JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN.

Joseph ChamberlainJOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN.July 2nd, 1914.

July 2nd, 1914.

(Extracted from the Diary of Toby, M.P.)

House of Commons, Monday, July 6.—All heads were bared when thePrime Ministerrose to move adjournment ofHousein sign of sorrow at the passing way of a great Parliament man. To vast majority of present HouseJoseph Chamberlainis a tradition. His personal presence, its commanding force, is varied and invariable attraction are unknown. Since his final re-election by faithful Birmingham, where, like the Shunamite woman, he dwelt among his own people loving and loved, he only once entered the House.

It was a tragic scene, perhaps happily witnessed by few. Appointed business of sitting concluded and Members departed, a figure that once commanded attention of a listening Senate slowly entered from behind theSpeaker'schair. It was the senior Member for Birmingham come to take the oath. The action was indicative of his thoroughness and loyalty. No longer were oaths, rolls of Parliament and seats on either Front Bench matters of concern to him. His manifold task was done. His brilliant course was run. But, until he took the oath and signed the roll, he was notde jurea Member of the House of Commons, and his vote might not be available by the Whips for a pair on a critical division.

Accordingly here he was, moving haltingly with the aid of a stick, supported by the strong arm of the son whose maiden speech his old chiefGladstoneyears ago welcomed as "dear and refreshing to a father's heart." He took the oath and signed the roll—an historic page in a unique volume. With dimmed eyes he glanced round the familiar scene of hard fights and great triumphs, and went forth never to return.

To-day he lived again in speeches delivered by thePrime Minister, by theLeader of the Opposition, and by the Cabinet colleague and leader to whom he was loyal to the last. The practice of delivering set eulogies to the memory of the departed great is the most difficult that falls to the lot of a Leader on either side of House of Commons. In some hands it has uncontrollable tendency to the artificiality and insipidity of funeral baked meats.Disraeliwas a failure on such occasions;Gladstoneat his best.Prince Arthur, usually supreme, did not to-day reach his accustomed lofty level.

In fineness of tone and exquisite felicity of phrasing,Asquithexcelled himself. The first time the House of Commons caught a glimpse of profound depths of a nature habitually masked by impassive manner and curt speech was when he talked to it in broken voice aboutCampbell-Bannerman, just dead. Speaking this afternoon about one with whom, as he said, he "had exchanged many blows," he was even more impressive, not less by reason of the eloquence of his speech than by its simplicity and sincerity.

Business done.—In the House of Lordsle braveWilloughby de Brokewas, if the phrase be Parliamentary, broken in the Division Lobby. Insisting on fighting the Home Rule Amending Bill to the last, he found himself supported by ten peers, a Liberal Ministry having for an important measure the majority, unparalleled in modern times, of 263.

When figures were announced LordCrewe, reminiscent of the farmer smacking his lips over a liqueur glass of old brandy, remarked to ViscountMorley, "I should like some more of that in a moog."

Tuesday.—Interesting episode preceded main business of sitting. Sort of rehearsal of meeting of Parliament on College Green. Opened bySheehanrising from Bench partially filled by O'Brienites to move issue of new writ for North Galway. Had it been an English borough nothing particular would have happened. Writ would have been ordered as matter of course, and there an end on't.

Things different on College Green. WhenSheehansat down, up gat CaptainDonelanfrom Redmondite camp, which when moved to Dublin will, by reason of numerical majority, be analogous to Ministerialists at Westminister.Donelanremarked that in his capacity as Nationalist Whip he intended to move issue of writ next Monday. This fully explained whyO'Brien'syoung man moved it to-day. Otherwise cause of quarrel obscure. What they fought each other for dense mind of Saxon could not make out.

Tim BuonaparteTIM BUONAPARTE.

Ambiguity partly due toDonelan. Lacking the volubility common to his countrymen he had prepared heads of his speech jotted down on piece of notepaper. This so intricately folded that sequence of remarks occasionally suffered. Situation further complicated by accidental turning over of notes upside down. House grateful when presentlyTim Healyinterposed. He being past-master of lucid statement, we should now know all about circumstances which apparently, to the temporary shouldering aside of Ulster, rocked Ireland to its centre.

