IN THE KNOW.

"M. Box, le nouveau Ministre d'Haïti à Paris, a été reçu hier matin parle Président de la République."

"M. Box, le nouveau Ministre d'Haïti à Paris, a été reçu hier matin par

le Président de la République."

Of course, Cox will receive an appointment. Perhaps M. Box banks at Cox's. Will Sergeant-Major BOUNCER be gazetted to the Hayti'eth Regiment? Whatever may be in store for these immortal personages, it is satisfactory to know that, for the present,Boxat least is provided for. It was like his true British nature not to disguise his identity under some such gallicised form of his name as BOITE, or LOGE. There is, perhaps, no surname in our language so truly national asBox. "JOHN BOX" might well be substituted for "JOHN BULL." It is characteristic of our British pugilism.Vive M. Box!

Various events are approaching, and it is only fair that I should give the readers of this journal the benefit of my advice and my opinions. In good time I shall have something to say about Goodwood—something that will make the palæolithic cauliflower-headed dispensers of buncombe and bombast sit up and curse the day on which fate allowed them to be born. There are some who profess to attach importance to the goose-billed mouthings and vapourings of the butter-brained crew who follow in the wake of the most notorious professor of humbugging pomposity that even this age, rich as it is in putty-faced impostors, has ever produced. Well, let them. For my own part I follow the advice of the French King to the beautiful Marquise DE CENTAMOURS. "Sire," theMarquiseis reported to have said, "quelle heure est-il?" To which the witty monarch at once replied, "Madame, si vous avez besoin de savoir l'heure, allez done la demander au premier gendarme?" The story may be found with others in the lately published memoirs of Madame DE SANSFAÇON. In a similar spirit I answer those who pester me about horses.

I understand thatBarrister Bill,Sidesplitter, andFiery Harry, showed up excellently at Newmarket last week. I have always prophesied well of these three splendid animals, who take their feeds as regularly, and with as much gusto as they gallop a mile on heather when the barometer points to set fair. At the same time I consider that only a papoose, made of string and sawdust, would give more than £10,000 for any one of them.

Complaints have reached me that some of my remarks have given pain in an exalted quarter. It is the common lot of those who are honest to be misunderstood, and, for myself, I wish to claim no exemption from the rule. My one aim is to benefit my readers, and to advance truth. For this I would sacrifice the smiles of Courts, and incur the shallow sneers of the grovelling, chowder-headed horde of flunkeys who sit in high places. My work bears witness to my merit. Need I say more?

Ball-room dancersSERIOUS BALL-ROOM FLIRTATIONS.Lord Algernon. "I CAN SAFELY RECOMMEND OUR TUSSORE SILKS, MRS. GREEN.WON'TYOU GIVE THEM A TRIAL? WE ALLOW A DISCOUNT OF FIFTEEN PER CENT, FOR CASH, YOU KNOW."Sir Reginald. "NOWDOLET ME SEND YOU A COUPLE OF DOZEN OF OUR EXTRA DRY CHAMPAGNE AT SEVENTY-TWO SHILLINGS, DEAR LADY MIDAS. I'MSURESIR GORGIUS WILL LIKE IT."Captain de la Vere de Vere. "OH, IF ICOULDBUT INDUCE YOU TO GET YOUR HUSBAND TO INSURE HIS LIFE IN OUR OFFICE, MRS. VAN TRONCK!—THE BONUSES ARE QUITE EXCEPTIONAL."

Lord Algernon. "I CAN SAFELY RECOMMEND OUR TUSSORE SILKS, MRS. GREEN.WON'TYOU GIVE THEM A TRIAL? WE ALLOW A DISCOUNT OF FIFTEEN PER CENT, FOR CASH, YOU KNOW."

Sir Reginald. "NOWDOLET ME SEND YOU A COUPLE OF DOZEN OF OUR EXTRA DRY CHAMPAGNE AT SEVENTY-TWO SHILLINGS, DEAR LADY MIDAS. I'MSURESIR GORGIUS WILL LIKE IT."

Captain de la Vere de Vere. "OH, IF ICOULDBUT INDUCE YOU TO GET YOUR HUSBAND TO INSURE HIS LIFE IN OUR OFFICE, MRS. VAN TRONCK!—THE BONUSES ARE QUITE EXCEPTIONAL."

