Part 2

Parliamentary Declension.

_Nominative_--M.P. "named." _Genitive_--M.P. in possession of the House. _Dative_--Giving it hot to M.P. _Accusative_--Charge against M.P. _Vocative_--"O! O!" and (pro-vocative cries). _Ablative_--M.P. is removed in custody of Serjeant-at-Arms.

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The subject of conversation in the presence of Mrs. R. was the Darlington magistrates' decision in the palmistry case. "Yet," remarked our old friend, thoughtfully, "palmistry is very ancient, and practised professionally by most excellent and good people. Isn't DAVID always spoken of as 'The Palmist'?"

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THE SONG OF THE SHOPKEEPER.

Will the Season be long? Will the Season be short? Parliament's going strong! Plenty of stir at Court! Cholera rumours abroad, Summer weather at home, Us a chance may afford; I only hope it may come! Royal Marriage over! Money remarkably "tight"! Landlords _may_ live in clover. Shopkeepers' pull seems slight. Will some of our Oracles clever Tell a poor chap what he axes? For three things go on for ever, And those are Rents, Rates, and Taxes!

* * * * *

THE VOLUNTEERS' VADE MECUM.

(_For the Centre Weeks of July._)

_Question._ Do you prefer Bisley to Wimbledon?

_Answer._ Officially, yes; as a civilian, no.

_Q._ Why do you make the distinction?

_A._ Because I go to Bisley in a double capacity.

_Q._ Why do you prefer Bisley to Wimbledon officially?

_A._ Because there are no distractions, and the ranges are less subject to atmospheric interruption.

_Q._ Why do you prefer Wimbledon to Bisley as a civilian?

_A._ Because Wimbledon was an extremely cheery place, where you could entertain your friends to your heart's content, and have a generally good time of it.

_Q._ Can you not obtain the same advantages at Bisley?

_A._ Certainly not. You are in the neighbourhood of Woking Cemetery, and that melancholy spot influences its surroundings.

_Q._ But were you not always regretting the attractions of Wimbledon when you were in Surrey?

_A._ Certainly, because they lured me from work.

_Q._ Do you still regret them?

_A._ More than ever, because they were certainly pleasanter than the attractions of Bisley.

_Q._ And now, in conclusion, what do you think of this year's shooting?

_A._ The same as former years.

_Q._ What do you mean by that?

_A._ That those who win owe their good shots to flukes, and those who fail have to thank their rifles, and the state of the weather.

* * * * *

"SO LIKE THEM!"--Of all the numerous "memorials" of the Royal Wedding, Count WALERY'S "Wedding Number of Photographic Portraits" takes the wedding cake. It is priced at three shillings and sixpence, and for this you get one English sovereign and "royalties." If this isn't good value for money we don't know what is.

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THE SKIRT-DANCER, OR UNLIMITED LOIE-ABILITY.--When a theatre is doing "good business," and is crammed in every part, placards are exhibited, announcing "Pit Full, Stalls Full, Boxes Full," &c., &c. But at the Gaiety just now, where Miss LOIE FULLER is appearing, the management might simply put up outside the simple statement of fact--"FULLER EVERY EVENING!"

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THE ECLIPSE RIDDLE.--Why didn't _La Fleche_ win the Eclipse Stakes?--Because she wanted to keep out of _Orme's_ way.

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* * * * *

MRS. NICKLEBY IN THE CHAIR.

_A Song of Sympathetic Suggestion._

["Poor Mrs. NICKLEBY, who had at no time been remarkable for the possession of a very clear understanding, had been reduced by the late changes in affairs to a most complicated state of perplexity....

"'I don't know what to think, one way or other, my dear,' said Mrs. NICKLEBY; 'NICHOLAS is so violent, and your uncle has so much composure, that I can only hear what he says, and not what NICHOLAS does. Never mind--don't let us talk any more about it.'...

"Now Mrs. NICKLEBY was not the sort of person to be told anything in a hurry, or rather to comprehend anything of peculiar delicacy or importance on a short notice....

"'Anybody who had come in upon us suddenly would have supposed that I was confusing and distracting, instead of making things plainer; upon my word they would.'...

