OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

TOLD in the Twilight (F. V. WHITE & Co.) is a title likely to captivate all who expect from it a series of mysterious tales, quaint goblinesque legends, and bloodcurdling ghost-stories. Verily, those who indulge in such anticipations are, on taking up ADELINE SERGEANT's book, doomed to disappointment; but after being caught by the first story they probably will be led on to read

just one more," (a good title, by the way, not patented, or otherwise protected,) and not be contented until the last is reached and finished. During this course, the well-informed reader will probably have been struck by the close resemblance which, in many respects, Mr. ORLANDO BATEMAN, the organist in "Lady Ellenor's Romance," bears to Svengali of Trilby fame. "He was lividly pale, lean. not very tall, with a shock of black hair, and immense black eves. ""He looked so fierce and wild," and "when playing, he threw back the long, black hair that was apt to stray over his white forehead." Isn't this uncommonly like Mr. BEERBOHM TREE as Svengali? "I know that most people call him ugly: but they have not seen him at work." And Lady Ellenor, like Trilby, is Svengalivinised by the aquiline Dosed, glittering eyed musician. However, Lady Ellenor isn't a Trilby, and the en-chanting organist is not a Svengali. All ends happily. These stories told in the twilight may be read in broad daylight, or, in fact, at any time, to

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT. EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P. House of Commons, Monday, March 23.-Good deal of variety about House of Commons. This day last week benches crowded; interest intense; subject, new war in the Soudan. To-night benches moderately filled; no lack of speech-making; a smell of chopped straw through the House; a disposition amongst Borough Members to come down in gaiters and shooting coats; WALTER LONG, all alone on Treasury Bench, humming to himself the plaintive air, "Go bring the Cattle Home."

Bill under discussion a modest measure branded Diseases of Animals Bill. Simply but effectually proposes that all Foreign and Colonial Cattle shall be slaughtered at port of entry. Liberals spy under its muffler the beard of Protection. Criticism not confined to Opposition benches. Several Members rise from Ministerial side and declare they will have none of it. New House has two Men from WHITELEY's; one the Universal Provider sent on from Stockport; the other from Ashton-under-Lyme. It was the representative of the Ashton branch who spoke the other night on bi-metallism. Our Young Man from Stockport turned up to-night, interrupting WALTER LONG's pretty song with protest against this measure. Never since, in almost forgotten play, WILSON BARRETT used to raise two lean arms to Heaven, and cry aloud, "How long? How long?" has there been seen anything so pathetic as the Stockport Man from WHITELEY'S lament over this Cattle Bill.

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Sir," he said, dropping a scalding tear almost on the unprotected bead of the Minister for Agriculture, reclining on the Treasury Bench, "I regret that, having been elected to oppose Home Rule, I should be asked at this early period of the Session to support what I cannot help calling an English Land League."

Observe how, even in the torrential passion of the moment, this sentence is carefully shaded. If it had not been so early in the Session it wouldn't have been so bad. In July a cup, however bitter its contents, might be drained, which, proffered in March, is fatal. Then there is the apologetic introduction of the scathing reference to an English Land League. "I cannot help calling it" an English

the delight of the reader and the profit of the authoress and publisher.

Land League, said Our Stockport Representative, slightly turning aside his head to hide his emotion, a movement which, accidentally altering the course of the falling tear, averted a catastrophe WALTER LONG would have felt more acutely than most men of his age.

After this desperate attack from the Opposition benches, with answering signs of revolt from besieged camp, a little surprising to find that the malcontents mustered only 95, leaving Ministers in a majority of 149.

Business done.-Diseases of Animals Bill read second time.

Tuesday.-"The longer I live, dear TOBY," said the SQUIRE OF MALWOOD just now as we strolled through the division lobby on the London Water Bills question, "the more I feel like one who treads alone some banquet-hall deserted. In the political world I am becoming a sort of mastodon of Liberalism. If, when I finally answer the cry Who goes home?' they would promise not to put a statue of me in the central lobby, I wouldn't mind bequeathing my skeleton to the Natural History Museum. With a suitable label, it might prove of interest, and would serve as a lesson, to coming generations. Every day questions crop up which show what chasms have been riven in the political world within the last dozen years. Here, for example, is this proposal of the London County Council to take over the Water System of the Metropolis. Sixteen years ago the question was before a committee of the House of Commons, of which I was Chairman, with Don José as faithful henchman. Hard work to hold him in in those days, when there was a Tory fence or ditch to be taken. Perhaps, if he had one passion stronger than another, it was for the unfettered action of municipal authority over all matters affecting the ratepayers. After sixteen years the question comes up again. Don José and I walk apart. A fathomless river flows between. I am here still, fighting for the old principles of 1880. DON JOSE is on the other bank, eligible quarters laid out as villas for the gentlemen of England, and the London ratepayers will be the poorer by, some say, twenty millions, the lowest estimate putting it down at five.