I reside at Greenlands (Henley), and my name is MORAL BILL;I'm a model of well-meaning, which makes up for want of skill;And I'll tell, in simple language, what I know about the shineWhich demoralised our kitchen, and which bust up our Big Dine.But first I would remark that it is not a prudent planFor any culinary gent to flout his fellow-man;And, if a colleague can't agree with his peculiar whim,To wait on that same colleague, and trip up the heels of him.Now nothing could be nicer, or more beautiful to see.Than the first three years' proceedings of our Cooks (and we had three),Till JOACHIM (of Goshen) made a dish (of devilled bones),Which he flaunted in the face of ARTHUR B. with swelling tones.Then ARTHUR made anentrée; he constructed it with care,And he vowed that e'en APICIUS would have owned it rich and rare.And when JOACHIM protested that "soup first" was a fixed rule,ARTHUR B. insinuated that his colleague was a mule.And then he smiled a languid smile; sneering was ARTHUR'S fault,And he had one squirmy snigger which was worse than an assault.He was a most sarcastic man, this languid ARTHUR B.,And he aimed at beingChef, which JOKIM said was fiddlededee.Now I hold it's not the duty of a culinary gentTo say his colleague is a Moke—at least to all intent;Nor should the individual who happens to be meantReply by chucking crockery to any great extent.Then Number Three Cook tried to raise an ill-donerôti, whenHe tripped o'er ARTHUR'S heels, and fell upon his abdomen;And presently the variousplatswere mingled on the floor;And the subsequent proceedings let us draw a curtain o'er.For in less time than I write it every Cooky dropped his dish,And ourmenuwas as mucked as our worst enemy could wish;And the way those Cookies chivied in their anger was a sin,And the only dinner left 'em was the cheese—whichItook in.And this is all I have to say concerning this sad spill;For I live at Greenlands (Henley), and my name is Moral BILL;And I've told in simple language all I know about the shineThat demoralised our kitchen, and upset the year's Big Dine!

I reside at Greenlands (Henley), and my name is MORAL BILL;

I'm a model of well-meaning, which makes up for want of skill;

And I'll tell, in simple language, what I know about the shine

Which demoralised our kitchen, and which bust up our Big Dine.

But first I would remark that it is not a prudent planFor any culinary gent to flout his fellow-man;And, if a colleague can't agree with his peculiar whim,To wait on that same colleague, and trip up the heels of him.

But first I would remark that it is not a prudent plan

For any culinary gent to flout his fellow-man;

And, if a colleague can't agree with his peculiar whim,

To wait on that same colleague, and trip up the heels of him.

Now nothing could be nicer, or more beautiful to see.Than the first three years' proceedings of our Cooks (and we had three),Till JOACHIM (of Goshen) made a dish (of devilled bones),Which he flaunted in the face of ARTHUR B. with swelling tones.

Now nothing could be nicer, or more beautiful to see.

Than the first three years' proceedings of our Cooks (and we had three),

Till JOACHIM (of Goshen) made a dish (of devilled bones),

Which he flaunted in the face of ARTHUR B. with swelling tones.

Then ARTHUR made anentrée; he constructed it with care,And he vowed that e'en APICIUS would have owned it rich and rare.And when JOACHIM protested that "soup first" was a fixed rule,ARTHUR B. insinuated that his colleague was a mule.

Then ARTHUR made anentrée; he constructed it with care,

And he vowed that e'en APICIUS would have owned it rich and rare.

And when JOACHIM protested that "soup first" was a fixed rule,

ARTHUR B. insinuated that his colleague was a mule.

And then he smiled a languid smile; sneering was ARTHUR'S fault,And he had one squirmy snigger which was worse than an assault.He was a most sarcastic man, this languid ARTHUR B.,And he aimed at beingChef, which JOKIM said was fiddlededee.

And then he smiled a languid smile; sneering was ARTHUR'S fault,

And he had one squirmy snigger which was worse than an assault.

He was a most sarcastic man, this languid ARTHUR B.,

And he aimed at beingChef, which JOKIM said was fiddlededee.

Now I hold it's not the duty of a culinary gentTo say his colleague is a Moke—at least to all intent;Nor should the individual who happens to be meantReply by chucking crockery to any great extent.

Now I hold it's not the duty of a culinary gent

To say his colleague is a Moke—at least to all intent;

Nor should the individual who happens to be meant

Reply by chucking crockery to any great extent.

Then Number Three Cook tried to raise an ill-donerôti, whenHe tripped o'er ARTHUR'S heels, and fell upon his abdomen;And presently the variousplatswere mingled on the floor;And the subsequent proceedings let us draw a curtain o'er.

Then Number Three Cook tried to raise an ill-donerôti, when

He tripped o'er ARTHUR'S heels, and fell upon his abdomen;

And presently the variousplatswere mingled on the floor;

And the subsequent proceedings let us draw a curtain o'er.

