his element--eh, my sonny? And OLD MORALITY cooling his legs in the stern-sheets yonder would find the steering Easier far than amidst the jar of St. Stephen's, hot with T-M H-LY jeering. S-L-SB-RY, too, with a well-trained crew, would put his back--that broad back of his!--in it. Don't be in a hurry, my nautical friend! we shall all get out in another minute. Just like life! Such fidgety strife to be first to the front when the lock-gates sever. What does it matter, friends, after all? The slow, the skilful, the dull, the clever, The snake-swift "swell" and the splashing 'ARRY, the puffing launch, and the trim outrigger, The calm canoest who hugs the timbers, the fussy punter who toils like a nigger, All will anon be well out in the cutting, the old gates shutting slowly behind them, And where are those who so shoved to the front? At the tail of the race you may presently find them. The G.O.M. (with his collars for sails), that jaunty skiff might be handling. Bless us! Can he take holiday, he whom toil seems to encoil like a shirt of Nessus? Well, Union_ist_ or Separat_ist_, or chap with a twist like C-NN-NGH-M GR-H-M, Or howling PAT, or Aristo_crat_ with manners like BRUMMEL and voice like BRAHAM, Peppery G-SCH-N, or pompous H-RC-RT, or genial SM-TH, the new-made Warden, All, all, to-day, when the world is gay, the stream like silver, the banks a garden, _Much_ worse might do than tog up in blue and join a crew on the rolling river, "Beyond the tide," dropping all their "side," party or personal, leaving "liver," And Influenza, and other "Obstructions," all party-jobbers, all jibbers and jolters, In sunny weather to crowd together in Moulsey Lock, or it might be BOULTER's!

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ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_The Kennel, Barks, Friday, May 15_.--This entry in Diary is dated from my ancestral home, pleasantly situated in the County I have the honour to represent. Haven't been to Westminster this week. Hear, through usual channels of information, that House adjourns to-day for Whitsun Recess. When I say House, I mean fragment that remains; a few doors and chimneys, with here and there a ruined wing. Fact is, majority absent with influenza. Some seventy or eighty of us have formed House of our own; meet regularly at usual hour; get through business in a way that would astonish the residuum left at Westminster; and jog off comfortably for dinner. All Parties and all sections of Party represented. SPEAKER and Chairman of Committees still stick to Westminster. But we have GORST, one of the Deputy-Speakers, who presides with dignity and despatch. JACKSON looks after arrangement of business. AKERS-DOUGLAS whips up the Conservatives, assisted by SYDNEY HERBERT and ARTHUR HILL. THOMAS ESMONDE brings up to the scratch TANNER, SWIFT MACNEILL, and PIERCE MAHONY. On Treasury Bench MICHAEL BEACH sits in place of OLD MORALITY, being supported by GEORGIE HAMILTON, STUART WORTLEY, and JAMES FERGUSSON, whilst KNUTSFORD and DERBY look down from Peers' Gallery. On Front Opposition Bench Mr. G., just arrived; finds JOHN MORLEY, OSBORNE AP MORGAN, KAY-SHUTTLEWORTH, and MUNDELLA. WOLMER not yet arrived, but daily expected. Meanwhile JOHN LUBBOCK, MUNTZ, T.W. RUSSELL, and the Wiwacious WIGGIN here, ready to obey the Whip, when issued.

CHARLES FORSTER, looks after petitions for us; FRANK LOCKWOOD draws us out (or in, as the case may be); ALGERNON BORTHWICK throws an air of fashionable society around us; the Reverberating COLOMB lifts his tall head in our midst; ISAAC HOLDEN never tires of telling the fascinating story of how he discovered the lucifer-match; HENNIKER HEATON passes the time writing letters to RAIKES, and complains that the Postmaster-General has his communications ostentatiously fumigated before opening them; SEYMOUR KEAY says he must get back to Westminster (nobody says him nay), or Land Bill would be getting passed through Committee; and here is the Grand Young GARDNER _and_ his wife--Lady WINIFRED, of course, looking down on us from Ladies' Gallery.

Have on the whole a very good time. Looked after by RUSTEM ROOSE, whose cure is as alluring as it is infallible. "Eat, drink and sleep," he says. "Lie on your back and sedulously do nothing." So whilst they storm and fret at Westminster, here, in hollow Lotos Land we live and lie reclining. Pleasant to hear RUSTEM ROOSE's voice as he goes his morning rounds, stethoscope in hand. "A long breath, dear friend: say '74; Pommery, certainly if you like; a pint at luncheon and a roast chicken. Turn over, dear friend; another long breath; say '80; de Lanson, of course, if you prefer it; a pint at dinner with a fried sole and a porterhouse steak; or, if you are tired of champagne, take a pint of claret with a glass or two of port. A long breath, dear friend; say '50; three glasses if '50 port won't do you any harm."

