A COMPLAINT OF THE CENSUS. (By a Disappointed Duke.)

[For the first time the sixth column in the Census Schedule is simply headed "Profession or Occupation."]

OH! I'm a reg'lar rightdown Duke:
The trying part I act and look

Right nobly, so they tell me.
Yet I would have you understand
Why I am thoroughly unmanned
At what of late befell me.

A week or something less ago,
A schedule came to let me know
The Census Day was Sunday.
The many details, one and all,
Must be filled in, and then they'd call
To fetch it on the Monday.

I found it easy to contrive
To answer columns one to five-
I filled them up discreetly;
But when I came to column six
I got into an awful fix,

And lost my head completely.

For "Rank" alas! had disappeared.
I'd never for an instant feared

It wouldn't really be there.
Your "Occupation" you could state,
"Profession," too, you might relate,
But I-a Duke-had neither!

His Grace the Duke of PLAZA-TOR'
Would call himself, I'm pretty sure,
Apublic entertainer."
But I and my blue-blooded wife,
We lead a simple blameless life,
No life could well be plainer.

In such a plight what could I do?

I searched the paper through and through,
Each paragraph I read. You'll
Scarce credit it but those who "live
On their own means" had got to give
This statement in the schedule!

I put it, but my ducal pen
I saw distinctly sputtered when
I did so. All of which he

Will please remember when I say
I thought it in a minor way
Unkind of Mr. RITCHIE!

Eminent Writer to Editor.-Explanation unsatisfactory. You first insert contribution, and then slate it. Do you call yourself an Editor?

gorra, there was a whoop o' delight went up falsehood, hypocrites, effrontery, demagogues,
all round, which same was a sign of their pur-Pharisees, and so on; but expressions to be
liteness, as divil a one of the ignoramuses could taken in strietly Pickwickian sense, and of
onderstand a wurrd the Court said in English course not intended for you.
or German, let alone Irish.
Goot,' says
MUNSTER to me, dropping into his German
accent, which, on occasion, comes quite
natural to him-the cratur! I'll give the
loaf to the dog;' and he whistles up the Editor to Eminent Writer.-Rather think
mastiff, own brother to BISMARCK's. Eh, I do call myself Editor. Couldn't insert that
MICKY, ye gossoon, isn't the proverb, "Loaf humbug about India and Canada without
me, loaf my dog"?" Ah! then was cheers reply. By the bye, have forgotten if you
for ould Ireland, and a mighty big dhrink spell Christian name with or without K?
entirely we had that same night.
Important. Wire back.
"Yours as ever,
M. F."

HERRICK UP TO DATE.
(After" The Bracelet to Julia.")
WHY tye I about thy wrist,
JULIA, this my silken twist?
For what other reason is 't,
But to show (in theorie)

Thou sweet captive
art to me;
Which, of course, is
fiddlededee!

Runne and aske the
nearest Judge,
He will tell thee 'tis
pure fudge;
When thou willest,
thou mayst trudge;
I'm thy Bondslave,
Hymen's pact
Bindeth me in law
and fact;

Thou art free in will and act;
'Tis but silke that bindeth thee,
Snap the thread, and thou art free:
But 'tis otherwise with me.

I am bound, and bound fast so
That from thee I cannot go.
(Hah! We'll have this altered, though.
Man must be a wing-clipp'd goose
If he bows to Hymen's noose,
Heads you winne, and tails I lose!)

MAGAZINE MANNERS.

Editor to Eminent Writer.-Review promises to be deadly slow next month. Can you do something slashing for us? Pitch into somebody or other-you know the style.

Eminent Writer to Editor.- Happy to oblige. Got old article handy advocating cession of Canada and India to the French. Never wrote anything more ripping. Pitches into everybody. Touching it up, and will let you have it in two days. By the bye, telegraph people put a K to my Christian name. Tell them not to do it again.