UnfortunatelyTimwas embarrassed by attempt to assume a novel oratorical attitude. Usually he addresses House with studied carelessness of hands lightly clasped behind his back. Presumably in consideration of supreme national importance of the question whetherSheehanshould move issue of writ to-day orDonelanon Monday, he essayed a new attitude. It recalledNapoleonat Fontainebleau folding his arms majestically as he bade farewell to remnant of the Old Guard.

Attempt, several times repeated, proved a failure. Somehow or otherTim'sarms would not adjust themselvesto novel circumstances, and fell back into the oldlaissez-faireposition. Speech repeatedly interrupted on points of order by compatriots on back benches. What was clear was that some one had filed a petition in bankruptcy. Identity of delinquent not so clear.

Swift MacNeill"Prospective first Speaker of a modern Irish Parliament."(Mr.Swift MacNeill.)

(Mr.Swift MacNeill.)

However, as a foretaste of debate in Home Rule Parliament, proceedings interesting and instructive. Disposed of slanderous suggestions of disorder. Never, or hardly ever, was a more decorous debate. To itSwift MacNeill, prospective first Speaker of a modern Irish Parliament, lent the dignity and authority of his patronage. Pretty to see him, as debate went forward, glancing aside at his wigged-and-gowned brother in the Chair, as who should say, "What do you think of this, Sir?"

Business done.—With assistance of Ministerial forces, O'Brienite motion for issue of writ for Galway defeated by Redmondite amendment to adjourn debate.William O'Brientook swift revenge. House dividing onPremier'smotion allotting time for remaining stages of Budget Bill, he led his little flock into Opposition Lobby, assisting to reduce Ministerial majority to figure of 23. In this labour of love he found himself assisted by abstention of two groups of Ministerialists, one objecting to procedure on Finance Bill, the other thirsting for blood of the Ulster gun-runners.

IfPremierstill hesitates about Autumn Session this incident should help him to make up his mind. The Government will be safer with its Members on the moors or the golf links than daily running the gauntlet at Westminster.

House of Lords, Thursday.—When noble lords take their legislative business seriously in hand they show the Commons a better way. Their dealing with the Amending Bill has been a model of businesslike procedure. Speeches uniformly brief because kept strictly to the point. Amendments carefully considered in council and moved from Front Opposition Bench were carried by large majorities.

Business done.—Home Rule Amending Bill turned inside out in two sittings. Own father wouldn't know it.Sarksums up situation by paraphrase of historic saying. "They have," he remarks, "made a new Bill and call it Peace."

Earl CurzonAN EX-VICEREGAL BAG.(EarlCurzon.)

(EarlCurzon.)

The prospects of the forthcoming campaign in the East Worcestershire Division have been greatly brightened by the decision of the well-known sportsman, Mr. Otis Q. Janaway, to stand as an Independent Candidate with the express purpose of speeding-up the British Legislature. Mr. Janaway, who graduated in sociology at the University of Pensacola, and has recently been naturalised as a British subject, has brought with him a team of baseball players, four white and four coloured prize-fighters, and a chorus of variety artistes who will appear and sing at all his meetings. He is a powerful speaker with a great fund of anecdote, and his programme includes Compulsory Phonetic Spelling, the establishment of Christian Science, Electrocution, and the introduction of College Yells in Parliament. If her husband is elected, Mrs. Janaway has announced her intention of embracing the Speaker at the earliest opportunity.

Professor Thaddeus Mulhooly, who was until recently President of the University of Tuskahoma, has taken up his residence at Ballybunnion with a view to qualifying as Parliamentary Candidate for North Kerry. Professor Mulhooly, whose grandparents resided at Tralee, has made a very favourable impression by the filial affection shown in his election war-cry, which runs, "Tralee, Trala, Tara Tarara, Tzing Boum Oshkosh." His platform is that of a Pan-Celtic Vegetarian, and he has secured the influential support of Mr.Upton Sinclair, who is acting as his election agent, and who publicly embraced him at a meeting at Dingle last week.

General Amos Cadwalader Stunt, the well-known Colorado mining magnate, who recently purchased the Isle of Rum, has announced his intention of contesting the Elgin Burghs in the Liquid Paraffin interest. At a political meeting at Lossiemouth last week he held the attention of a crowded audience for upwards of an hour, during which his bodyguard serenaded him with mouth-organs and banjos, the interruptions of hecklers having been effectually discounted by a liberal distribution of chewing gum. At the close of this great effort General Stunt was publicly embraced by his wife's mother, Mrs. Titania Flagler.

