Part 2

_The L. O. L._ (_aghast_). Her _'usban'!_ And me a jobbin' of 'im with my umberella! 'Ere, let me get out! [_She staggers out, in dead terror of being sent to the Tower on the spot._

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THE LEARNED WELSH GOAT.

_Dame Ap-Asq-th loquitur_:--

_Not_ the Learned Pig, ladies and gentlemen, this time. Oh dear no! I should think the public had had about enough of him for some time to come, and---- Oh, I forgot! (_Aside: He'll have to be trotted out again presently, so I'd better shut up, and not spoil the market for_ Misther O'MORLEY.) As I was saying, ladies and gentlemen, not the Learned Irish Pig, but the Learned Welsh Goat!

A goat, you know, is a nimble creature, which, in a state of nature, mounts pinnacles, and leaps from rock to rock, like the poor gentleman in the _Contrabandista_. This one could climb a church steeple, and balance itself on the weathercock--if permitted to do so. Couldn't you, TAFFY? (_Aside: I hope the blessed brute won't butt me. He's been a bit restive of late._)

No, ladies and gentlemen, _Esmeralda's_ goat was really not in it with mine, for nimbleness and _nous_, much less the goat in _Dinorah_. As to _Robinson Crusoe's_ much talked of animal---- Here, I say, TAFFY! _Crwych llnwyddfohw ychonbompthyy kckonobommthygy!_ That means, "Mind your 'p's' and 'q's'," ladies and gentlemen, or, in Welsh, "Mind your 'l's' and 'y's.'" But _my_ goat understands English quite well, as you'll see presently, and, moreover, is not, as Lord ROSEBERY says most _other_ members of the Liberal Party are, floored by words of two syllables. TAFFY is equal to _five_--at least! Most Welsh words, you know, are in about twenty. At east, they _look_ so, to non-Welshers--I mean, non-Welshmen. (_Aside: Hope they won't ask me what is the Welsh for "Ploughing the Sands"!_)

Now, you see, ladies and gentlemen, here are sixteen letters, scattered, "in pie," as it were, forming a word of five syllables, which has been familiar in our mouths as "All the Year Round"--I mean household words--of late. (_Aside: Indeed it has! And if they knew what a bore it has become in Cabinet Councils and other places where they squabble---- Well, no matter!_) Behold the letters, ladies and gentlemen!

M. B. L. E. A. T. I. S. H. D. I. S. S. E .N. T

Now, TAFFY, what can you make of _that?_ Watch him, ladies and gentlemen! Mark his sagacity! And remember, it is all done by kindness! (_Aside: Yes, "by_ CADWALLADER _and all his goats," it wouldn't do to try anything else with_ this _animal, or we should all be sprawling in no time!_)

Plbymbch y llnrnwtclfly, TAFFY! See, he starts with "a big, big D." No profanity intended, I assure you. This is a Noncomformist goat, and carries a conscience! D.I.S. Ah! that, too, hath an ominous sound, TAFF! But you're not through yet. E. S. T. A. B! How carefully, yet how confidently, he picks them out. No hesitation, no indecision. Ah! Gallant Little TAFFY knows his book! D. I. S. E. S. T. A. B---- Well, and what's the _next_ letter, TAFFY?

[_Left spelling it out._

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HARD TO (L. C.) C.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I crave your advice and sympathy under the following circumstances. I have been of late considerably perplexed as to which side I ought to support in the forthcoming London County Council Election. Sometimes I have felt drawn to the banner of Progressivism, at other times I have yearned to embrace Moderateness, I do not say the Moderate Programme, because there are so many. In my difficulty I saw an announcement that the _Daily Chronicle_ was about to become an illustrated paper in the interest of the Progressives. Accordingly, last Monday I eagerly bought the first copy of the newly-pictured paper, and found a delightful feast for my eyes in a reproduction of a drawing by Sir EDWARD BURNE-JONES. It was without doubt a charming piece of work, and the printing was marvellously good. That decided me--I threw in my lot with the Progressives without more ado.