Editor to Eminent Writer (a week later).Sorry about the K. Got your article. Not quite what I wanted. Style all right, but arguments idiotic. Can't you take the other side? Much more popular.

Eminent Writer to Editor.-Idea insulting. Any more telegrams of that sort, and I contribute in future to the Shortsprightly Review, not yours!

MICKY FREE IN PARIS. As to the incident which recently appeared in the papers under the head-line"Insulting an Ambassador," our old friend MICKY writes us as follows:-"Be jabers then, ye must know the truth. Me and Count MUNSTER was drivin' together. The Count's every bit a true-born son of Oald Ireland for ever, and descended from the Kings of Munster by both sides, and more betoken wasn't he wearin' an Ulster at the very moment, and isn't he the best of chums with the Dukes of CONNAUGHT and LEINSTER? Any way we were in our baroosh passin' the time o' day to one another as we were drivin' in the Bore, when whack comes a loaf o' bread, shied at our heads by Editor to Eminent Writer.-No offence an unknown military blaygaird. It missed meant. Is there any other Review besides me noble friend, the Count, and, as if to give mine? Never heard of the one you mentioned. him a lesson in politeness, it just took off the Eminent Writer to Editor (a month later). hat of a domestic alongside the coachman on I say, what's this? Virulent personal the box. Tunder and turf!' says I, pre-attack on me in your Review, signed with paring to descend, and give the scoundrels a your name! Pretends my article on giving up taste of my blackthorn all round. Whist! Canada, &c., was all a joke! Am I the sort be aisy now, MICKY,' says the Ambassador to of man who would joke about anything? me, in what is, betune ourselves, his own Reply at once, with apology, or I skin you alive native tongue; and with that he picks up the in next Number of Shortsprightly. loaf, sniffs at it, makes a wry face (it's a Editor to Eminent Writer.-Sorry you're rye loaf,' says I), and then says he, out loud, offended. I thought my Article rather a with a supercilious look, Ill-bred!' Be-moderate one. Quite true that I talk about

Eminent Writer to Editor.-Yah! Look out for next Shortsprightly, that's all! Article entitled, "Editorial Horseplay." It'll give you fits, or my name isn'tFREDERIC, without the K.

ANOTHER'S!

(4 Once Rejected Address.)

YES! Thou must be another's. Oh,
Such anguish stands alone!
I'd always fancied thou wert so
Peculiarly mine own;

No welcome doubt my soul can free;
A convict may not choose-
Yet, since another's thou must be,
Most kindly tell me whose?

Is it the Lord of Shilling Thrills

Who penned The Black that MailsThat martial man who from the hills Excogitates his tales?

Is it ubiquitous A. LANG?

Nay, shrink not but explain
To which of all the writing gang
Dost properly pertain ?

Perchance to some provincial churl,
Who blushes quite unseen?
Perchance to some ambitious Earl

Or Stockbroker, I ween?

Such things have frequently occurred,
And gems like thee have crowned
The titular and moneyed herd,
And made them nigh renowned.

I know not, this alone is clear,
Thou wert my sole delight;

I pored on thee by sunshine, dear,
I dreamed of thee at night.
Thou wert so good-too splendid for
The common critic's praise-
And I was thy proprietor-

And all the world must gaze!

But Punch, that autocrat, decrees
That thou another's art:

I cannot choose but bow my knees
And lacerate my heart.
Thou must be someone's else, alack!
The truth remains confessed-
For Mr. P. hath sent thee back,
My cherished little Jest.

FROM A FLY-LEAF.-" Buzziness first, pleasure after," as the bluebottle said when, after he alighted on a lump of sugar. circling three times about the breakfast-table,

SALISBURY AT ST. MARTIN'S-LE-GRAND. How slow is fate from fatal friends to free us! Still, still, alas ! 'tis "Ego et RAIKES meus."

"THE OXFORD MOVEMENT."-Not much to choose between this and the Cambridge

movement in the last race.

PLACE OF BANISHMENT FOR MISTAKEN PERsoNS.-The Isle of Mull.