For in less time than I write it every Cooky dropped his dish,And ourmenuwas as mucked as our worst enemy could wish;And the way those Cookies chivied in their anger was a sin,And the only dinner left 'em was the cheese—whichItook in.

For in less time than I write it every Cooky dropped his dish,

And ourmenuwas as mucked as our worst enemy could wish;

And the way those Cookies chivied in their anger was a sin,

And the only dinner left 'em was the cheese—whichItook in.

And this is all I have to say concerning this sad spill;For I live at Greenlands (Henley), and my name is Moral BILL;And I've told in simple language all I know about the shineThat demoralised our kitchen, and upset the year's Big Dine!

And this is all I have to say concerning this sad spill;

For I live at Greenlands (Henley), and my name is Moral BILL;

And I've told in simple language all I know about the shine

That demoralised our kitchen, and upset the year's Big Dine!

DEAR MR. PUNCH,—The other evening, wishing to enjoy a little music, I went to the Lyric Theatre, and found that the opera chosen for performance was calledSweet Nancy, founded upon a novel with some similar title by Miss RHODA BROUGHTON. The prettiest tune I heard was one that I fancy had been played before, and my belief is the stronger as Mr. HENRY NEVILLE referred to it as "a dear old song." It had to do with "Darby and Joan," and reminded me of J.L. MOLLOY'S delightful song with that title. The rest of the music was not very striking. Even to those who hold that the plot of an Opera is only of secondary importance,Sweet Nancycould not have appeared to be exactly teeming with incidents. However, it was very nicely played by Miss HUGHES, and that now mature Lancashire Lad, the aforesaid HENRY NEVILLE. Without declaring that I should like to see it every evening for a thousand years (which I believe is afaçon de parlereven in China), I certainly could sit it out again. If I wished to be a fault-finder I should say that the piece is too long, and seems all the longer because some of the characters are supposed to represent schoolboys, and a girl of thirteen. The adapter is Mr. BUCHANAN—a poet and a playwright. This gentleman, I believe, has made many other pieces (more or less) his own, with (more or less) success. He seems to have a knack of turning old plays into new ones. I live in hope that when I next visit this great Metropolis I shall find that he has re-written theSchool for Scandal, and broughtHamletup to date.

Yours always, A CRITIC FROM THE COUNTRY.

Too many cooks"TOO MANY COOKS—!"THE PAGE-BOY (W.H. SM-TH). "AT ANY RATE, I'VE SAVED THECHEESE!!"

Hanging committeeThe Hanging Committee.

Monday to Saturday.—Nothing particular this week. Second July Meeting at Newmarket took a lot of people away, and the thunder, hail and rain frightened a lot more away on Thursday, so may as well discussEsmeralda, which I hadn't time to do last week. Rather a mixed affair to start with when you have a Frenchlibretto, set by an English Composer, and played at the Royal Italian Opera, Covent Garden. No matter. A big success for everyone concerned, from DRURIOLANUS downwards. No one could have wished for a betterEsmeraldathan Madame MELBA, though she did not make the most of that first charming song, "L'Hirondelle." One Swallow, however, doesn't make an Opera, and Madame MELBA soon pulled herself together, and threw herself into the work when she saw Mons. JEAN DE RESZKÉ, asPhoebus, winning fresh laurels.

TheQuasimodoof M. DUFRICHE, of the Vibrato school, was dramatically good, but not great; butClaude Frollowas both great and good. These two have been defrauded of their rights by the undramatic Librettist, who has done about as little as possible with the excellent materials at his command. What a scene might have been the final one betweenQuasimodoandClaude, whenClaude Frollois pitched over the battlements. I forget what becomes ofQuasi; but if he stabs himself, or is stabbed, that would be quite sufficient for dramatic justice and effect. Then, of course, the absurd ceremony used byClopin, and the real unwillingness ofEsmeraldato becomeGringoire'swife, would dispose of the marriage, unlessGringoirewere previously got rid of (for I don't remember how the novel ends) andEsmeraldawould be united toPhoebus, whileFleur-de-Lyscould marryDe Chevreuse, or anybody else.

A proper endingHOW IT OUGHT TO HAVE ENDED.Mr. Justice Butt pronounces a decree of divorce. Phoebus marries Esmeralda. Claude Frollo is smashed, and Quasimodo is stabbed.