"'I am very sorry indeed,' said Mrs. NICKLEBY. 'I am very sorry indeed for all this. I really don't know what would be the best to do, and that's the truth;... but if it could be settled in any friendly manner--and some fair arrangement was come to, so that we undertook to have fish twice a week, and a pudding once, or a dumpling, or something of that sort, I do think it might be very satisfactory and pleasant for all parties.'

"This compromise, which was proposed with abundance of tears and sighs, not exactly meeting the point at issue, nobody took any notice of it."

_Dickens's "Nicholas Nickleby._"]

AIR--"_Nickledy Nod._"

Oh! where are we next to be carried, My own dear NICKLEBY NOD? We're worried, and hurried, and harried! In pickle has _no one_ a rod? Obstruction's becoming a bore; We're victims of boor, clown, and cad. It seems of our "noble six hundred" A solid majority's mad!

DICKENS was surely prophetic, My own dear NICKLEBY NOD! The plight of yourself is pathetic, The state of the House appears odd. _Can't_ we live quiet and decent? The shindy makes common sense sad: It seems from occurrences recent The mass of the House _must_ be mad!

Whom should we ask to protect us, My own dear NICKLEBY NOD? A rowdy rot seems to infect us And Nemesis looks leaden-shod. Shouldn't we look to the Chair To save us from garrulous fad, When row-de-dow fills all the air, And the bulk of the House is gone mad?

Cynics may find it amusing, My own dear NICKLEBY NOD, This venomous mutual abusing. Thersites seems ranked as a god. Billingsgate sways our big swells, Talent plays Brummagem Cad. 'Tis worse than Sarcasm of Sadler's Wells. You're mild--and your House is mad!

More is to come in the Autumn, My own poor NICKLEBY NOD! We trust by that time you'll have taught 'em Some decency--e'en by the rod. "Not say any more about it?" _That_ will scarce answer, my lad! Patience _may_ soothe, but I doubt it Much--when the culprits are mad!

"Settled in some friendly manner?" My own poor NICKLEBY NOD, CHAMBERLAIN, SEXTON, and TANNER (Say) as "fair friends" would look odd. GLADSTONE, and BALFOUR, and SAUNDERSON, _Might_ keep the peace, and be glad; But while malignity maunders on NICKLEBY policy's--mad!

"Some fair arrangement?"--_with RUSSELL?_ My own poor NICKLEBY NOD, Hark how they howl, shriek, and hustle! Nay; you must whip out the rod. Wish you had brought it forth sooner. NICKLEBY _role_, my dear lad, Of mild, muddled, well-meaning mooner, Won't work--with a House gone _mad_!

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NEWS FROM UGANDA.--"A conference," so the _Times_ special lately wrote, "took place between Bishop TUCKER and Monseigneur HIRTH," with a view to amicably arranging their respective missions. Monseigneur HIRTH wished to sing the old nigger melody of "_Out ob de way ole Dan Tucker_." Imperial Commissioner objected. Bishop TUCKER, lineal descendant of the celebrated little _Thomas_ who "cried for his supper," wanted to have all the black and white bread to himself according to the ancient nursery tradition of the TUCKER family. Commissioner, quite a GALLIO in his way, wouldn't hear of it. Ultimately the two ecclesiastical antagonists came to terms, the Commissioner (Our Own) wisely observing that "as the object of both missions was a spiritual one, there ought to be no Hirthly ground for disagreement."

* * * * *

LAYS OF MODERN HOME.

THE FIRST COOK!

Oh! the first Cook, in that ambrosial, unwithering Halcyon, rapturous, and honeymooning prime!-- She, who, aware of HELEN'S babyish and blithering Innocence, did a lot of mischief in her time.

Oh! for her soup, a weird, insuperable fearfulness, Compound of arrowroot, and gelatine, and lard; Hard, to reject it, when a bride besought, with tearfulness, Hard, to accept, and to assimilate it, hard!

Oh! for her leather-like, her nauseating omelette, Oh! for her cutlets and potatoes black as ink! Oft, of necessity, would I the Buttons, TOMMY, let Batten on luxuries that bothered him, I think.