But, unfortunately, that was only the commencement of the difficulty. That very afternoon I met a friend who happened to be a "Moderate" candidate. "I suppose I can reckon on your assistance, old fellow?" was his greeting as he patted me familiarly on the back. I explained to him that I had determined to vote Progressive. He asked me why. For some time I tried to think of some reason which should appear, on the face of it, conclusive. It ended in my being truthful, and playing Sir EDWARD BURNE-JONES. Then came the questions which have been ringing in my ears ever since. "What on earth has that delightful picture to do with the question? Why, I've got it myself and am having it framed for our drawing-room. But why should it make you vote Progressive?" And that's just it--I didn't know, and I don't know. Please can anyone tell me?

Yours, Burne-Jonesing to know, Muchpurp Lext.

_Feb. 15, 1895._

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CHILLY NOTION.--The gentleman who had "nothing on his mind" was reduced to "a bare idea." He has not survived it.

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TO MY DOCTOR IN BED.

With much regret I hear it said That you, dear doctor, are in bed, Quite invalided. For you the uninviting fare-- The broth, the gruel, made with care, The milk--is needed.

I mourn, yet grimly chuckle, too, When thinking that not I, but you, Should be a fixture; Not I, but you, must sadly sip, With utterly unwilling lip, Some awful mixture.

Not I, but you, must now obey What dictatorial doctors say, So interfering! I might perhaps be less averse To some attractive youthful nurse, And find her cheering.

In weather such as we have had, Your fate may not have been so bad; In bed one lingers When blizzards bite the bluish nose, When cold half numbs the tortured toes, The frozen fingers.

So I perhaps should envy you, With nothing in the world to do But, idly dozy, And disregarding snow and storm, To just be comfortably warm, And snugly cosy.

To pass the time, your pulse you feel, And dream of charms all ills to heal, Like some magician; In mirrors you may see your tongue; You cannot listen to your lung, My poor physician.

You read the _Lancet_, I should say, Or books on your complaint, all day, Stiff-bound or limp tomes, And when you put the volumes by, You lie and sigh and try and di- -agnose your symptoms.

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Messrs. CHATTO AND WINDUS have omitted one thing that would have contributed to the full success of their publication of _The Memoirs of the Duchesse de Gontaut_, done out of the French by Mrs. W. DAVIS. They ought to have engaged the services of our E. T. R., who would have been quite at home in illustrating the prehistoric peeps here opened. The Duchesse was _gouvernante_ to those she fondly styles the "children of France" during the Restoration. Of her charges one was "The Child of Miracle," born to the DUCHESSE DE BERRY after the murder of her husband. He was subsequently known to French Royalists as HENRI THE FIFTH, and to the rest of the world as the Comte DE CHAMBORD. What is amazing, in a sense fascinating, to readers at this end of the century, is to find a state of things existing in which such a poor, common-place, fatuous creature as CHARLES THE TENTH could be regarded with reverence, almost worship, by his fellow-creatures. Madame DE GONTAUT, a high-minded, well-educated, sensible woman, almost weeps over the king as in the days of July, 1830, he sat on the balcony at the Palace of St. Cloud playing whist, the game interrupted from time to time by the sound of the tocsin, and the flashing forth of fresh fires in the streets of revolted Paris. On the 28th of July overtures were made from the revolutionary committee in Paris, which might, temporarily at least, have saved the throne had the king accepted their moderate conditions. "I think," he said, for all response, "it is a great impertinence to bring me such propositions." Three days later, at two o'clock in the morning, the king was roused out of his peaceful sleep, and packed off to Dieppe by friends, anxious to save him from the fate of LOUIS THE SIXTEENTH.

THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

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Seasonable Conundrum.

_Q._ What is the difference between laying down the Golden Rule (Do to others, &c.) and _acting_ upon it?

_A._ One is a truism, the other an altruism.