Earl Granville.

BORN IN 1815. DIED 31ST MARCH, 1891. THE coarser Cyclops now combine

To push the Olympians from their places; And dead as Pan seems the old line

Of greater gods and gentler graces. Pleasant, amidst the clangour crude Of smiting hammer, sounding anvil, As bland Arcadian interlude,

The courtly accents of a GRANVILLE! A strenuous time's pedestrian muse

Shouts peans to the earth-born giant, Whose brows Apollo's wreath refuse, Whose strength to Charis is unpliant. Demos distrusts the debonair,

Yet Demos found himself disarming To gracious GRANVILLE; unaware

Won by the calm, witched by the charmirg.

Bismarckian vigour, stern and stark

As Brontes self, was not his dower;

Not his to steer a storm-tost bark

Through waves that whelm, and cloud's that lower.

Te nper unstirred, unerring tact,

Were his. He could not "wave the banner,"

But he could lend to steely act

The softly silken charm of manner.

Kindly, accomplished, with a wit

Lambent yet bland, like summer lightning; Venomless rapier-point, whose "hit

Was palpable, yet painless. Brightening E'en party conflict with a touch

Of old-world grace fight could not ruffle! Faith, GRANVILLE, we shall miss thee much Where kites and crows of faction scuffle!

AN IRISH DIAMOND.-The Cork Examiner of 28th ultimo contained an official advertisement, signed by the High Sheriff of the County of the City of Cork, requesting certain persons connected with the Spring Assizes to attend at the Model Schools, as the Court House had been destroyed by fire. Amongst those thus politely invited to be present on so interesting an occasion were the Prisoners!

PATER FAMILIAS ON HIS CENSUS PAPER.
HEAD of the Family! That makes me quail.
I am the Head-and thereby hangs a tale!
This big blue paper, ruled in many a column,
Gives rise to some misgivings sad and solemn.
Relation to that Head? That Head's buzz-
brained,
And its "relations" are-just now-"much
Citizen-duty I've no wish to shirk,
But would the State do its own dirty work
(My daughters swear 'tis dirty). 1'd be
grateful.
Instructions? Yes! Imperative and fateful!
But, oh! I wish they would "instruct" me

strained."

how

"FACTA NON VERBA"; OR, PIERROT IN LONDON. "Or the best! of the very best!" as ZERO or CIRO is perpetually affirming of everything eatable and drinkable that is for his own benefit and his customers' refreshment at the little bar, not a hundred miles from the Monte Carlo tables, where he himself and his barristers practise day and night; and, as this famous cutter of sandwiches and confectioner of

drinks says of his stock in trade, so say we of L'Enfant Prodigue, which, having been translated by HORATIUS COCLES SEDGER from Paris to London, has gone straight to the heart and intelligence of our Theatre-loving public.

It is a subject for curious reflection that, just when the comic scenes of our English Pantomime have been crushed out by overpowering weight of gorgeous spectacle, there should re-appear in our midst a revival of the ancient Pierrot who pantomimed himself into public favour with the Parisians towards the close of the seventeenth century, Red-hot poker, sausages, and filching Clown have had their day, and lo! when everyone said we were tired of the comic business" of Pantomime, here in our midst re-appear almost in their habits as they lived, certainly with their white faces and black skull-caps as they appeared," a pair of marvellously clever Pierrots. Mlle. JANE MAY as Pierrot Junior, the Prodigy son," and M. COURTES as Pierrot Senior, are already drawing the town to Matinées weep with them in their mimic sorrows. at the Prince of Wales's, causing us to laugh at them and with them in their joys, and to Yes! Pierrot redivivus!

