Duke of York, when that illustrious personage commanded the British Army.  “I say, SIMMY,” exclaimed H.R.H., “if the French invade us, you must look after Number One.”  “You mean, Sir,” was the prompt answer, “Number One Hundred and One!” The King, hearing this anecdote a little later, made “SIMPLE SIMON” his extra Equerry.  But perhaps the best story of all was that told of his interview with Dean SWIFT.  “I propose listening to your Reverence on Sunday,” said the simple one.  “Oh, indeed!” replied the sarcastic ecclesiastic.  “Then we shall have a case of a Gulliver come to judgment!” Many other good stories are told of this General, whose career was rather in the drawing-room than in the field of glory.  He died in 1825, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.  At his funeral there was a large assemblage of the best-known people of the day, and amongst them the Editor of the National Defender.  “Sic transit gloria,” said some-one. “Mundi!” added the journalist.

FUTURE (Conjectural).—­SNOOKES, SIMEON.  No one knows who this person was, but it is shrewdly conjectured that he may have had some official connection (possibly as a Government contractor) with one of the ancient wars.  As his monument is defaced, and there are no records of his family, it is useless to attempt to make his biography any fuller.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  STUDIES IN CONTINENTAL PERSPECTIVE.

A DUET FOR TENOR AND BASS.]

* * * * *

“SQUARED!”

A SONG OF A SETTLEMENT.

AIR—­“The Death of Nelson.”

RECITATIVE.

  Near NELSON’s monument, with gloom opprest,
  The rowdy mourns a Question, now at rest. 
  But ASQUITH’s laurels shall not fade with years,
  Whose canny settlement the public cheers.

AIR.

  ’Twas in Trafalgar’s Square,
  We heard the spouters blare,
    Each rough rejoicing then. 
  They scorned churl WARREN’s yoke,
  Of order made a joke,
    And claimed the Rights of Men. 
  But ASQUITH came, the cool and brave,
  And poured oil on the troubled wave. 
    His speech was just a beauty! 
  Along each line this meaning ran:—­
  “England respects true Rights of Man,
    But means enforcing Duty.”

  No more rude mobs may roar,
  A nuisance and a bore,
    Where’er BURNS lead the way. 
  As victory is this claimed
  By spouts, by cool sense tamed? 
    All right!  Let them hooray! 
  But dearly is their conquest bought,
  ’Twas scarce for this mad GRAHAM fought
    ’Tis fair, though—­there’s its beauty. 
  All just claims met by this shrewd plan,
  The speechifying Rights of Man,
    Plus the Policeman’s duty.