[Mr. Punch _advises the well-to-do readers to work this out practically among the poor this inclement season_.

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THRIFT!

(_To "_Un_splendid Paupers, in Workhouses and other places where they wish to enjoy themselves" on the cheap._)

If you'd really learn and practice Thrift (As the frozen poor have needed lately) Get the great Elizabethan gift Of (_economically_) being "stately." (Mr. STEAD that dower will explain.) You must have a castle to begin with; Then give a _Bal Poudré_. You will gain! (Having nothing else to do your "tin" with.) The true way to save is--spend your money On a splendid pageant! Ain't it funny? SALISBURY for HODGE advised a circus, I a _Bal Poudré_ for every "Vorkuss"!

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A VALEDICTION TO ST. VALENTINE.

(_By an Old-fashioned Fellow._)

Old friend of the lass and the lover, They say you are moribund now, Your rule--it was gentle--is over, Because--it is "vulgar" to vow, "No class" to be vassal to Cupid, "Bad form" to go wooing in verse! Well, Saint, your old rhymings _were_ stupid But new ones seem worse.

Your hearts and your darts were as healthy As daffodils, larks or Spring lamb. But now we're so wise, and so wealthy, Simplicity strikes us as sham; Your empire was kind, if despotic, And blent of the smile and the tear. But now we're all "new" and "neurotic," And slaves to the queer.

A Beardsley design, now, would shock you. And so would a verse by VERLAINE. Our Art, modern Art, would but mock you, Our poetry give you much pain. Oh Woman, New Woman, thou clamorest Loudly for right to revolt. But oh! from our latter-day Amorist S. V. would _bolt!_

'Tis well, good Saint Valentine, truly, That you have got notice to quit, For, faith! you must find us unduly Devoted to cynical wit. The poor dear conventional passions, You voiced, with bird-pipings, in Spring, Are not "up to date." Love's new fashions _You_ never could sing!

Good gracious! LE GALLIENNE'S lyrics, And DAVIDSON'S Lavender-scent, Would certainly give you hysterics. Song now, just like wine, must _ferment_. The dewdroppy old dithyrambics You loved, in our day don't go down. Our maidens like brisk galliambics On which you would frown.

Indeed ithyphallics--but, bless us! Our poesy, Saint, unto you Would be like a new shirt of Nessus. Our art is all yellow--or blue. And so, poor old boy, 'tis a blessing You're off, with a tear in your eye. Like soft hearts and simple caressing, You're vulgar! Good-bye!

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STRANGE OMEN.--Sir FRANK LOCKWOOD, Solicitor-General, was "entertained," says the _Daily Telegraph_, "to dinner"--(observe, not "entertained _at_ dinner"; perhaps he had to do the entertaining, then)--"at the House of Commons, his host, Mr. JOHN AIRD" (always a host in himself), "being a Conservative," while the other guests were either Conservatives or Unionists. DANIEL in the lions' den is the parallel that arises to everyone's mind; but in this instance DANIEL actually dined with the lions, and probably felt none the worse for the "feast of reason and the flow of soul."

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We haven't as yet seen _An Artist's Model_ at Daly's, but as the piece seems to depend for its "go" mainly on the music composed for it by Mr. OWEN HALL (to clever lyrics by Mr. GREENBANK), it would not be unfair to say that it is to its music it is OWEN HALL its success.

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ANTICIPATORY.--Should HENRY IRVING, as the acknowledged leading representative of the Histrionic side of Dramatic Art in this country, receive the honour of knighthood, the Lyceum bill might be headed, "Great Success! First Knight!"

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ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

_House of Commons, Monday Night, February 11._--The other day rumour about that TIM HEALY, weary of strife, finding how sharper than a serpent's tooth is the enmity of parted friends, had resolved to retire from political life. That news, if true, would eclipse the gaiety of Parliament. TIM'S manner may not be precisely described as gay. It is, in truth, somewhat saturnine; rather raspy, occasionally vitriolic. If there is any instruction to be conveyed, TIM approves the fashion of the ancient Israelitish captain, who "taught the men of Succoth with thorns of the wilderness and briars." TIM'S former colleagues, now ranged under modest leadership of JOHN REDMOND, are, he conscientiously believes, much in need of instruction. So to-night TIM "taught them" with thorns of the wilderness and briars.