The by-election campaign at Hanley opened auspiciously on Thursday with a demonstration in favour of Mr. Cyrus P. Slocum, the eminent Pittsburg safety razor magnate, who has been selected by the Association of American Manufacturers in England to represent their interests at Westminster. Before Mr. Slocum rose the audience sang "My Country, 'tis of Thee" continuously for forty-five minutes and waved the Stars and Stripes for fully twenty minutes longer. Finally, the popular candidate was carried shoulder-high from the platform to his motor and smothered with kisses from his compatriots, the vast assemblage dispersing to the jocund strains of "John Brown's Body."

Great satisfaction is felt in American golfing circles at the announcement that Mr. Olonzo Jaggers has decided to contest the Tantallon Division of Haddingtonshire. Mr. Jaggers, who has recently erected a tasteful châlet on the Bass Rock, has just issued his election address. The two main planks of his platform are the legalising of the Schenectady putter for all golf meetings, and of megaphones and mouth-organs in the House of Commons.

An Untrustworthy WitnessAN UNTRUSTWORTHY WITNESS.Mother."Gerald, a little bird has just told me that you have been a very naughty little boy this afternoon."Gerald."Don't you believe him, Mummy. I'll bet he's the one that steals our raspberries."

Mother."Gerald, a little bird has just told me that you have been a very naughty little boy this afternoon."

Gerald."Don't you believe him, Mummy. I'll bet he's the one that steals our raspberries."

When the thunders are still and the tempests are furledThere are sights of all sorts in this wonderful world;But the best of all sights in the season of hayIs Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.She can toss it as other girls toss up a cap,And her eyes have a glow that can dry the green sap;She's as good as the sun's most beneficent ray,Is Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.Oh, her smile is a treat and her frown is the deuce;She can always say "hiss me" or "bo" to a goose;When she gives you her hand she just melts you away,Does Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.In a field of soft clover I marked her one night,And her foot it was dainty, her step it was light,And I laughed to myself to behold her so gay,Miss Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.Then the sound of her voice from December to JuneAnd from June to December is always a tune;All the elves when they hear it stop short in their playFor Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.When she sits on her chair like a queen on her throneShe has beautiful manners entirely her own;But you'd better take care what you venture to sayTo Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.P.S.—Since I managed to write the aboveI've been round to her house and I've offered my love;And she laughed and made jokes, but she didn't say nay,My Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.R. C. L.

When the thunders are still and the tempests are furledThere are sights of all sorts in this wonderful world;But the best of all sights in the season of hayIs Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.

When the thunders are still and the tempests are furled

There are sights of all sorts in this wonderful world;

But the best of all sights in the season of hay

Is Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.

She can toss it as other girls toss up a cap,And her eyes have a glow that can dry the green sap;She's as good as the sun's most beneficent ray,Is Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.

She can toss it as other girls toss up a cap,

And her eyes have a glow that can dry the green sap;

She's as good as the sun's most beneficent ray,

Is Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.

Oh, her smile is a treat and her frown is the deuce;She can always say "hiss me" or "bo" to a goose;When she gives you her hand she just melts you away,Does Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.

Oh, her smile is a treat and her frown is the deuce;

She can always say "hiss me" or "bo" to a goose;

When she gives you her hand she just melts you away,

Does Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.

In a field of soft clover I marked her one night,And her foot it was dainty, her step it was light,And I laughed to myself to behold her so gay,Miss Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.

In a field of soft clover I marked her one night,

And her foot it was dainty, her step it was light,

And I laughed to myself to behold her so gay,

Miss Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.

Then the sound of her voice from December to JuneAnd from June to December is always a tune;All the elves when they hear it stop short in their playFor Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.

Then the sound of her voice from December to June

And from June to December is always a tune;

All the elves when they hear it stop short in their play

For Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.

When she sits on her chair like a queen on her throneShe has beautiful manners entirely her own;But you'd better take care what you venture to sayTo Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.

When she sits on her chair like a queen on her throne

She has beautiful manners entirely her own;

But you'd better take care what you venture to say

To Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.