The Goat, too, has a wretched part: to be left out after the first scene is too bad. Something might have been done with him, if he had only been put into a chaise; but perhapsEsmeraldaandPhoebusreserve him for further use in the course of a couple of years or so, whenDjali, drawing a goat-chaise containing a littleEsmeraldaand a littlePhoebus, followed by a nurse and Papa and Mamma, would make a sensation at some fashionable seaside resort.

The GoatThe Goat. "I ought to have the second principal part in this Opera. If they don't produceDinorah, I shall give notice. Too bad of Goring Thomas. If I see him alone I'll show him what 'Butting' Thomas is."

Mons. MONTARIOL played and sang well asGringoire, and Mons. WINOGRADOFF was most artistic asClopin, Amusing to see Mons. LASSALLE asClaude Frollo, melodramatically hiding behind the window-curtains, just asPhoebusenters the room followed byEsmeralda. So evidently was the curtain shaken, thatPhoebuswould most certainly have detected the sneak, or he might have askedEsmeralda, "What's that?" and have asserted his belief that it could not possibly be the cat, but he might have accepted her explanation had she informed him that it was the Goat. What a chance here lost for a situation of the Goat behind curtains buttingClaude Frollo! However, it was all "purtendin'," and JEAN DE RESZKÉ asPhoebusdidn't see what he would most certainly have noticed immediately had he been himself. Magnificently got up;mise-en-scèneexcellent; band and chorus all that could be wished.

"The Hon. Member had availed himself of the privilege accorded to Members of Parliament in debate to fire a shameful barbed arrow at Colonel CADDELL, in order that some of the mud might stick."—Colonel Saunderson in the House of Commons.

Come, listen to my story: it's a sort of shilling-shock tale,With no end of fire and fury, and a modicum of blood,And a Colonel who mixed metaphors as Yankees mix a cocktail,And a quiverful of arrows, shameful arrows, barbed with mud.It was DILLON who had used them, and he spoke of Tipperary,Tipperary new and rentless, where the tenants have combined.And the Parnellites were gathered like the chicks of Mother CAREY,When they feel the tempest rising, and give warning of the wind.And the pale and angry Tories sat impatient of the battle.And the benches of the Commons, where they love a fight, grew full;And, although they knew 'twas better not to hurry people's cattle,They implored their fiery Colonel to oblige them with a bull.But the Colonel needs no prompting, straight rises to address them,And his eye now flames in fury, and now twinkles like a star;And he turned on Mr. PARNELL'S men, and didn't rightly bless them,This flashing, dashing, slashingmilitairefrom North Armagh.And before a man could whistle there were ructions and denials,Shouts and countershouts of anger—quite a House of Commons scene;While the Colonel, who had bottled all his wrath, poured out the vialsOn the heads of Irish gentlemen whose wigs were on the green.'Twas in vain they sought to daunt him; like a flock of noisy sparrowsWhen a hawk comes grimly swooping, or like moths that tempt the wick,So they scattered when the Colonel told the House of shameful arrows,Which were fired (I quote the Colonel) in the hope that mud might stick.When Sir BOYLE, the ever famous, smelt a rat (you've heard the story)—Saw it floating in the air, he promptly nipped it in the bud;But I think our modern Colonel gets the greater share of gloryFor inventing shameful arrows that could only spatter mud.And, oh, ye sons of Erin, when the coat-tails next are trailing,Make your weapons on this pattern, think of SAUNDERSON, his bull;And no mother's son will suffer, though the missiles should come hailing,If you only use mud-arrows, or shillelaghs made of wool

Come, listen to my story: it's a sort of shilling-shock tale,

With no end of fire and fury, and a modicum of blood,

And a Colonel who mixed metaphors as Yankees mix a cocktail,

And a quiverful of arrows, shameful arrows, barbed with mud.

It was DILLON who had used them, and he spoke of Tipperary,Tipperary new and rentless, where the tenants have combined.And the Parnellites were gathered like the chicks of Mother CAREY,When they feel the tempest rising, and give warning of the wind.

It was DILLON who had used them, and he spoke of Tipperary,

Tipperary new and rentless, where the tenants have combined.

And the Parnellites were gathered like the chicks of Mother CAREY,

When they feel the tempest rising, and give warning of the wind.

And the pale and angry Tories sat impatient of the battle.And the benches of the Commons, where they love a fight, grew full;And, although they knew 'twas better not to hurry people's cattle,They implored their fiery Colonel to oblige them with a bull.

And the pale and angry Tories sat impatient of the battle.

And the benches of the Commons, where they love a fight, grew full;

And, although they knew 'twas better not to hurry people's cattle,

They implored their fiery Colonel to oblige them with a bull.