**This only an episode in a long tragedy, a chapter in an interminable history. JOKIM and HARTINGTON are also on the other side of the river. But that is a matter for small surprise compa cd with

CURZON AND CRISES.

THE mystery of Isis
A wonder to the wise is:
Yet 'tis, though fraught
With marvel, naught,
To-CURZON on a Crisis!
Our clever Mr. CURZON
Is a superior person.
A sage more "poz"

There never was

For bard to turn a verse on.

He told us, in the Autumn,

That Crises,-when we" caught"

'em,

Were always due

To some Rad crew;

About no Tory brought 'em.

England was calm and sober,
As a bland air by AUBER,
Since SALISBURY came
Our foes to tame;-
But that was last October!
We

e never, never, never

From peace were like to sever
While CECIL great

Controlled the State,

With CURZON, young and clever.

Butere the Springtime, Crises,Despite CUBZON's "advices," Were plentiful

With poor JOHN BULL

As hot-cross buns or ices.

The Turk turned cross and cranky;

The Dutchman and the Yankee Raised rows, despite

Sage SALISBURY's sleight, And CURZON'S hanky-panky. The Muscovite and Teuton

Our troubles were not mute on.

To calculate

The cares of State

Might floor Sir ISAAC NEWTON.

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To make things more chaotic(Oh. destiny despotic!)

The Egyptian Sphinx
Drew into kinks

Our policy Nilotic.

Is CURZON therefore troubled That he poor Britons bubbled. Lord! not a mite!

These crises slight

He'd willingly see doubled.
Crises-unto a Tory-

Are means of gain and glory;
But with your Rad,

If things go bad

Why, that's another story!

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Ex

EXTRACTS FROM A NEW GERMAN GRAMMAR.-The preposition wegen, on account of," governs the genitive case. ample: The ruler made a sheep's-head of himself (hatte sich einen Schafs-kopf gemacht) on account of the wire (wegen des Depeschen). Little WILLIAM (der kleiner WILHELM) is fond of (liebt) the drum and trumpet on account of the noise (wegen des Lärmes); but he fears (er furchtet) to vex his kind grandmother on account of the slipper (wegen der Pantoffeln).

THE UNPATRIOTIC TRUSTEE.
(Fragment from a Stock Exchange Romance.)

"So you were the author of that article which stirred up strife between our country and a nation hitherto well disposed towards us?" said his parent, sternly,

himself up to his full height, and looking his father straight in the "I am not ashamed to admit it," replied the trustee, drawing eyes with proud humility.

"And you spread the report that one of the best of our colonies was on the point of revolt ?"

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And why not! It was a part of my plan—the outcome of my

3 0

5 0

27 0

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31 25

20

Fcs. 230 5

MUSICAL NOTE.-A new version of Sir ARTHUR SULLIVAN's popular song is being prepared for the use of omnibus and tram conductors, under the title of " No, jolly Jenkins!"

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'As a trustee! As a trustee!" cried the old man, angrily. "You always speak as a trustee! Why do you always speak as a trustee ?" Because, father, I am one! I admit that I have been guilty of all of which you have accused me, and I will tell you the reason. cestui que trust, and I want to bring down the funds-I frankly Father, I have recently sold out of Consols at 110 on behalf of my admit it-to something under 90 before I reinvest the money. And now, father-as a trustee-can you blame me?"

VOL. CX.

VOICES FROM THE NEW BRITISH VALHALLA.

(Overheard by Mr. Punch in the New National Portrait Gallery on the eve of the Easter Holidays.)

["From these walls to-day, nearly eight centuries of British and allied history look down upon us in the persons of some of their principal characters."-Daily News.]

Nell Gwynne. Well, here we are, housed in a palace again, and at home at last!

Goldsmith. In all our London wanderings here and there,
In all our shifts-and we have had our share-

I still had hopes, ere Time's last tocsin rang,

In high palatial walls, like these to hang.