Worst of it is we're all getting better, and shall be back to the grind at Westminster after Whitsuntide. _Business done_.--All taking long breaths.

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THE DIS-ORDER OF THE DAY.--In the House of Commons on the Motion of the First Lord of the Treasury, it was resolved that Influenza, M.P., be expelled. Mr. CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN, Leader of the Opposition, _pro tem._, moved to amend the Resolution by adding "at once." This was agreed to _nem. con._ The Serjeant-at-Arms was thereupon ordered to remove Influenza. He declined on the ground that if he did he might catch it. After some conversation the debate was adjourned. Influenza left sitting on Members generally.--_Extract from the Fifteenth of May's Parliamentary Report_.

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A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS!

(_BY A PERPLEXED READER OF THE PENNY PAPERS._)

When you're lying awake, with a horrid headache (to adopt a suggestion of GILBERT's), When too freely you've dined, or too heavily wined, or munched too many walnuts or filberts; When your brain is a maze, and creation a haze, then each queer social craze--there are many!-- Gets your wits in a spool, and there isn't a fool for your thoughts would advance you a penny.

You can't sleep a wink, so the question of Drink, though you timidly shrink from it, harries you. Your wit's in a whirl, as you think, if some girl with a _penchant_ for you, ups and marries you. And ties you for life to the thing called a Wife,--that figment, that fraud, that illusion, Where, _what_ will you be? And you can't find a key to the epoch's chaotic confusion. It seems Local Option is sure of adoption, and what a tyrannic majority May "opt" for one day, you're unable to say, and in vain you appeal to Authority. The Law of the Land is a labyrinth grand, which you can't understand, nor can anyone, And _that_ is a thought, with delirium fraught, an appalling, if 'tis not a penny one.

Now Law, the Old Antic, seems utterly frantic, absurdly romantic and maundering; And Cool Common Sense has gone dotty and dense, in dim deserts of Sentiment wandering. Now Reason and Right, hydrocephalous quite, are both Della-Cruscan and drivelling, Life (barring the fun) like "The Mulberry One," seems a mixture of diddling and snivelling. There's LAWSON who jaws on the Abstinence Cause on, and would lay his claws on the Nation, And put sudden stopper on all that's improper (as _he_ thinks) without compensation; And then there's Sir EDWARD, who, when he goes bedward, must have _his_ reflections nightmarish! It seems, from such rigs, that our biggest Big Wigs are scarcest to govern a parish. MCDOUGALL again, is agog to restrain all that gives _his_ soul pain--it's a squeamish one!-- He thinks he's a stayer as Jabberwock-slayer, mere Angry Boy he, _not_ a Beamish One! These Oracles windy do raise such a shindy, and kick such a doose of a dust up, One would think without _them_ we were wrong stern and stem, and the whole of creation would bust up. But verily why men should _new_ worship Hymen,--who, just as unshackled as Cupid,-- (See decision _Re_ JACKSON), take burdens their backs on, I can_not_ conceive. It seems stupid Beyond all expression to have a "possession" whose "ownness" there's desperate doubt of, And which (if she's _nous_) you can't keep _in_ your house, nor yet (if she's "savvy") keep _out_ of! What _is_ "Hymen's halter"? I fidget and falter! The Beaks seem to palter and fumble. In such a strange fashion, I fly in a passion, and vow that the world is a jumble. Law seems a wigged noodle, as tame as a poodle, the whole darned caboodle (as 'ARRY sees) Is ructions and "rot," and our "rulers" a lot of confounded old foodles and Pharisees! Yes, that's what _I_ think about Marriage and Drink--if you may call it thought, which with frenzy is fraught, and gives me a "head" like bad whiskey; whose dread is on me day and night, makes me wake in a fright, from visions most solemn of column on column of such "printed matter" and paragraph chatter, as makes me feel flatter than cold eggless batter upon a lead platter--as mad as a hatter, and who will relieve me? Can anyone? I tell you it's dreadful to face a whole bedful of spectres and spooks (born of papers and books) with, most horrible looks, limbs contorted in crooks, and bat-wings with big hooks, which haunt all the nooks of tester and curtain, and which, I am certain, will drive me insane if _some_ one can't explain where the mischief we are, 'midst the jumble and jar of factions and fads, of crotchets and cads, of Tolstois and Jeunes, and Ibsens (whose lunes are more lunatic still). Oh, I'd learn with a will from any or aught, who could bring me, fresh caught, with lucidity fraught (what so long I have sought) a Clear Comforting Thought--though a Penny One!