But the Colonel needs no prompting, straight rises to address them,And his eye now flames in fury, and now twinkles like a star;And he turned on Mr. PARNELL'S men, and didn't rightly bless them,This flashing, dashing, slashingmilitairefrom North Armagh.

But the Colonel needs no prompting, straight rises to address them,

And his eye now flames in fury, and now twinkles like a star;

And he turned on Mr. PARNELL'S men, and didn't rightly bless them,

This flashing, dashing, slashingmilitairefrom North Armagh.

And before a man could whistle there were ructions and denials,Shouts and countershouts of anger—quite a House of Commons scene;While the Colonel, who had bottled all his wrath, poured out the vialsOn the heads of Irish gentlemen whose wigs were on the green.

And before a man could whistle there were ructions and denials,

Shouts and countershouts of anger—quite a House of Commons scene;

While the Colonel, who had bottled all his wrath, poured out the vials

On the heads of Irish gentlemen whose wigs were on the green.

'Twas in vain they sought to daunt him; like a flock of noisy sparrowsWhen a hawk comes grimly swooping, or like moths that tempt the wick,So they scattered when the Colonel told the House of shameful arrows,Which were fired (I quote the Colonel) in the hope that mud might stick.

'Twas in vain they sought to daunt him; like a flock of noisy sparrows

When a hawk comes grimly swooping, or like moths that tempt the wick,

So they scattered when the Colonel told the House of shameful arrows,

Which were fired (I quote the Colonel) in the hope that mud might stick.

When Sir BOYLE, the ever famous, smelt a rat (you've heard the story)—Saw it floating in the air, he promptly nipped it in the bud;But I think our modern Colonel gets the greater share of gloryFor inventing shameful arrows that could only spatter mud.

When Sir BOYLE, the ever famous, smelt a rat (you've heard the story)—

Saw it floating in the air, he promptly nipped it in the bud;

But I think our modern Colonel gets the greater share of glory

For inventing shameful arrows that could only spatter mud.

And, oh, ye sons of Erin, when the coat-tails next are trailing,Make your weapons on this pattern, think of SAUNDERSON, his bull;And no mother's son will suffer, though the missiles should come hailing,If you only use mud-arrows, or shillelaghs made of wool

And, oh, ye sons of Erin, when the coat-tails next are trailing,

Make your weapons on this pattern, think of SAUNDERSON, his bull;

And no mother's son will suffer, though the missiles should come hailing,

If you only use mud-arrows, or shillelaghs made of wool

DEVOUT WISH OF IRISH LANDLORDS FOR MR. BALFOUR.—"May his shadowing never grow less!"

Figures of speech"FIGURES OF SPEECH."Balfour(the Showman). "NOW, YOU'D LIKE TO SEE SIR WILLIAM V. HARCOURT IN FOUR REMARKABLE SITUATIONS."

T. HarringtonA New Subscriber toThe Morning Post.

House of Commons, Monday, July 14.—Government again narrowly escaped defeat. Last time it was Ascot; this time Marlborough House Garden Party. "This Session," says T. HARRINGTON, "I've taken to subscribing toThe Morning Post; study its fashionable news; look out for arrangements likely to draw men away from House; then me and SAGE put our heads together; arrange for Division; take it smart, and Government left in lurch."

To-day opportunity found in Motion for Select Committee on constitution of Scotch Committee. AKERS-DOUGLAS proposed twenty-one members, all Scotch but one. "Let us have the lot Scotch," says ROBERTSON; moves Amendment accordingly. House pretty full, knowing crisis at hand; Government Whips scouting for Members.

"Tell you what I'll do," says PENROSE FITZGERALD to AKERS-DOUGLAS; "I hate garden-parties and that sort of thing, but as we shall be in a hole if Division now rushed, I'll take cab, run up to Marlborough House, fetch down some men; inconvenient, you know; works against grain; would rather be down here helping you than mingling in glittering throng; but, as the Governor says, duty is our loadstar; say the word, and I'll go off to Pall Mall and fetch a lot down."

"FITZGERALD," said AKERS-DOUGLAS, wringing his hand, "you're a brick. You always think of the right thing, and are ready to do it."

DOUGLAS paused to wipe away tear drawn from his sensitive glands by this evidence of self-sacrifice. When he'd done it, looking again at FITZGERALD'S briskly-retreating figure, couldn't help noting how smartly he was got up; summer pants; white waistcoat; the short "reefer," familiar in the Lobby, cast aside for the courtly frock coat; observed him as he strode forth, producing pair of lavender kid gloves.

