[Illustration:  A RARE CHANCE.

Mr. Snobbin hiring a Hack to ride down to the Derby.

Horse-Owner.  “I’LL CHARGE YOU THIRTY BOB FOR THE DAY, GUV’NOR; OR—­LOOK HERE!—­GIMME TWO POUND, AND YOU MAY KEEP HIM!”]

* * * * *

CODLINGSBY JUNIOR;

OR, A CHIP OF THE OLD BLOCK.

BEING FRAGMENTS OF A FORTHCOMING POLITICAL PRIZE NOVEL.

[In a letter to The Times on “Party Organisation,” Mr. CONINGSBY DISRAELI vigorously rallies the Tory Party on their “eternal and infernal apathy.”  He says, “Since we have borrowed some Liberal principles, let us borrow some Liberal tactics, and introduce what I would call the Schnadhorstian methods into our councils of war.  They, at least, have the merit of success.”]

* * * * *

It was CODLINGSBY JUNIOR, who saved the Vraibleusian Party after the battle of Bahborough.  By sending a stern and staccato epistle to the “Jupiter Tonans”; by praising (and imitating) Colonel DE CAUCUSINE, the real inspiring spirit in the camp of the victorious GRANDOLMAN, the march of the Hubbabub army was stopped—­the menaced empire of Vraibleusia was saved from the flowing tide of Radical ruin; the Marquis of STROKEFOGIES appeared in a blaze of triumph that outblazed even the Berlin “Peace with Honour” business, and CODLINGSBY JUNIOR “took the cake.”

* * * * *

The dinner over, the young men rushed from their Club (White’s), flushed, full fed, and eager for battle.  If the Blues were angry, the Buffs were also on the alert.

“I can have a dinner at any hour,” said CODLINGSBY JUNIOR; “but a Blue and Buff row”—­(a shillelagh here flying through the window crashed “the cake” from CODLINGSBY’s hand)—­“a Blue and Buff row is a novelty to me.  The Buffs have the best of it, clearly, though; the Cads outnumber the Swells.  Ha! a good blow!  How that burly Caucusite went down before yonder slim young fellow in the primrose pants!”

“That is the Lord TIDDLEMPOPS,” said a companion.  “A light weight, but a pretty fighter,” CODLINGSBY remarked.  “Well hit with your left, Lord TIDDLEMPOPS; well parried, Lord TIDDLEMPOPS; claret drawn, by Jingo!”

“He never can be going to match himself against that Wirepuller!” CODLINGSBY exclaimed, as an enormous Caucusite—­no other than SCHNADDY, indeed, the famous ex-Brummagem bruiser, before whose fists the Blues went down like ninepins—­fought his way up to the spot where, pluckily, but a little too negligently, TIDDLEMPOPS and one or two of his young friends were bringing aristocratic laissez faire to bear against the fortiter in re of the fighting Caucusite Cads.

The young noble faced the huge champion with the languid gallantry of his race, but was no match for the enemy’s brawn and biceps, and went down in every round.  His organisation, in fact, though fine, was not sufficiently firm and well-knit to face the sinewy and skilful SCHNADDY.  The brutal fellow, who meant business, had no mercy on the lad, who meant larks.  His savage treatment chafed CODLINGSBY JUNIOR, as he viewed the unequal combat from White’s window.