P.S.—Since I managed to write the aboveI've been round to her house and I've offered my love;And she laughed and made jokes, but she didn't say nay,My Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.

P.S.—Since I managed to write the above

I've been round to her house and I've offered my love;

And she laughed and made jokes, but she didn't say nay,

My Amanda Volanda McKittrick O'Dea.

R. C. L.

"At Easter this year the ladies gave their first public performance by ringing a peal at a local wedding. The ladies now ring regularly every week. Some idea of the work may be gathered from the fact that the tenor bell weighs 11 cwt., and yet, through all the training, not even a stay has been broken."—Church Monthly.

Our feminine readers would like to know the name of the bellringers'corsetière.

From a letter toThe Daily Mail:—

"One of our greatest poets was an apothecary's assistant, but his 'Ode to a Skylark' is eternal."

Hail to thee, blitheShelley!Keatsthou never wert.

Hail to thee, blitheShelley!

Keatsthou never wert.

From a letter toThe Market Mail:—

"I enclose my card and remains.—Yours truly,Victim."

We advise our contemporary to return the body.

Julius Pitherby, Esq., to myself.

Dear Sir,—Henry Anderson, who is an applicant for my temporarily vacant situation as working gardener, assistant hedger and ditcher and superintending odd man (single-handed), has referred me to you as to his character and qualifications, stating that he was in your employment—I gather some nine years ago—for a time. You will therefore, I trust, forgive me if I take the liberty of asking you to be good enough to answer the following questions concerning him and his wife. He calls himself twenty-five, married, with no family.

(1)Washe in your employment?

(2) When?

(3) Is he twenty-five?

(4) Is he married?

(5) Has he no family?

(6) Is hestrictlysober? (These words are to be taken quite literally.)

(7) His wife ditto?

(8) Is he decent and morally respectable, careful in his habits and guarded in his language?

(9) His wife ditto?

(10) Is he honest and reliable?

(11) His wife ditto, andnot one to answer back?

(12) Are they both used to the country, contented in their sphere, interested in rural surroundings, fond of children, fond of animals, fond of fruit?

(13) Is he strong and healthy, neither shortsighted nor deaf? (I have suffered much from both.)

(14) His wife ditto,and always tidy?

(15) Does he stammer? (I have been greatly inconvenienced by this.)

(16) His wife ditto?

(17) Does he squint? (This has often been a trial to me.)

(18) His wife ditto?

(19) Is he active, industrious, enthusiastic and an early riser, good-natured, equable and obliging?

(20) His wife ditto, andno gossip?

(21) Is he a heavy smoker?

(22) His wife ditto?

(23) Is he well up to the culture of vegetables, the upraising of flowers and the education of fruit, both outside and under glass?

(24) Is he capable of feeding hens, driving a motor, overhauling a pianola, carving or waiting at table if required?

(25) To what Church do they belong? What are their favourite recreations? Do they sing in the choir? if so, is he tenor or baritone; his wife ditto?

(26) Are they on good terms with each other, andno domestic bickering?

(27) What wages did you pay him?

(28) Why (on earth) did you part with him?

An immediate answer will greatly oblige. I enclose an addressed envelope.

I am, Your obedient Servant,

Julius Pitherby.

Myself to Julius Pitherby, Esq.,

Manor Orange, Pimhaven.

Dear Sir,—I thank you for your letter. The answers to questions (1), (2), (25), (27) and (28) are in the affirmative. With regard to the others you have, no doubt unwittingly, put me in rather a dilemma. You see, Anderson left my service when he was sixteen and I have not heard of him since, though it is true that I did see his father (who belongs to this neighbourhood) on the roof of the church one day last month. I might make shots at them, of course, but I dare say it is better to leave it. I am interested to learn that Henry is married.

I am, Yours faithfully, &c.

Myself to Henry Anderson,

c/o Ezekiel Anderson, Slater, Crashie, Howe.

My dear Henry,—I do not think if I were you I should accept Mr. Julius Pitherby's offer of a job. Your marriage may, of course, have been—I hope it was—the occasion of your turning over a new leaf. Still, I doubt if you are quite the paragon he is looking for, and I am afraid that you may find him a little inquisitive.

I am, Yours faithfully, &c.