A brisk debate, falling into most attractive sequence. This in measure accidental; looked like admirable stage management. First JOHN REDMOND, with his neatly-moulded phrases, his assumption of profound statecraft, his assertion that Tories please him not, nor Liberals either; his conclusion that since Government are on friendly terms with the major Irish Party, the minor (nine strong) will march into lobby with PRINCE ARTHUR, whom they used to hate, and JOSEPH of Birmingham, whom they scarcely love. Next JOHN MORLEY, stirred to unusually profound depths, his speech glowing above the unwonted fire. Then PRINCE ARTHUR, gracefully skating on exceedingly thin ice, incidentally dropping into imagery on successive phases of the married state, which House, ever alert for personal references, listened to with quickened interest. A scholar's current speech or writing is insensibly tinctured with flavour of his latest study. Odd that just now PRINCE ARTHUR should display this curiously minute knowledge and appreciation of various phases of married life as it is to be studied in books of reference.

Finally, TIM, his truculence tempered by humour of the situation. JOHN REDMOND protested he had made no bargain with Opposition in transferring to them his handful of votes. PRINCE ARTHUR had confirmed disclaimer. Too much for tender-hearted TIM. Tears glistened in his eyes; his voice trembled; his hand shook; his body seemed to grow limp, as he lamented this last degeneration of ancient Irish spirit.

"I have," he said, "been in alliance with the Tory Party before now, and may be again; but I know of no occasion when any Irish party gave their votes unless they got something for them."

That only TIM'S fun. Overcoming his emotion, he, with ruthless force, pitiless logic, laid bare position of the new Party of the Muses.

_Business done._--Parnellite Amendment, supported by Unionists, negatived by 256 against 236.

_Tuesday._--If you want to make your flesh creep, you should have heard the SPEAKER just now challenging the Lord Mayor of Dublin, whom he discovered standing at Bar; and, as Sir WILFRID LAWSON adds, "not drinking." Lord Mayor got up in gorgeous apparel; scarlet gown, ermine-tipped, with gold chain gleaming across manly chest. Recalls days of yesteryear when DAWSON was Lord Mayor of Dublin. Being also Member for an Irish constituency, no autocratic SPEAKER might challenge his right to cross the Bar, whether in civilian dress, or in robes of office. On occasions when he had a petition to deliver he came down, cloaked, in a four-wheeler. Made the heart of Mr. COVE in Members' cloak-room stand still, when he suddenly threw back his wraps, and disclosed glittering garb beneath. Sat on front bench below gangway with inadequate legs partially crossed, his chain mysteriously clanking, motion understood at time to serve double purpose of calling attention to Lord Mayor's presence, and of hinting at the kind of bond that held Ireland to Great Britain.

Present Lord Mayor of Dublin, not being a Member had to sue for admission at door of House. Word passed to Sergeant-at-Arms; gallant officer, having heard something of Irish habits, observed precaution of shouldering mace before he went out to confront the strangers. If they had shillelaghs, the mace, twirled about by lusty arms, might be reckoned on to keep the gate. The messengers not behind in military precaution; hauled out the bar--the veritable Bar of House of Commons of which we hear so much and see so little.

"Now," said the oldest Messenger, folding his arms and clenching his teeth, "let them do their worst."

Sergeant-at-Arms marched in, mace on shoulder, escorting Lord Mayor and two sheriffs. If they had meant mischief they thought better of it on looking round. Lord Mayor might, it is true, if he were in good condition have vaulted over bar or ducked beneath it, and run amuck up floor. But then the sheriffs, before they could have imitated him, would have been awfully mauled with the mace.