"Odd," said DOUGLAS, reflectively. "FITZGERALD never expected to go to Garden Party; down here to help me; sudden emergency, and spirit of self-devotion, suggested to him to run over, and see what could be done; happy chance to find him, by exception, in the right rig. It would never have done for him to rush over to Marlborough House to meet the QUEEN in his 'reefer.' Curious, when I come to think of it. Hope there's not more in it than meets the eye."

But there was.

Debate on ROBERTSON'S Amendment abruptly closed; Division rushed; position of Government critical; AKERS-DOUGLAS anxiously on look-out for FITZGERALD and the Marlborough House relief party; but they came not, and on Division Government saved by skin of teeth and eight votes. An hour later, PENROSE FITZGERALD returned to Lobby with guilty look; carefully avoided AKERS-DOUGLAS; that able captain too broken-hearted at the perfidy to be angry; "NOAH'S dove didn't treat him so," he said to himself; but all he said to FITZGERALD was, "Pleasant Party at Marlborough House, I suppose?" "Yee-es," said FITZGERALD; "rather; couldn't get back quite as soon as I expected."

Business done.—Irish Votes in Supply.

StuartHaste to the Wedding.

Tuesday.—Regular set-to of Irish Members on Prince ARTHUR. MADDEN gallantly threw himself across body of his chief, but got such fearful pummelling retired into silence for rest of sitting. What made it worse for ARTHUR was Chairman's ruling; pulled him up more than once amid loud cheers from Opposition. TIM HEALY on war-path; quotes TENNYSON with odd variation; represents Prince ARTHUR as saying of Irish Members, "You have not got the pose that marks the cast of VERE DE VERE." Proceedings occasionally lively; grow a little monotonous after first five hours. Met STUART hurrying off, humming to himself the air, "Haste to the Wedding."

"Aren't you going to stay for division?" I asked.

"No," said he. "I mustered; strikes only on the box; when you ask for it, see that you get it; none other genuine. Have an important engagement to-morrow morning. If you're waking COLMAN early, COLMAN early, TOBY dear."

Stared at this incoherent speech; thought at first he was mad or had dined. Then I remembered that to-morrow, at Norfolk, he marries Miss COLMAN.

Business done.—More Irish Votes.

Thursday.—E pur si muove; that is to say, itwillmove; they'll all move, in spite of BRAMWELL. London, probably, the only population in the world that possesses the supernatural patience necessary to submit to having its movements obstructed by bars and gates put up across some of its principal thoroughfares. Oddly enough, they congregate round congeries of Railway Stations in the North. To-day, ROSEBERY in Lords moves Second Reading of Bill designed to have them swept away. BRAMWELL protests. "Speaking," he said, "in name of over two hundred people who live in district affected by the Bill, I ask your Lordships to reject it." This too much even for House of Lords. That alleged luxury of two hundred people should weigh against convenience of the population of London was a little monstrous. BRAMWELL kept his countenance admirably. LORD CHANCELLOR looked on admiringly.

"That's the man forme, TOBY," he said. "If we could only have a House of Lords all BRAMWELLS, with me on Woolsack, we'd make Old England once more a merry spot."

Rest of House, however, would not enter into joke. MARKISS admitted that, being a constant passenger by Great Northern Railway, he generally "said a dam" when passing these gates. This felt to be a shocking state of things. Gates and bars must be bundled off, if only to prevent use of bad language by PRIME MINISTER. BRAMWELL reluctantly admitted this, still pleading with touching eloquence for preservation of the obstruction.

"My Lords," he said, "think of what you're doing to this great capital, of which we are all so justly proud. The Tower has become a disused place, and its historic hill no more reverberates to the merry chopping of the headsman's axe. Temple Bar has gone, and long ago have vanished the heads that used to look wistfully down on the passing chairmen. The chairmen themselves have sped into eternity, and in their place circles the Hansom cab. No more does the lovely, lonely oil lamp swing at the corners of our streets. Your Lordships can wend your way homeward as far West as Kensington, or as far North as Highbury, without meeting the casual footpad. The town is drained; the river is embanked; our streets are paved; and we have a penny post. Almost all that is left to us of the good old times are these bars, arbitrarily set up across our thoroughfare, watched by a gentleman in a seedy suit, and a rain-beaten hat girt with tarnished golden lace. I beseech your Lordships, by your memories of infancy, by your love of our old Constitution, by the faith of your Order, by your fidelity to your Sovereign, to spare these last lingering relics of the London that helped to make our Empire great."

Lord Bangor"As if in Church."