And she would mingle, would that woman who did _that_ to me, Proofs incontestable with everything I ate, Whereby the veriest beginner of anatomy Knew that she must be in complexion a _brunette_.

Wild were her sauces, like herself, devoid of reasoning; Still I have never been indubitably clear, _Why_ the invariable factor in her seasoning Always reminded me so forcibly of Beer.

Why, when my darling sighed, "The weekly books are ready, TED," And I rejoined that _we_ were thin while _they_ were fat,-- Why, their increasing superfluities were credited All to a manifestly unoffending cat.

Why, when a joint of whatsoever solid vastiness Quitted the dining-room, it never came again; Why my allusions to her culinary nastiness Only encouraged her, it beats me to explain.

True, for our wages, which were somewhere near the "Twenty-ones," Great expectations would have been a trifle rash. Still, as her perquisites, I know, were cent.-per-cent.-y ones, Ah! how I wish a _Chef_ had fed us for the cash!

Oh! my first Cook! A gem with so much rare and rich in her, Irreconcileable, impenetrable soul, How I exulted when she fell against the kitchener, Urged by a Nemesis (and legs) beyond control.

How, when my fluttered pet, believing her immaculate, Hied to her aid, and heard, "_You ain't a Lady, Mum!_" How I was forced to rather brutally ejaculate, "Rum! Very rum!--you see the cause of it is '_rum_.'"

Oh! that first year of married paradise! My attitude Somehow, my sweet, on this our second Wedding-day, Needs must be one of unadulterated gratitude, Since we survive the Cook, you wept to send away!

* * * * *

"HAS LEFT BUT THE NAME."--The intention of the original starters of the Aquarium was presumably to exhibit fish of all sorts, all alive oh! and quite at home. Nowadays, very little about fish is to be found in the advertisements. The fish are, it may be supposed, "taken for granted." They are conspicuous by their absence; but instead you read how "a human being dives," how somebody conjures, how there are "miraculous feats," and "four-legged dancers," and "baby elephants" waltzing and drum-playing; how somebody of some importance "walks upside down in mid-air;" how there are "serpentine" dancers, "pantomimists," "duettists," and, finally, the "boxing kangaroo," so that altogether the Aquarium may still congratulate itself on a show of about the "queerest, oddest fish" in the world.

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WHAT'S IN A NAME?

["At the World's Fair, in Chicago, the other day, the Rev. JOHN JAMESON, of Virginia, smashed a stand containing an exhibit of Irish Whiskey."]

What's this? Am I dreaming? I fancy I am: But no--it is printed without any flam. "The Reverend gentleman stood by the stand, With a hickory cudgel upraised in his hand. Then, with fury and fire in his clerical eye, This temperate priest on the bottles let fly." Oh, the waste of good liquor; to think there should be A man who with whiskey would dare to make free; And to think--which but adds to the sin and the shame-- That the spoiler of whiskey should own such a name. One might sooner expect that some learned Q. C. Should abjure what he lives by, and welcomes--a fee; That a judge should break laws, or a gaoler break chains, Or a "guinea-pig" turn in disgust from his gains; That a bookie should preach, or a bishop should bet, That a slave of the Season should break etiquette; A landlord proclaim his dislike of his rent, Sleek MOSES protest against eighty per cent; That a priest should cast doubts on a stole or a cope, Or PE*RS hint a fault in the worth of his soap. Such sights would be strange, but they cannot compare With the sight that was seen t'other day at the Fair, When JOHN JAMESON smashed (or the newspapers fib it) With his hickory cudgel a whiskey-exhibit.

* * * * *

THE LATEST PARISIAN "ROMANCE."

(_Translated from the original French Canard._)

THEY were hunting him down. They had traced him from spot to spot. Now he was in the barracks bribing the Army, now in the Ministerial Bureau offering gold to the Members of the Government, now in the office of the leading newspaper arranging for back pages in advertisements at double the scale price. His pernicious influence was felt everywhere. The whole body was permeated with a poisonous atmosphere of corruption.

"We shall have him now," said the first detective, as he looked to the lock of his revolver.