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_IN RE_ THE INFLUENZA.

(_AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL NOTE ON THE APPEARANCE OF THE EPIDEMIC IN THE LAW COURTS._)

Owing to recent sentimental legislation, many members of the learned profession, to which I have the honour to belong, have found their practice becoming (to quote the poet) "small by degrees and beautifully less." Times were when I could scarcely pass a week in term time without appearing in Court holding a consent brief, or armed with authority to move (unopposed) for the appointment of a receiver. But that was long ago--a deep contrast with to-day--when my admirable and excellent Clerk PORTINGTON, finds an hour a day ample, almost too ample, time for posting up to date my Fee Book. However, occasionally a gleam of the old sunshine illumines, so to speak, the chambers I occupy, and such a gleam was my retention for the Defence in the cause of _Quicksilver_ v. _Nore_. It was a Patent Case, and one of the deepest possible interest. It is my good fortune to know the Defendant, personally, and it was through his kind offices that the instructions to appear for him were left at my chambers. My friend and client (who is unjustly said to be eccentric in his habits) has recently patented and produced a most important invention, which greatly facilitates the retention of dinner-napkins, after those useful, nay, necessary articles have been used for the purpose for which they are manufactured. Like all really valuable inventions, the patent is simplicity itself, the napkin-ring consisting of the section of the thicker end of an elephant's tusk cut to an appropriate size and hollowed out. It is necessary to fold the dinner-napkin in such a fashion that, when inserted through the ring, its shape is retained by the adherent properties inseparable from the ivory. The patent can also be produced in other materials, such as gold, silver and jewels for the wealthy, and in bone, tin and even glass for purchasers of smaller means. I must say that when the ring was shown to me I was greatly struck with the cleverness and simplicity of the idea, and could not understand how Mr. QUICKSILVER could have allowed himself to be so badly advised as to bring an action for infringement, merely on the strength of _his_ patent being also a dinner-napkin-holder with the ring element so far introduced that it consisted of a circle closed and opened by a hinge. However, it was no part of my duty to advise the other side, so I set to work to get up my case (as I invariably do) _con amore_. I hunted up all the causes in the Digest, that seemed to be on all-fours with the matter in dispute, and spent days in the Public Library of the Patent Office searching for patents having to do with table-napkins. As the specifications were not consecutively published, I had to wade through a large number of these interesting documents that treated of other subjects. For instance, the first specification I would take out of the box in which it was kept, would perhaps have to do with house-raising without disturbance to the foundations, the second would prove to be an article half umbrella, half revolver, while in the third I would perhaps find an extremely quaint notion for a portable pocket corkscrew. I myself picked up many ideas for future use, and hope some day, if I do nothing else, at least to perfect a clever little contrivance of my own for arousing the inmates of a house invaded by burglars by casement concussions. I propose calling this valuable little instrument (which is founded to some extent on the simple construction by which the figures in a child's box of wooden soldiers are enabled to advance and retire in a scissors-like fashion), when produced, the Policeman's Upper Floor Window Tapper.

The day for the hearing at length arrived, and, armed with a mass of carefully selected information, I was in my seat ready to defend the originality of the Nore Napkin Ring, so to speak, to the death. In my notes before me I had the skeleton of a really fine oration, which I felt (if I mastered my normal nervousness) would bristle with epigram, and thrill with heartfelt, brain-inspired eloquence. So deeply interested was I in the matter, that I scarcely listened to my friend's opening, and only became aware of what was happening in Court by the rising of the Judge. Suddenly his Lordship bowed, and disappeared. I looked at the clock--it was only noon--and, consequently, an hour and thirty minutes in advance of the time usually selected for the mid-day adjournment. And then, to my dismay, I found that his Lordship was suffering from the influenza! Well, there was nothing to do but to collect my papers, and, assisted by PORTINGTON, return to my chambers. The next day my head ached violently, and I could not move. Then I have a recollection of dictating to my wife long telegrams to PORTINGTON, which I subsequently discovered were neither despatched nor delivered.

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When I awoke, I found that the matter of _Quicksilver_ v. _Nore_ had been arranged and settled--out of Court!

_Pump-handle Court._ (_Signed_) A. BRIEFLESS, JUNIOR.

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