House plainly touched at this outburst of eloquence. Lord BANGOR closed his eyes, and clasped his hands, as if in Church. If there can be any arrangement made in Committee by which the gates and bars, after removal, may be placed in convenient order round BRAMWELL'S residence, so that he shall be forced to makedétoursas he goes about his daily business, it shall be done. With this understanding, Amendment withdrawn, and Bill read Second Time.

Business done.—In Commons, more about Irish Votes.

Friday.—Vote for Irish Prisons Board on in Committee of Supply. Interesting conversation between Prince ARTHUR and recent inmates of the prisons. O'BRIEN protests that the treatment was abominable. Prince ARTHUR cites O'B.'s personal appearance in proof that things are not so bad as they are painted. "Four times you've been in prison," he urged, "and see how well you look." DILLON takes objection to the prison garb; discloses strong yearning to see Prince ARTHUR arrayed in it. ARTHUR quite content with his present tailor. SHAW-LEFEVRE joins in conversation; ARTHUR looks at him longingly. "They say we shan't be in office another year, TOBY,"he observed, as SHAW-LEFEVRE proceeded at some length; "but I should like to be CHIEF SECRETARY long enough to get a chance of running SHAW-LEFEVRE in. He's very slippery; knows how near he may go without incurring actual risk; but I'll have him some day."Business done.—Irish Votes happily concluded.

Prefatory Note.—It is a common mistake to suppose that the present generation frowns upon the literary achievements of the descriptive reporter who chronicles the great deeds of athletes, oarsmen, pugilists, and sportsmen generally. On the contrary, if we may pretend to judge from a wide and long-continued study, we should say that thevates sacerof the present day, though he may not rival his predecessors in refinement and classical allusion, is by no means inferior to them in wealth of language and picturesque irrelevancy. Sporting reporting, in fact, was never more of a fine art, and on the whole has rarely been better paid, than it is at the present day. In the hope that many a young journalist may be helped in his struggle for fame and fortune,Mr. Punchproposes to publish a short manual of sporting reports, with examples and short notes, that may explain thetechniqueof the business to the aspirant.

Sporting

1. Always remember that you are a sporting reporter, and be as sportive as you can. The dig-in-the-ribs and chuck-her-under-the-chin style is always effective.

2. Speak of everybody by his Christian name or his nick-name.

3. If you think a man ought to have a nickname, invent one for him.

4. Employ stock quotations wherever they are least required, and give a music-hall flavour to every report.

5. If possible, misquote.

6. Avoid all simple language.

7. Patronise all titled sportsmen, and pat wealthy bookmakers on the back.

8. Never miss an opportunity of showing that you are on familiar terms with the sun, moon, rain, wind, and weather in general. Do this, as a rule, by means of classical tags vulgarised down to the level of a costermonger's cart.

9. Spin out your sentences.

10. Mix up your metaphors, moods, tenses, singulars, plurals, and the sense generally.

11. Refer often to "the good old days" you don't remember, and bewail the decadence of sport of all kinds.

12. Occasionally be haughty and contemptuous, and make a parade of rugged and incorruptible honesty. In short, be as vain and offensive as you can.

13. Set yourself up as an infallible judge of every branch of sport and athletics.

First Example.—Event to be reported: An American pugilist arrives at Euston, and is received by his English friends and sympathisers.

It was somewhere towards "the witching hour of noon" that the broad and splendid artery of commerce, to wit, the Euston Road, became, for the nonce, a scene of unwonted, and ever-increasing excitement. Old Plu1had promised, as per Admiral FITZROY'S patent hocus-pocusser, to give us a taste of his quality; and it is unnecessary, in this connection, to observe that the venerable disciple of Swithin the Saint was as good as his word. But Britons never never shall be slaves. England expected every man to do his duty. Forward the Light Brigade, and so on to where glory and an express train were waiting, or would be waiting, before you had time to knock a tenpenny nail on the head twice. The company on the platform comprised theéliteof the sporting world. "Bluff" TOMMY POPPIN, the ever courteous host of "The Chequers," "BILL" TOOTWON, by his friends yclept the Masher, JAKE RUMBELO, the middle-weight World's Champion, were all there, wreathed in silvery smiles, and all on the nod, on the nod, on the nod, as the poet hath it, though why "hath it" no man can tell, in words that will last while Old Sol, the shiner, drives his spanking tits along the azure road. Punctual to the moment the train steamed into the station, and the giant form of O'FLAHERTY, the "man in a million," leaped out of the railway carriage, amid the plaudits of all the blue blood of England's sports. In answer to inquiries the Champion laughingly said, "he guessed this was a mighty wet country for a dry man," and proceeded to the refreshment-room, where he "asked a p'leece-man"—oh no, not at all, but, "Deep as the rolling Zuyder Zee, he drank the foaming juice of Grapes." Thence a move was made to the palatial office of theSporting Standard, where the Champion was introduced to the Staff. Hands all round followed, and a glorious day wound up with a visit to the theatrical resorts of the latter-day Babylon, in company with some of the right sort, though these be getting both fewer and farther between than in the good old days.

