They try all sorts of “counters” to
    My slogging strokes—­in vain. 
  The “Thunderer” slates me every day,
    But still I slog again. 
  Old W.G. in ’Ninety-Three
    May form a Cabinet;
  Then his first thought will be of Me,
    And all will cry (you bet!)—­

Chorus.

  “Get your HARCOURT!  Get your HARCOURT! 
    Whoever may stand out,
    Malwood’s Squire must join, no doubt. 
  Get your HARCOURT!  Get your HARCOURT!”
  And I’ll mock them when their sun goes down!

* * * * *

TO THE GRAND OLD TORY.

(BY THE WIFE OF A DISSENTING CUMBRIAN WORKMAN.)

  O WILLIAM, you have managed to offend. 
    The Workmen, and the Women, and the Welsh. 
  Beware, or you’ll discover ere the end
    That the three W.’s the great one can squelch!

* * * * *

[Illustration:  ENCOURAGING, VERY!

Cockney Art-Teacher (newly arrived and nervous—­after a long silence).  “IF YOU SHOULD SEE A CHANCE O’ DRORIN’ ANYTHING CORRECTLY—­DO SO!!” [Collapse of expectant Student.]

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

House of Commons.  Monday, May 2.—­“Would that midnight or Closure would come!” murmured Prince ARTHUR just now, looking wearily up at clock.

It is only eleven; still another hour; hard even for trained nerves.  For more than six hours been discussing Scotch Equivalent Grant.  CLARK’s musical voice has floated through the House by the half hour.

[Illustration:  “Curling himself up with delight.”]

“A bagpipe with bronchitis nothing to it,” says FARQUHARSON, curling himself up with delight as he hears sounds that remind him of his mountain home.  HUNTER has relentlessly pursued the unhappy LORD-ADVOCATE, and CALDWELL has thoroughly enjoyed himself.  His life, it will be remembered, was temporarily blighted by action of ROBERTSON when he was Lord-Advocate.  Got up, following CALDWELL in debate, and dismissed a subject in a quarter of an hour’s speech without reference to oration hour-and-half long with which CALDWELL had delighted House.  Don’t remember what the subject was, but never forget CALDWELL’s seething indignation, his righteous anger, his withering wrath.  ROBERTSON smiled in affected disregard; but very soon after he found it convenient to withdraw from the focus of CALDWELL’s eye, and take refuge on the Scotch Bench.  As for CALDWELL, he withdrew his support from Ministers, tore up his ticket of membership as a Unionist, and returned to the Gladstonian fold.  A tragic story which SCOTT might have worked up into three volumes had he been alive.  He is not, but CALDWELL is, and so are we—­at least partially after this six hours’ talk round rates in Scotland, whether at ten shillings per head or twelve shillings.  At half past eleven human nature could stand it no longer; progress reported although there still remained half-an-hour available time.