66

6.

laugh at the antics, be ignorant of the story, and be untouched by its truth and pathos. Mind you, it is not a piece for children; make no mistake about that; they will only All are good. We like the naughty blanchisseuse the least of the characters, and wish she had been plus petite que ça. But is it not in nature that the prodigal infant (veritable boy is Mlle. JANE MAY) should fall in love with a young woman some years his senior, and far beyond him in experience of the world? Why certainly. Then the Baron, played with great humour by M. LOUIS GOUGET, who wins the Mistress with his diamonds, and the inimitable Black Servant, M. JEAN ARCUEIL, who laughs at poor little Pierrot, and cringes to his wealthy rival and successor,-are they not both admirable? As for the acting of Madame SCHMIDT as Madame Pierrot, loving wife and devoted mother, it is, as it should be, "too good for words." Her pantomimic action is so sympathetic throughout, so-well, in fact, perfect. Who wants to hear them speak? Facta non verba is their motto. Yet with what gusto the Black, heavily bribed, mouths out the titled Baron's name, though never a syllable does he utter! It is all most excellent make-believe.

Vive Pierrot à Londres! We see him much the same as he was when he delighted the Ah Parisians in 1830,-"Avec sa grand casaque à gros boutons, son large pantalon flottant, ses souliers blancs comme le reste, son risage enfariné, sa tête couverte d'un serre-tête noir le véritable Pierrot avec sa bonhomie naïre... ses joies d'enfant, et ses chagrins d'un effet si comique"- and also so pathetic.

If Aunt MEHITABEL her age won't tell;
If Cook will swear she's only thirty-three,
And rather fancies she was born at sea
(Where I am now) my "knowledge and

belief"

Are not worth much to the official chief,
BRYDGES P. HENNIKER, if he only knew it.
A True Return? Well, if it is not true, it
Is not my fault. Inquisitorial band,
I've done my level best-Witness my Hand!

...

If this entertainment could be given at night, the house would be crammed during a long run; but afternoon possibilities are limited. More than a word of praise must be given to M. ANDRE WORMSER'S music, which, personally conducted by Mr. CROOK, goes hand in hand with the story written by MICHEL CARRÉ FILS, and illustrated by these clever pantomimists. No amateur of good acting should fail to see this performance. Verb. sap.

66

IN the Salon this year, the Athenæum says, "a Grand Salon de Repos will be proThe bothering business makes me feel quite vided." For pictures of still life" only, we suppose. Will Sir FREDERICK, P.R.A., Peace now-for ten years more! [bilious, act on the suggestion, and set aside one of the rooms in Burlington House as a Dormi

PATERFAMILIAS. tory?

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

66

AHA! special attraction in The New Review! "April Fool's Day Poem," by ALFRED AUSTIN, and, an announcement on the cover that "This number contains a Picture of Miss ELLEN TERRY in one

66

THE DIARY OF AN OLD JOKE. (Posthumously Printed by kind Permission of Wit, Humour, & Co., Limited.)

me in private. Blow HORNBLOWER!

