The E.A.  Confound it all! (To Guest.) Here, you’d better take this, now it’s here.  Afraid of it, eh?  Well, Bisque is apt to disagree with some people. (To Waiter.) Give it to me, and bring this gentleman some gravy soup, or whatever else you have ready. (He busies himself with his Bisque, while the Guest, in pure absence of mind, drinks the champagne with which the Waiter has filled his glass.) Here, what are you doing? I didn’t order lager. (Perceives the mistake.) Oh, you’ve changed your mind, have you? (To Guest.) All right, of course, only it’s a pity you couldn’t say so at once. (To W.) Another pint of Pommery, and take this lager stuff away. (Exit W.; the unfortunate Guest, in attempting to pass the bottle, contrives to decant it into his host’s soup.) Hullo, what the—­there—­(controlling himself).  You might have left me the soup, at all events!  Well—­well—­it’s no use saying any more about it.  I suppose I shall get something to eat some day.

[General tumult from several tables; appeals to the Waiters, who lose their heads and upbraid one another in their own tongue; HORATIA threatens bitterly to go in search of buns and lemonade at a Refreshment Bar.  Sudden and timely appearance of energetic Manager; explanations, apologies, promises.  Magic and instantaneous production of everybody’s dinner.  Appetite and anger appeased, as Scene closes in.

N.B.—­Mr. Punch wishes it to be understood that the above sketch is not intended as a reflection upon any of the deservedly popular restaurants existing at present in either exhibition.

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LEGAL AND MILITARY.—­“Ancient Lights.”—­Retired Lancers.

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[Illustration:  PARLIAMENTARY NIGHT-BIRDS.]

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MEDICINAL MUSIC.

(A Growl from a “Quiet Street.")

    ["There is a disposition just now to revive discussion upon
    a very old subject, namely the curative influence of Music in
    cases of mental and bodily disease.”—­Daily Telegraph.]

  Curative Music?  Just as well expect
    An Influenza-cure from Demogorgon! 
  Some dolts there be, no doubt, who would detect
    Anodyne influence in a barrel-organ;
  A febrifuge in a flat German Band,
    A prophylactic in a street-piano! 
  Some quackery a man can understand,
    But Music I’ll not take, even cum grano. 
  I don’t believe what classic noodles say,
    That Music stopped the haemorrhage of ULYSSES;
  That CATO’S stiffened joints attained free play
    From harmony of sounds.  Such “rot” sense hisses. 
  I’d just as soon believe the Theban walls
    Were twangled into place by young Amphion.