Any piratical mention that may have lurked in minds of the insurgents was finally crushed by really awful tone in which the SPEAKER, fixing glittering eye on group at bar, said, "My Lord Mayor of Dublin, what have you there?"

Members expected trembling culprit would produce from under his cloak the horse-pistol, dagger, cup of poison, or whatever he may have brought with him with felonious intent. But he meekly answered, "A petition." This he unfolded, and as he showed a disposition to read it through, Members went off.

_Business done._--Another day passed talking round Address. NAOROJI moved Amendment raising question of financial relations between England and India. Read a paper of prodigious length; beat the tom-tom for nearly an hour. "In churches," said the (almost) Reverend JEMMY LOWTHER, "an incumbent sometimes reads himself in. NAOROJI reads his congregation out. Mayn't be quite so black as the MARKISS painted him, but he's quite as long-winded as could have been expected."

_Thursday._--New Session not quite a fortnight old, and lo! a strange thing has happened. Electric bells struck--I mean they won't strike. When, just now, House cleared for division on Amnesty motion electric knobs touched as usual. Thereupon should have followed tintinnabulation of the bells in all the rooms and corridors outside the Chamber. Only little tinkle heard; sort of weird mocking laugh, "Ha! ha!" and then silence.

Consequences might have been serious. Last thing well-trained Member regards as absolute preliminary to voting is to sit throughout the debate. Scattered far and wide, in library, tea-room, dining-room, or smoking-room, when they hear the bell they rush in to vote. If they don't hear it they stop where they are. Difficulty temporarily overcome by sending policemen and messengers bawling along all the passages, "Division! division!" This all very well for the moment; but what is to be done about the bells?

ALBERT ROLLIT, steeped in parliamentary usages, says, "If the bells won't obey the SPEAKER'S order, send them to the Clock Tower."

STUART promptly places at disposal of SPEAKER a squadron of _Star_ boys, to run about premises on given signal and proclaim division. "They'd do it much better than the policemen and messengers," he says.

True; but as Colonel LEGGE apprehends, they would be certain in excitement of moment, instead of calling out "Division," to lapse into more familiar cry, "Hextra Speshul!" That would never do. Simplest plan is to stop this interminable talk round the Address and get to work. When the electric bells shut up in sheer disgust at waste of time, grown-up men of business may be expected to reconsider the position.

_Business done._--TIM HARRINGTON talked for two hours and five minute about ancient history of Maamtrasna.

_Friday._--Much murmuring below Gangway just now because to programme of Session already overloaded Government decline to add Bill providing for payment of Members. SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE been observed to regard this topic with smiling equanimity. Secret of his content now disclosed. Papers report how Spanish merchant, resident in Barcelona, having studied SAGE'S public Parliamentary career, begs leave, as trifling indication of his esteem and admiration, to be permitted to pay SAGE'S election expenses whenever incurred.

"'Tis a pretty variation on Spanish devotional habit," says PLUNKET, who has followed BORROW'S footsteps in Spain, "More especially in rural districts, pious men approach the shrine of favourite saint and hang upon it an offering, peradventure poor in intrinsic value, but rich in proportion to their revenues. Expect by-and-by the SAGE will be canonised, and straying by the banks of the Guadalquivir, you shall here and there come upon shrines to Saint LABBY, rich with votive offerings."

"That may be so," said GORST. "You're always ready to take the poetic view of a thing. But I'd like to wait and see the colour of the money. You know the SAGE has long been firing away at enterprising traders in Spain who, usually dating their missives from a State prison, offer for a slight consideration to disclose fabulous stores of hidden wealth. The SAGE has spoiled their little game. Should like to be quite sure they've not broken out in a new place, and are trying it on first with the SAGE."

_Business done._--Set-to between the Birmingham Cock and the Yorkshire-cum-Fifeshire Bantam. Odds at first in favour of the veteran. Admitted on both sides the young 'un beat him hollow.

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QUIET RUBBERS.