Footnote 1:(return)An agreeable variant for this is Ju. P.

An agreeable variant for this is Ju. P.

[On the 17th of July the Earl of ROSEBERY unveiled a Memorial erected in St. Paul's Cathedral to the late Right Hon. WILLIAM BEDE DALLEY, of New South Wales, mainly through whose personal exertions, when Chief Secretary to the Ministry there, the Colonial Contingent was dispatched to the aid of England in the Soudan. This, as Lord ROSEBERY said, is the first Memorial which has been erected to a Colonist in our Metropolitan Cathedral.]

The mighty Empire reared upon the main,He "cherished, served, and laboured to maintain."And who will doubt the claim by this made goodTo neighbouring NELSON, and our COLLINGWOOD?His country holds her loyal son's remains;But here, whilst WREN'S huge dome rolls back the strainsOf the great organ's golden mouths, or whilePaean or requiem sounds along the aisleSacred to mighty memories, DALLEY'S nameInscribed amongst our home-born heirs of fameShall stand, and show to all our Island broodAustralia's love, and England's gratitude.

The mighty Empire reared upon the main,

He "cherished, served, and laboured to maintain."

And who will doubt the claim by this made good

To neighbouring NELSON, and our COLLINGWOOD?

His country holds her loyal son's remains;

But here, whilst WREN'S huge dome rolls back the strains

Of the great organ's golden mouths, or while

Paean or requiem sounds along the aisle

Sacred to mighty memories, DALLEY'S name

Inscribed amongst our home-born heirs of fame

Shall stand, and show to all our Island brood

Australia's love, and England's gratitude.

As there appears to be some confusion with regard to the exact nature of the programme scheme for the forthcoming Naval Autumn Manoeuvres, the following sketch, gleaned from recent inquiry on the subject made at Whitehall, may, if he can manage to follow it, possibly serve to enlighten the uninitiated outsider.

Naval manoeuvres

An enemy's fleet, having, it is supposed, escaped the vigilance of the Channel Squadron, consisting of H.M. First-class Battle-shipBlunderer, accompanied by the third-class cruiserJack-ass, and the torpedo-boatsCorkscrewandTooth-brush, which, also it is supposed, represent a fleet of thirty-six iron-clads, twenty-six armoured cruisers, attended by fifty torpedo vessels, have sailed victoriously up the Thames, and, having seized the Serpentine, command the, equally supposed, Milk Supply of Bayswater, Paddington, and the whole of the North of London. This news having been conveyed to another fancied fleet that is covering a convoy of ships, imagined to be attempting to land corn, that they have brought from ports across the Atlantic, simultaneously at Pegwell Bay, Margate, and the Isle of Dogs, it is again supposed that, acting under sealed orders, they elude the enemy, and dividing their forces, make for Gravesend, Liverpool, Dundee, "The Welsh Harp" at Hendon, and Yarmouth. The problem, therefore, presented to Admiral FLYOFF, who is in command of the defending squadrons, will be, after utilising the supposed coast defences, and mining the Serpentine, to force the enemy to accept the issue of an open action on the Regent's Canal, and the Ornamental Water at the Crystal Palace. Failing this, it will be left to the Umpires, who, being supposed to be in several places at the same time, will be provided with a tricycle, fog-horn, and telescope, to enable them to adjudge the exact amount of success or failure following respectively on each effort, with as near a resemblance as is possible to the probable issues in real warfare. Any matters remaining in dispute and undecided, will be ultimately settled by the First Lord, who will toss up with a two-headed halfpenny, specially provided for, in the Estimates, for the purpose.

A glance at the above will show that the scheme, though simple in conception, may easily become complicated; but if kept in view, with an accompanying reference to the daily letters of the Correspondents of five Penny Papers, by anyone, who will further pick out the names and positions of places named, and mark them with pins on the Railway Map attached toBradshaw's Guide, it may serve to throw some light on the course of events, and leave the inquiring investigator, though still very much at sea, yet in possession of some scraps of useful information.

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.

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