Once upon a time there was a quiet respectable little spell-of-hot-weather, with no idea of being a nuisance or doing more than warm people up a bit, and make the summer really feel like summer, and add attraction to seaside resorts. Directly it reached our shores every one began to be happy; and they would have gone on being so but for the sub-editors, who cannot leave well alone but must be for ever finding adjectives for it and teasing it with attentions. Just then they were particularly free to turn their attentions to the kindly visitor, because there was no good murder at the moment, and no divorce case, and no spicy society scandal, and therefore their pages were in need of filling. And seeing the little spell-of-hot-weather they gave way to their passion for labelling everything with crisp terseness—or terse crispness (I forget which)—and called it a "heat wave," and straightway began to give it half the paper, and with huge headings such as, "The Heat-Wave," "Heat-Wave Still Growing," "80 in the Shade," "How to Support such Weather," so that the nice little spell-of-hot-weather was gradually goaded into the desire really to justify this excitement.

"Very well," it said, "I never meant to be more than 80 in the shade and a pleasant interlude in the usual disappointing English June; but since they're determined I'm a nuisance I'll be one. I'll go up to 84."

And it did. It reached 84; and the wise people who like warmth said, "How splendid! If only it would go on like this for ever! Not hotter—just like this.".

But the sub-editors were not satisfied. They had got hold of a good thing and they meant to run it for all it was worth. So "Hotter than Ever" they sprawled across their papers, there still being nothing of real public interest to distract them, "Hotter Tomorrow," "Heat-Wave Growing," "Terrible Heat."

And now the spell-of-hot-weather was stimulated to be really vicious. "I call Heaven to witness," it said, "that my sole desire was to be genial and beneficial. But what can one do when one is taunted and provoked, abused and nick-named like this? Very well then, I'll go up to 90!"

And it did. The sub-editors were delighted. "Appalling Heat," they wrote, "Tropical England," "Gasping London," "Heat-Wave Breaks all Records," "Hottest Day for Fifty Years," "No Signs of Relief."

And even the people who like warmth began to grumble a little—hypnotised by the Press. But the spell-of-hot-weather had had enough. "I'll go somewhere else, where I'm really welcome and they don't have contents bills," it said, and it crossed the Channel to Paris. It looked back to the English shores, deserted now by the happy paddlers and bathers and baskers of the days before. "I'm sorry to leave you," it said, "but don't blame me."

Yet the public did.

"The downpour of rain, which lasted for an hour, was preceded by a remarkable shower of hailstones, some of which were almost as large as marbles, and were as hard as ice."—Yorkshire Herald.

And then came the rain, some drops of which were as wet as water.

"The tussle between Mr. Matheson and Mr. Anderson was carried to the 18th green, where the latter stood one."—Daily Record.

"Mine's a gin and ginger," said Mr.Matheson, as he holed the winning put.

The Creation Of A Masterpiece Of MillineryTHE CREATION OF A MASTERPIECE OF MILLINERY.

[It has been suggested that spectators at popular golf competitions should be installed in grand stands and other enclosures, and be restrained from wandering about the links.]

In playing his tee shot from in front of the Green Steward's marquee, Mr. Tullbrown-Smith, who took the honour in the final round of the 1916 Amateur Championship, unfortunately pulled his ball, with the result that, narrowly missing the Actors' Benevolent Fund stand, it entered the grand ducal box. The Grand Duke Raphael graciously decided that Mr. Tullbrown-Smith should be presented to His Imperial Highness before playing out. Pardonable nervousness proved fatal to the shot, which, being badly topped, fell into the Press pen, where it was photographed byThe Daily Mirror'sspecial artist before it could be recovered by its owner.

It is interesting to record that along the straight mile boarded by the shilling enclosure Mr. Tanquery McBrail, who had been playing with marvellously decorative effect, had his ball blown into the bunker at the tenth by the laughter of the less well-informed onlookers, while a regrettable incident was the contribution of several empty ginger-beer bottles to the natural difficulties of the hazard.