April 1.-My birthday; have no idea which. Old as the hills, of her earliest parts.' Oh, dear! I wish it didn't contain this but not quite so pointed; venerable, but broken down, and used up picture, which is a bleared red photograph of Misses KATE and not the Joke I used to be; once the rich darling of Society: but it ELLEN TERRY, as they appeared" (as they never could appear, (Society) didn't pay, so had to work hard for a living. Tit Bits, the I'm sure) in an entertainment which achieved a great success in National Observer, and the Chancery Judges, have impoverished me. the provinces-but not with this red-Indian picture as a poster. Never mind-I'll be revenged-resolve to keep a Diary-" weekly Of course it may be intended as compliment-terry; it may mean "always entertaining and ever reddy." However, the picture is diary of a weakly "-oh dear! my old infirmity again. Must really be more careful. naught, except as a curiosity; but the first instalment of our ELLEN's reminiscences is delightfully written, because given quite HACKING, in the train, tried to palm me off upon HORNBLOWER, who April 2.-In with the rest of them, for a (North-) Easter outing. naturally, just as the celebrated actress herself would dictate-(of had actually the impudence to affect that he couldn't see me"; as course she never has to "dictate," as her scarcely-breathed wish is if I hadn't obviously made his reputation for years! The best of a law)-to her pleasantly-tasked amanuensis. Next lot, please! In Macmillan's for this month, ANDRE HOPE tells a fluttering tale it is, that HORNBLOWER is always airing me in public, and dropping in recounting A Mystery of Old Gray's Inn." It would have come well from that weird old clerk, to whom Mr. Pickwick listened with pretended never to have heard me before. I was allotted to Miss April 3.-Out to dinner. What a hypocrite Society is! Everyone interest during the convivialities HORNBLOWER (worse luck !), and she positively called me "Her own!" at the "Magpie and Stump." Itat my age, too! It's indecent. Complained to HORNBLOWER, should take a prominent place in who now faced round, and maintained that he was the first to bring the proposed new issue of Half me out. I could almost have cried. No wonder I fell flat, and Hours with Jumpy Authors. The Baron has just read a injured myself. Why, Sir, SYDNEY SMITH was my godfather, and delightful paper on "The Bretons was always trotting me out as a prodigy, and trading on me. I supat Home," by CHARLES G. WOOD, Ported him, Sir, when I was but an infant phenomenon; I supported him-but I can't support HORNBLOWER. in the Argosy, for this month. The Baron who has been there, and still would go if he could. but, as he can't, he is contented to let "WOOD go" without him, and to read the latter's tales of

a traveller.

Turf Celebrities I have Known, by WILLIAM DAY, is a gossipy, snarly sort of book; casting a rather murky or grey Day-light on a considerable number of Celebrities who were once on the turf, and are now under it. But the Baron not being himself either on the turf or under it, supposes that this DAY is an authority, as was once upon a time, that is, only the other day, the Dey of ALGIERS. But this DAY is not of Algiers, but of All-gibes. Ordinarily it is true that " Every dog has his day." Exceptions prove the rule, and it would appear from this book "not the first book,' I suppose," quoth the Baron, "that Mr. DAY has 'made' or assisted in 'making,' ""-that every dog did not have this particular Day, but that some dogs did. The writer has missed the chance of a good title- not for himself, but for his book. He should have made it an autobiography, and then have called it, "De Die in Diem; or, Day by Day."

Everyone's truly, THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

WHAT IT WILL COME TO!

(A fragment from a Military-Commercial Romance of the future.) AND SO Mr. ELLERSDEE approached his proposed recruit, and invited him to lunch to discuss the matter quietly. "You are very good," returned the other, "but I can assure you I eat nothing before dinner. Won't you have a cigar?"

Mr. ELLERSDEE accepted the proffered kindness, and remarked upon the excellent quality of the tobacco.

66

"Yes," assented his companion, "it is not half bad, for we get all our supplies from the Stores; and now what can I do for you?" Then Mr. ELLERSDEE unfolded his sad story. England was losing her commercial prosperity, owing to a scarcity of labourers, artisans, nay, even clerks. The Empire was in as bad a condition as those foreign countries in which forced military service was established. Like France and Germany, trade was being ruined by the Army. Would not the young man desert, and become a recruit in the Labour League ?

་་

My dear friend," was the reply, "I hope I am as patriotic as most people, but I cannot sacrifice my just interest entirely to sentiment. What can you give me in exchange for my present life? I have recreation-rooms, libraries, polytechnics, and every sort of

amusement ?"

"But also drill and discipline," urged the other.