"No doubt about it," returned the other, as he loosed his sword in its scabbard. "He cannot escape us."

Then the force of cavalry, infantry and artillery in attendance raised a stealthy cheer. It had been difficult to bring the charges home to the accused, but they had succeeded. It seemed impossible to prove his identity, but now they had surrounded him. It was only a question of a few minutes, and he would be their prisoner.

The detectives entered the _cafe_. They looked around them. They could see no one answering to his description. All who were there had black beards, black shaggy hair. They could see no red tresses, no yellow Dundreary whiskers and prominent front teeth. Where could he be?

"Yes, there is one diner who has ordered a singular meal," replied a _garcon_, in reply to a question. "He has asked for turtle-soup, raw herrings, raw beef, raw mutton chops, plum-pudding and a barrel of porter-beer."

"It must be he," cried the detectives, in a breath; "only an Englishman would want such a meal."

"And he asked for the _Times_ and _Punch_," added the waiter.

"Proof conclusive of nationality;" and in a moment the man was surrounded and seized.

"You dare not touch me," he shouted, battling with his captors. "I am sacred, and if you offer violence you pledge your country to a terrible war!"

Impressed by the stranger's vehemence, the detectives released him. Once free, he threw off his black wig, took off his false nose, and put on his blue spectacles. Then he gazed around him proudly.

"We ask your pardon, M. l'Ambassadeur," said the police.

"It is granted," returned their now-released prisoner, and he entered his carriage. "I would have preferred to preserve my _incognito_, but your interference has compelled me to reveal my identity. And now, home."

And the coachman drove the Ambassador to a grand mansion in the Rue Faubourg St. Honore.

SEQUEL (_from the original English_).

And when the Ambassador read the above, he came back to his native land, and observed, "I think I have had enough of this."

And everyone at home agreed with him.

* * * * *

BY OUR OUT-AND-OUT-EVERY-EVENING MAN.--_Mem._ The only endurable "Squash" in this hot weather is "Lemon Squash."

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QUEER ENGLISH.

We are delighted--everyone is delighted, and that is much the same thing--to know that Mrs. BANCROFT is by this time on the high road to recovery from the effects of what might have been a serious accident. The "inimitable" was in a Hansom, when the horse suddenly fell. Had Mrs. BANCROFT been only what is professionally known as "A Walking Lady," this could not have happened. The _Daily Telegraph's_ account of it informed us that "Mr. BLAKELEY, now of the Criterion Theatre, and once a member of Mr. and Mrs. BANCROFT'S own company, who was happily passing immediately after the occurrence, was the means of having the lady taken to her private residence." Mr. BLAKELEY is always "happy" in any part he undertakes, _nihil tetigit quod non ornavit_, and no doubt he was "happily passing," perhaps gaily whistling, lightly stepping, merrily twirling a stick, and walking along "thinking of nothing at all," when he became aware of the danger to the popular ex-manageress, which at once changed his note from a tenner to an alto: in fact alto-gether altered it. [The above comment would have been impossible had the reporter stated that, "Happily for Mrs. BANCROFT, Mr. BLAKELEY, &c., &c., was passing at the moment, and, &c., &c."]

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"BEN TROVATO!"--Yes, found at last; this Ben is Mr. BEN DAVIES, who sang five songs before the QUEEN, that is--to avoid all appearance of rudeness--in Her Gracious Majesty's presence, one day last week. He is now "Big Ben Trovato-re" in chief, and long may he remain so.

* * * * *

A PROPER NAME.--That peculiar but not uncommon ornithological species known as "Gaol-birds" ought to be kept in a _Knave-iary_.

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* * * * *

FROM PROFESSOR MUDDLE.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Your poet (in this week's issue) reminds me of my own unfortunate experience. Ever since I read that inspired work, _Alice in Blunderland_, I do not seem to be able to give a correct version of any of the poems I have long been accustomed to repeat or sing. After dinner the other night I was asked to sing, and gave a well-known song as follows:--

Think of me only with thy nose, No words need then be said; Or kiss me sweetly with thine ears, No lips are half so red. The thirst that in my body burns Demands both food and wine, So when I next shall call on thee You'll know I've come to dine. Thou sent'st me late a rose-bud fair, Not so much honouring me As hoping near my heart I'd wear It all for love of thee. But I returned it through the post-- Forgive me, if you can-- Since when I trow thou hast found out I'm not a marrying man.