Some dissatisfaction was expressed among the occupants of the cinema operators' cage. From the position allotted to them by the publicity committee it was impossible to film the most interesting moments in the Championship round, such as Mr. Tullbrown-Smith's acceptance of a peeled banana from his caddie on emerging from the particularly scenic bunker known as "Hell." Also a fine "picture" was missed at the 13th tee, where Mr. Tanquery McBrail was surrounded by a militant suffragist, who had invaded the course in spite of the rabbit-wire and doublechevaux-de-frise.

Owing to the fact that the fashionable audience assembled in the Guards', Cavalry and Bath Club stands insisted upon encoring both players' wonderful putts at the 16th green, and the consequent delay of nearly ten minutes, there were some rather ugly manifestations of impatience in the cheaper seats. In spite of the fact that the Pale Pink Pierrots had been specially engaged to fill the interval before the finalists passed, they were so loudly booed upon their arrival that Mr. Tanquery McBrail put his mashie approach into the Parliamentary compound, amidst the jeers and hoots of the more unruly, who seemed to forget that the royal and ancient game is not a music-hall entertainment.

The fact that the links marshal had placed all the professional players present in one row of fauteuils, opposite the long carry to the 18th green, hardly seemed to further the interests of perfect golf. The warmest acknowledgments are therefore due to a number of ex-open champions, who kindly turned their backs on what proved one of the most distressing episodes in the day's play.

When I passed our butcher's on my way to the station yesterday morning, I noticed outside his shop a placard prominently displayed, which read:—"Williamson's Spring Lamb. So different from the ordinary butchers."

There was no apostrophe before the "s" in "butchers," so the reference was clearly to Williamson and not Williamson's Spring Lamb.

"Is Williamson really different from his rivals?" I said to myself, crossing to the other side of the road to take a general survey of the shop front. No, the same sort of joints seemed to be hanging up as those in other butchers' windows; the same sort of legends attached to those which passers-by were invited to note particularly.

I crossed the road again. Yes, as I feared. There were several ordinary flies and at least one bluebottle exercising themselves on the meat. The choice cutlets were not isolated or decorated with garlands, or made a fuss of in any way. They just fraternised on terms of equality with the rest. The usual "young lady" in a smart blouse, with her bare pink neck served up in a ham-frill, sat behind the usual window, probably trying to work out the usual sums in butcher's arithmetic.

The top half of Mr. Williamson was visible behind his chopping-table. He saw me and touched his hat—a bowler; nothing very extraordinary about the bowler. The brim was certainly a great deal flatter than I like personally, but quite in keeping with the general tastes of those who purvey meat.

I thought it better to postpone further investigations, and reflected that Honor might be able to enlighten me when I returned home that evening.

"No," she said, when I asked her about it, "I haven't noticed anything exceptionally superior about him."

"Bills any different?"

"No," she said, "they take as long to pay; about as exorbitant as most of the others."

"Have you observed anything peculiar about his manners, then?" I said; "does he ever throw chops at you, for instance, when you pass the shop?"

"No such luck," said Honor; "I'm a good catch."

"Perhaps they give you tea," I said, "when you make an afternoon call on the sirloins?"

"Indeed they don't," said Honor, "not even when I go to pay something off the book."

"Then perhaps you have cosy little auction bridge parties in the room behind the cashier's window? No? Butchers are behind the times."

"There ought," said Honor, "to be a good joke to be made out of that—a newspaper joke; but I can't quite see how to make it just yet."

"That's something to the good," I said. "However, to our muttons."

"Rotten," said Honor.

"What of his entourage?" I said, ignoring her comment; "his steak-bearer and the like?"

"Nothing unusual; justépriswith Emily."

"Then where, oh where," I said, "is this difference that Williamson brags about?"

"I don't know," Honor said helplessly.

"I shall find out," I said, "even if I have to do the housekeeping myself for a bit."

"You can take it on," she said, "when you like."

"Aha!" I said triumphantly, as I burst into the room this evening. "I've solved the Williamson problem. He was standing at his door as I passed just now, in all the regalia of his dread office."

"And you went up to him and said, 'Well, what about it?' and pointed to the notice, I suppose."

"Not at all," I said; "I merely looked at him and the scales fell from my eyes. He butches in spats."

"In the open Golf Championship Treen won with 78."—Monthly Daily Chronicle.

Next year it will be the saintlyAndrew'sturn again.

"With lightning-like repetition of his strides (his quick action is the essence of his speed), Applegarth came flying down the home straight."—Yorkshire Post.