66

claimed a free pass to the Stalls from the box-office boy, who was
April 4.-Went to the theatre, as I was told I figured in the play;
rude; showed him my card; he looked scared, and said it was all
right. The actors were full of me: very gratifying; but everybody
laughed! Just like their cheek! There's nothing laughable.
I should fancy, about anything so played out as I've become. Ugh!
how I detest irreverence! HORNBLOWER and HACKING have both
written to the papers, maintaining that I belong to them, and that
the theatre has no right to have me impersonated on the Stage; they
term it "Thought Transference," "The Brain-Wave," or something
outlandish; and to think that HACKING, who reviews HORNBLOWER'S
effusions, once spoke of me as stale! They had better not try my
patience too far, I can tell them.
April 5.
O'WILDE'S sanctum. Cabman took the change, and O' WILDE the
Sunday. Want change, and rest. Made for the
rest. Have known all the celebrities of the century, but like
me quite at home; promised to put me up-or in, I forget which;
O'W. the most. For one so young, he's truly affable; made
and then he uttered this remarkable preface"-"Jokes are
neither old nor young: they are simply mine or thine-that is all."
Nevertheless. I'm sure to be in his bad books before long.

April 6.-"Horrible outrage-an Old Joke, in trouble again "-80 run the newspaper placards-was collared forcibly by two masked ruffians in Grub Street, and dispatched post-haste to Punch office. Mr. P., however, had known me from a boy, and was not to be imposed upon. He sent me back promptly, on Her Majesty's Service, warning me that, unless I went off, I should probably be knocked on the head. Dear EVERGREEN POLICINELLO! but not so evergreen as all that. He knows my constitution won't stand these liberties. The desperadoes turn out to be HORNBLOWER and HACKING, as I suspected. In defence they alleged I had struck them forcibly! Mr. P. vows he'll proceed against them for nuisance-interfering with Ancient Lights.

April 7.-Very weak, from effects of yesterday. The heart taken out of me. Consult my Doctor. To judge from the prints in his waiting-room, I'm popular enough still with his patients. Says I'm suffering from a bad attack of Printer's Devils, but can't make me younger; replied that my desire was to be older. He looked grave, and rejoined, "Impossible"; prescribed a course of Attic salts; as I came out, met Sir WILFRID LAWSON. He declares I don't look a day older than when he first knew me; but then, he's licensed to be sober on the premises! Ab, how I love the House of Commons! April 8.-Worn to a skeleton; sinking fast, but I'll die hard. Make my will. Bequeath Autographs of TALLEYRAND and JOE MILLER to Madame Tussaud's; everything else to be sold for the foundation of an Asylum for Old Jokes. A knock at the door. Heaven help me!-two Interviewers! "Come in," I said, with the conventional "cheery voice." Anticipated the worst, but worse than I anticipated. HORNBLOWER and HACKING are brooding over me; assert they have been sent by the LORD MAYOR. "Thought Transference" again! Well, I should have committed suicide, and now suggest my obsequies, I should like to be cremated in Type. HACKING begs my blessing, and pretends to weep at hearing the last of me. Hope I shan't ever have to haunt HORNBLOWER! Editor's Postscript.-We have paid a pious visit to his last Jesting-place; on the urn is inscribed,PLEASE TO FORGET THE GHOST OF THE SAME OLD JOKE.

Which I am told by my medical attendant (whose services by the way are gratuitous), are excellent for my health. This being so, II can be released without crime. It won't last long. If I might can scarcely complain of those institutions. Then I have excellent pay and ample food. Now, I ask you frankly, can the advantages offered by Trade compare for a moment with the privileges, as a soldier, I now enjoy ? Tell me frankly, shall I improve my position by giving up the Army?

And Mr. ELLERSDEE was compelled to answer in the negative!

NOTICE.-Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.

LEAVES FROM A CANDIDATE'S DIARY.

[CONTINUED.]

March 13.-Left Billsbury this morning by nine o'clock train, and came back to London. Brought with me the Billsbury Standard, and the Billsbury Meteor (the Radical paper.) Both have accounts of last night's meeting. Rather different, though.

Billsbury Standard.

....

Billsbury Meteor.

He took a fourth class in History. His oratorical efforts at the Union were not very striking, but he rowed in his College Torpid, which was bumped four times.

tall nor thin. He is a member of the Middle Temple, but his elo"Mr. PATTLE, as may be inferred from his nickname, is neither quence has not yet astonished the Courts of Law. His father died five years ago, leaving him a considerable fortune, part of which he proposes to waste in the hopeless attempt to turn out Sir THOMAS CHUBSON.'