* * * * *

DE TROP.--The last item of the _menu_, as given in the _World_, of the Royal Wedding Breakfast, after the sweets, was named in plain English,--all the previous dishes being given in French,--"cold roast fowls." But how on earth after four courses and sweets, finishing with "_Patisserie assortie_," could anyone have the conscience--we put it in this way--to ask for and to eat any portion of "cold roast fowls"?

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"THIS IS A GOAK."--The _Weekly Register_, recording the event of a Baronetcy being conferred on the present LORD MAYOR, remarks, "With him we know the honour will be no _barren_ one." Very good, _W. R._ The italics are ours, just to emphasize the pun.

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ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday, July 10._--Glad the sitting's over; often get a little mixed here; never so magnificently as to-night. Reached 9th Clause Home-Rule Bill, which settles question of Irish Representation in Imperial Parliament. When Mr. G. brought in his Bill in 1886, he proposed to exclude Irish Members. Remember very well the cheer that filled the Chamber when that announcement made on introduction of Bill. Those were, as PAT O'BRIEN used to say, "the days of all-night sittings." Irish Members stood in bitter implacable attitude of obstruction. At prospect of clearing them out, giving Great Britain some peace in its own Parliament, the hearts of Members leaped for joy. Seemed at moment as if this bribe would be enough to carry the Bill.

Then came time for reflection; chance of reviewing opportunities. JOSEPH'S rapid insight perceived in this arrangement a stab at the Union. In phrase which SQUIRE OF MALWOOD to-night obligingly recalled he had written, "The key of the position is the maintenance of the full representation of Ireland in the Imperial Parliament."

Mr. G., profiting by experience, proposes in present Bill to maintain Irish representation in slightly modified number. That would seem to cut ground from under JOSEPH'S clinging feet. What he passionately, persistently demanded in 1886, is conceded in 1893. If he cannot abear other provisions of the Bill, he must surely defend the one that retains Irish Members at Westminster. Must he, indeed? Those who think so, know not JOSEPH. For some men the fence might seem a hopelessly stiff one. JOSEPH takes it as an ordinary item in the day's work. No apology; no retraction; no explanation. Black was black in 1886. He, at risk of severing long friendships, said so, and was right. In 1893 black is white. He, anxious only for the prevalence of truth, says so, and is right again.

This would have been pretty picture for a July night; but anyone could have drawn it. In House of Commons it's as common as pastels on the pavement. JOSEPH went the step further that marks the wide gulf between genius and mediocrity. Having declared that in 1893 he, impelled by irresistible conscience and unfathomable love for his country, would vote against what in 1886 he (subject to same influence) described as the key of the position, JOEY C. turned upon his right hon. friends on the Treasury Bench, and with manly emotion that brought tears to the eyes of the Member for Sark, deplored their inconsistency.

"What I like about JOSEPH," said the Member for Sark, "is his thoroughness. On finding himself in this new pit, he might have stopped at the bottom and said nothing till the storm had blown over. Or, thinking that a mean evasion, he might have defended the course he has adopted. Those are the alternatives presented to ordinary mankind: only to JOSEPH comes the idea of standing up and indignantly belabouring Mr. G. and JOHN MORLEY for indulgence in the unpardonable sin of inconsistency!"

_Business done._--PRINCE ARTHUR, JOSEPH, SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE, and JOHN REDMOND, unite their forces against Government. Mr. G. saved by skin of the teeth and majority of 14.

_Tuesday._--TIM HEALY is an honest man and a loyal colleague. But we are all weak on some point. Temptation irresistible to TIM is to appropriate other people's rows. To-night's row distinctly and exclusively SEXTON'S. Yet TIM promptly came to the front, and remained there throughout the storm. The one clear impression amidst confusing uproar was that TIM was bobbing on top of the turbulence like a cork on the apex of a water-spout.