Seeing that we were looking toApplegarthto uphold British prestige at the next Olympic games, we regret extremely that the secret of his speed should have been given away to our rivals.

The BookmakerCounsel."Prisoner is the man you saw commit the theft?"Witness (a bookmaker)."Yes, Sir."Counsel."You swear on your oath that prisoner is the man?"Witness."Yes, Sir."Sporting Judge."Are you prepared to give me five to two on the prisoner being the man?"Witness."Ah, I'm sorry, me lord, but I'm taking a holiday to-day. Nothing doing."

Counsel."Prisoner is the man you saw commit the theft?"

Witness (a bookmaker)."Yes, Sir."

Counsel."You swear on your oath that prisoner is the man?"

Witness."Yes, Sir."

Sporting Judge."Are you prepared to give me five to two on the prisoner being the man?"

Witness."Ah, I'm sorry, me lord, but I'm taking a holiday to-day. Nothing doing."

(By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.)

Ellen Melicent Cobdencan certainly not be accused of writing too hurriedly. I don't know how many years it is since, as "Miles Amber," she captured my admiration with that wonderful first novel,Wistons; and now here is her second,Sylvia Saxon(Unwin), only just appearing. I may say at once that it entirely confirms my impression that she is a writer of very real and original gifts.Sylvia Saxonis not a pleasant book. It is hard, more than a little bitter, and deliberately unsympathetic in treatment. But it is grimly real.Sylviaherself is a character that lives, and her mother, Rachel, almost eclipses her in this same quality of tragic vitality. The whole tale is a tragedy of empty and meaningless lives passed in an atmosphere of too much money and too little significance. The "society" of a Northern manufacturing plutocracy, the display and rivalry, the marriages between the enriched families, the absence of any standard except wealth—all these things are set down with the minute realism that must come, I am sure, of intimate personal knowledge.Sylviais the offspring of one such family, and mated to the decadent heir of another. Her tragedy is that too late she meets a man whom she supposes capable of giving her the fuller, more complete life for which she has always ignorantly yearned. Then there isAnne, the penniless girl, hired as a child to be a playfellow forSylvia, who herself loves the same man, and dies when his dawning affection is ruthlessly swept away from her by the dominant personality ofSylvia. A tale, one might call it, of unhappy women; not made the less grim by the fact that the man for whom they fought is shown as wholly unworthy of such emotion. A powerful, disturbing and highly original story.

"Saki" has been now for a number of years a great delight to me, and his last work,Beasts and Super-Beasts(Lane), is as good as any of its predecessors. Clothed in the elegant garments ofClovisorReginald, Mr.Munromakes plain to us how lovely this world might be were we only a little bolder about our practical jokes. In the art of introducing bears into the boudoir of a countess or pigs into the study of a diplomat, and then clinching the matter with the wittiest of epigrams,Clovisis supreme. He knows, too, an immense amount about the vengeance that children may take upon their relations, and ladies upon their lady friends. I like him especially when he manœuvres some stupid but kind-hearted woman into a situation of whose peril she herself is only cloudily aware, while the reader knows all about it. That is the fun of the whole thing. The reader is for ever assistingClovisandReginald; in the course of their daring adventures he connives from behind curtains, through key-holes, from ambushes in trees, and always, whilst the poor creature is being harried by wild boars or terrified by menacing kittens,Clovismay be observed, with finger on lip, begging of the intelligent reader that he will not give things away. Of the present collection of stories I like best "A Touch of Realism,""The Byzantine Omelette," "The Boar-Pig," and "The Dreamer;" but all are good, and I can only hope that it will not be too long beforeClovisonce again invites us to further delightful conspiracies.