Confound the people, I wish they'd mind their own business and leave me alone!

66

The era of indecision is past. Last night the Conservatives In another column we give a full gave their annual performance account of the important meeting of the good old farce entitled, March 17.-Haven't been down to Billsbury again yet, but go the of the Council of the Conservative Choosing a Candidate; or, Who's day after to-morrow to speak at a Mass Meeting of Conservative Association, which was held last got the Money-bags! We are electors. However, I've had shoals of letters from the placenight for the purpose of select- glad to be able to congratulate nearly all of them asking for subscriptions. The Five Bars Cricket ing a Conservative Candidate for this distinguished body of ama- Club, the Lilies Cricket Club, the Buffaloes Cricket Club, and the Billsbury. The proceedings were teurs on the modest success which Blue Horse Cricket Club have all elected me a vice-president, and enthusiastic and unanimous... attended their efforts. Most of solicit the honour of my support. The Billsbury Free Dispensary is Mr. RICHARD B. PATTLE, the the performers are well-known much in want of funds, and the Secretary points out that Sir THOMAS selected Conservative Candidate, to the Billsbury public. Alder- CHUBSON has subscribed £5 regularly every year. The United is a young man of the highest man TOLLAND, as the heavy father, Ironmongers' Friendly Society wishes me to be an Honorary promise. He had a distinguished provoked screams of laughter by Member. CHUBSON subscribes £2 28. to them. The Billsbury Brass career at Oxford, where he obtained the studied pomposity of his Band, and three Quoit Clubs (the game is much played there) have honours in History, and repre- manner. His unctuous rendering elected me a member. The Secretary of the former sent me a printed sented his College in the Torpid of the catch-phrase, Constitu- form, which I was to fill up, stating what instrument I meant to races for eight-oared crews. Since tional Progress." has lost none of play, and binding myself to attend at least one Band practice every then he has been called to the its old force. Mr. CHORKLE was, week. Three cases of heartrending distress" have appealed to me, Bar, where he has already secured perhaps, not so successful as we "knowing the goodness of my heart." I shall have to consult a lucrative practice His have sometimes seen him in his TOLLAND, or some one, about all this. I get the Meteor and the speech last night had the right representation of a real Colonel, Standard every day. The former goes on chaffing. Don't think ring about it. It was eloquent, but the scene in which he attacked JERRAM, in the Standard, writes as smartly as the other chaps. practical, convincing, modest and and routed LINDLEY MURRAY. Must try to get him stirred up a bit. Just received letter from decided, thoroughly in harmony went extremely well. Mr. JERRAM TOLLAND, saying he wants to talk to me before meeting about with the best traditions of the as a singing journalist, was ad"matters connected with the Registration." More money, I suppose. Conservative party, and remark- mirable. We cannot help wonder-Romeike, and all kinds of Press-Cutting Associations, keep on sendable for the proof it afforded of ing why so remarkable an actor ing me that extract from the Star, till I'm fairly sick of it. They the devotion of Conservatives at should confine himself to the all want me to subscribe for Press-Cuttings. See them blowed first. all times to the highest interests provincial stage. We had almost of the working classes. We have forgotten to mention that the no hesitation in declaring, as part of The Candidate was, on Colonel CHORKLE did last night, this occasion, assigned to a Mr. that with such a Candidate to RICHARD PATTLE, a complete oppose him, the fate of Sir THOMAS novice, whose evident nervousCHUBSON may be considered as ness seriously imperilled the already decided. If only all Con- success of the piece. He had servatives will put their shoulders omitted to learn his part adeto the wheel and work hard, the quately, and the famous soliloquy, to serve, the time of the Bar, the Bench, and, I may even add, the stigma under which Billsbury The country has need of me," now labours will be swept away. was painfully bungled.

Mr.

