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“MURDER IN JEST.”—­Is it not an extraordinary plea on behalf of a person under sentence of death for murder, that, like IBSEN’s heroine, “she had never been able to take life in earnest?” Surely it should be added that “when she took somebody else’s life she did take it very much in earnest.”

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POPULAR SONGS RE-SUNG.

Writing of the brilliant Boanerges of the Liberal Party, the Times says:—­“Sir WILLIAM is the strongest stimulant known to the Gladstonian wire-pullers, and his appearance is always an indication that the vital energies of the patient are low.  It is well understood that his proper place is by his own fireside, and that his true function is to evolve epigrams and construct original systems of finance in that calm retreat....  But whenever they feel particularly downcast and unhappy, they break in upon his fecund meditations, and get him to fire off a roystering speech.”

This affectionate and admiring tribute from the Thunderer to its old favourite contributor “HISTORICUS,” is worthy of celebrating in deathless verse.  How well a dithyramb on the subject would go to a certain popular tune!  As thus:—­

NO.  VIII.—­GET YOUR HARCOURT!

AIR—­“Get your Hair Cut!”

  ’Twould serve them right if never I came
    From my own fireside again! 
  The way the “Thunderer” cuts me up
    Is vixenish—­as vain. 
  I was born an Opportunist,
    In a general sort of way,
  But it’s really very impertinent
    For the Times to grin and say:—­

Chorus.

  “Get your HARCOURT!  Get your HARCOURT!”
    Oh! whenever I’m on spout,
    You can hear the Tories shout,
  “Get your HARCOURT!  Get your HARCOURT! 
  To cheer you when your spirits are down!”

  I started in the Buffo line. 
    When things seem getting slack,
  I’m to the front, with lots of go. 
    My critics may cry “Quack!”
  But quacking’s not confined to me. 
    I do extremely well,
  And the more “I give them physic,” why
    The more they squirm and yell—­

Chorus.

  “Get your HARCOURT!  Get your HARCOURT!”
    But they know my sparkling spout—­
    Will help to turn them out. 
  “Get your HARCOURT!  Get your HARCOURT!”
  But I’ll meet them when their sun goes down.

  To play the great “HISTORICUS” part,
    I years ago appeared. 
  The Thunderers stage then knew my art,
    But now that pitch is queered! 
  They swear that I apostatised
    To follow W.G.,
  And patter about “Parnellite juice,”
    And holloa after me—­

Chorus.

  “Get your HARCOURT!  Get your HARCOURT!”
    But, with quip, and jibe, and flout,
    I completely put them out. 
  “Get your HARCOURT!  Get your HARCOURT!”
  But I beat them, and their sun goes down!