Ars est celara artem, and not to define and emphasise it in a foreword to the reader. The motive ofThe Last Shot(Chapman and Hall) appears in due course in the narrative; I would have preferred to discover it gradually for myself rather than have the essence of it extracted and poured into me in advance. The preface has not the excuse of a mere advertisement; to open this book at any point is to read the whole, and every page is the strongest possible incentive to the reading of the others. If (as is not admitted) any personal explanation was necessary, it should have been put at the end and in small type so that those who, like myself, detest explanations might have avoided this one. I am the more severe about this, because there can be no two opinions as to Mr.Frederick Palmer'ssuccess in achieving his purpose, which, obviously, was to conceive modern warfare as between two First-class Powers, fighting in the midst of civilisation, and to reduce it to terms of exact realism, showing the latest devices of destruction at work, but carefully excluding those improbable and impossible agencies which the more exuberant but less informed novelist loves to imagine and put in play. Mr.Palmer'sconception, though based upon some experience, is for the most part speculative, of course, but I am confident that he gives us an excellent idea of how the military machine would work in practice, how its human constituent parts would feel inwardly, and what physical and moral effects a battle would have upon those civilians who inhabited and owned the battlefield. Whether or no the future will prove the truth of the author's somewhat Utopian conclusions, he certainly founds them upon a most exciting and convincing story, in which the "love interest" is as powerful as could be desired.

Would you like to pay a round of visits to some delightful Shropshire houses, as the friend and guest of a charming woman, who knows all about what is most interesting in all of them, and has a pleasantly chatty manner of telling it? Of course you would; so would anyone. That is why I predict another success for LadyCatherine Milnes Gaskell'slatest house-book,Friends Round the Wrekin(Smith, Elder). Perhaps you have pleasant memories of her former volumes in the same kind; if so, I need say no more by way of introduction; but, if not, I must tell you that her new book is very fairly described, in the words of the publisher, as "a further collection of history and legend, garden lore and character study." What the publishers modestly refrain from mentioning is the real charm with which it has been written, a quality that makes all the difference. There are also photographs of a number of wholly fascinating houses (the kind that make me wistful when I see them in the auctioneers' windows), and the author has some personal anecdote or quaint scrap of legend to tell you about each. I am quite willing to admit that the rambling book has increased lately to an extent imperfectly justified by its average quality. Too many of them confuse rambling with drivelling. But for the reflections of a cultivated woman, one who has steeped herself in the lore of a country she evidently loves, and can transcribe it with such tender and persuasive charm, there should always be room. I may add—and your own tastes must decide whether this is a flaw or a fresh merit—that LadyCatherine'ssympathies, political and social, are undisguisedly with the past, and that the "Education of the People" comes in, upon almost every other page, for as shrewd raps as her gentle nature will allow her to administer.

I wish I were Mr.Justus Miles Forman. Because then, if I ever chanced to wake up suddenly and find that I had been drugged in my sleep, and the six immense rubies, brought here from the East by a far-off ancestor and set in a black agate shield above my bed, to represent the "sixgouttes(or drops)guleson a fieldsable" of my immemorial coat-of-arms, had been rudely reaved from me in the night by my cousin, who had sent one each to his six sons, I should have no fear. I should feel perfectly convinced that in a short time, by my own personal exertions, but without exercising the least particle of intelligence, I should recover those six rubies (representing sixgouttesor dropsgules) and replace them in the black agate shield (representing a fieldsable); and naturally enough, like the autobiographical hero ofThe Six Rubies(representing——I beg your pardon, I mean, published byWard, Lock), I should not dream of calling in the aid of the police. Another jolly thing that would inspirit me would be the fact that each of my adventures in search of the missing jewels would conform to a separate and well-known type of magazine story: there would be one fire, one notorious cracksman, one haunted castle, one cabinet with a secret drawer, and so on. There would be plenty of excitement, plenty of hairbreadth escapes. But I think that, when collating my experiences and putting them into six-shilling form, I should delete some of the tautologous references to the past which are one of the stern necessities of serial publication. Otherwise my readers might begin to feel slightly fatigued by my six ancestralgouttes. They might even begin to feel that they did not much care if I had hereditary sciatica.

You're going to fight?Lady (to Nut who has talked of joining the Nationalist Volunteers)."But you don't mean to say, surely, you're going to fight?"Nut."Well I rather thought of pairing with one of the Ulster fellows."

Lady (to Nut who has talked of joining the Nationalist Volunteers)."But you don't mean to say, surely, you're going to fight?"

Nut."Well I rather thought of pairing with one of the Ulster fellows."

"In addition to excellent port, which furnished many prominent features, the attendance was perhaps the best ever seen on a like occasion."—Sportsman.

The most prominent feature would, of course, be the nose.

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