A Mass Meeting of Conservative PATTLE has few qualifications for electors will be held on an early the ambitious role he essayed, date to ratify the decision of the and his friends would be doing Council, and inaugurate the an act of true kindness if they period of hard work throughout insisted on his withdrawal from the constituency.

a profession for which he is in no
way fitted. The performance will
be repeated as usual next year.

I suppose the Meteor people think that witty. When I got home, an awful thing happened. Mother, of course, wanted to see the papers, so I gave her the Standard, with which she was much pleased. She said it was evident I had made a wonderful impression, and that the Billsbury Conservatives were particularly sensible people! But, by some mistake, I left the Meteor lying on the drawingroom table. It seems that, in the afternoon, that sharp-tongued old hag, Mrs. SPIGOT, called. She saw the Meteor, took it up, and said, "Dear me, is this something about your son ?" Mother, thinking it was the Standard, said, “Oh yes-do read it, Mrs. SPIGOT; it's a wonderfully accurate account, RICHARD says; " and that old cat read it all through. She then smiled, and said, "Yes, very flattering indeed." After she had gone, mother took it up, and, to her horror, found what it was. She was furious. When I got home in the afternoon, I found her in a state of what Dr. BAKER calls "extreme nervous excitement," with the Meteor lying in little scraps all over the drawing-room, just as if a paper-chase had been through there. She said, "Don't let me ever see that infamous paper again, DICK. The man who wrote it owes you some grudge, of course. Such a scoundrel ought to be denounced." I said I quite agreed with her. Later on, met VULLIAMY at the Club. We spoke about Billsbury. He asked me, with a sort of chuckle, if I'd seen the Star, and advised me to have a look at it, as there was something about me in it. This is what I found in the column headed "Mainly About People":

"Mr. RICHARD PATTIE, who is to be the Conservative Candidate for Billsbury at the next election, is a young man of twenty-six. At Oxford he was generally called 'PODGE PATTLE' by his friends.

WHAT IT MAY COME TO!

SCENE · The Central Criminal Court. The usual Company
assembled, and the place wearing its customary aspect. "Stand-
ing room only" everywhere, except in the Jury Box, which is
empty. Prisoner at the Bar.
Judge. This is most annoying!

Owing to the refusal of the Jury

prisoner, is wasted! I really don't know what to do! Mr. TWENTYBOB, I think you appear for the accused?" Counsel for the Defence. Yes, my Lord.

Judge (with some hesitation). Well, I do not for a moment presume to dictate to you, but it certainly would get us out of a serious difficulty if your client pleaded guilty. I suppose you have carefully considered his case, and think it advisable that he should not withdraw his plea ?

Counsel for the Defence. No, my Lord, I certainly cannot advise him to throw up his defence. It is a serious-a deeply serious-matter for him. I do not anticipate any difficulty in establishing his innocence before an intelligent jury. Judge. But we can't get a jury-intelligent or otherwise. Counsel for the Defence. If no evidence is offered, my client should be discharged.

Counsel for the Prosecution. I beg pardon, but I must set my friend right. Evidence is offered in support of the charge, my Lord. Judge. Yes; but there is no properly constituted body to receive and decide upon its credibility. I am glad that the Grand Jury (to whom I had the privilege of addressing a few observations upon our unfortunate position) have ignored a larger number of bills than usual; still the present case is before the Court, and I must dispose of it. Can you assist us in any way, Mr. PERPLEBAGGE?

Counsel for the Prosecution (smiling). I am afraid not, my Lord. Judge. Well, I suppose I have no alternative but to order the Prisoner to be taken back to

Prisoner. To the place I was in last night? No, thankee!-not me! Look here, gemmen all, we knows one another, don't we? Well, just to oblige you-as Darmoor ain't 'alf bad in the summer, and as in course I did do it-I plead guilty!

Judge (with a sigh of relief). Prisoner at the Bar, we are infinitely beholden to you! [Passes regulation sentence with grateful courtesy.