I still had hopes, for pride was ever mine,

Amidst kings, queens, and heroes bright to shine;
Around my frame a holiday group to draw,

And strike a gaping Cockney crowd with awe;

And as great JOHNSON, whom great REYNOLDS drew,
Points to the place whence with regret he flew,

I still had hopes, my long vexatious past,

Here to hang high and have a home at last.

Johnson. Sir, that sufficeth! If Art is long, that is no reason why poetic parody should be prolix. For my own part, I would rather have hung in Fleet Street, in the vicinity of Temple Bar, which I regret to hear the revolutionary iconoclasts of a democratic day have ruthlessly removed from its ancient and time-honoured site. The worse than Whig dogs! 'Tis pity their own empty noddles do not adorn it, as in my time they would doubtless have done.

How rarely reason guides the People's choice,
Rules the Whig hand, or prompts the Tory voice!
How nations sink, by rash reforms oppress'd,
When senates listen to the Mob's request!

Democracy wings each afflictive dart,

Distorteth Nature and degradeth Art!

With fatal heat rebellious rashness glows,

With fatal fluency Rad rhetoric flows.

Impeachment stops not the bold traitor's breath,
And restless rowdyism meets not death.

Elizabeth (briskly). Marry come up! hath mine illustrious successor, VICTORIA, neither headsman and block nor rack and thumbscrew, to take order with traitors and spouters of sedition?

Henry VIII. Verily, yes, my daughter, in effigy, or in rust, at the Tower, which is now, as we shall hereafter be, a holiday-show for England's modern ruler-the Easter Monday mob!

OUR SMOKING CONCERT. Irate Member. "WELL, I'LL TAKE MY OATH I CAME IN A HAT!

Gay.

Life is a jest, and all things show it To all-except a Minor Poet!

Washington (coldly). Your Majesties forget that I have lived Lince ye died.

George III. Why-why-why, so much the worse, O rival and rebellious George! Short work would they have made with your monstrous Monroe Doctrine, which even a CECIL now seems too much disposed to parley and palter with.

Milton. "George did but prompt the age to quit their clogs
By the known rules of ancient liberty."

Methinks, however, that "CROMWELL, our chief of men," admitted in effigy, though not-shame on Englishmen !-at Westminster, would have taught the "Unspeakable Turk" a sterner lesson in Armenia than the modern CECIL finds "diplomatic."

Garrick (cheerily). Tilly-vally, Illustrious Ones, how sombre and solemn, how pompous and pragmatical ye all are! At holiday season, too! Verily ye will not, at this rate, add much to the merriment of the Holiday Mob, or of that somewhat sardonic person, the British Workman, but the rather tend, as SAMUEL said of my decease, to "eclipse the gaiety of nations."

Chaucer.

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some men be too curious In studie, or too melancholius." But let not this" temple for portreiture" be less lightsome than my earlier "House of Fame."

Byron. Right, my cheery "Well of English," undefiled (though sometimes, perhaps, a trifle thick and obscure). Emperors and kings (like most poets) are dull dogs, as QUEVEDO could tell you, and ALFRED THE LITTLE demonstrate. Whether opening picture galleries and museums, &c., on Sundays will brighten the lives of the sons of toil and seduce them from the venal shrines of the vulgar Bacchus as much as LUBBOCK and others inagine, is a question on which sentimentalists and cynics may take opposite views. But since we are "hung up to make a British holiday," let us not be as dull and cantankerous as modern Parliai nentary debates, or the leaden lays of little would-be laureates.

Shakspeare (with calm cheer). "There are a sort of men whose visages

Do cream and mantle like a standing pond, And do a wilful stillness entertain, With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit." In Venice, Gratiano dubbed them "Sir Oracles." In England, they are known as rigid Sabbatarians. Like Gratiano, let us "fish not with this melancholy bait for this fool gudgeon." Here at last we be gathered in a great and worthy home. If we can give somewhat of pleasure to the proletariat, and lend something of brightness and beauty and brain to the proletariat holiday or the Puritanical Sabbath, we may indeed do a work worthy of worthies, e'en though it fall as far short of the hopes of enthusiasts as of the fears of those canting oroakers who "sit like their grandsires cut in alabaster," and prophesy perpetually of wickedness and woe.

Omnes (including Mr. Punch). Hear, hear! Let us learn of the greatest of genial sages, nourish modestly all good human hopes, and do unpretentiously our pleasant best.

A STORE OF NEW JESTS.

["The Faithful Men of Jever,' a place near the North Sea coast of Germany, are, according to their custom every Spring, sending Prince BISMARCK a hundred and one plovers' eggs for his birthday."-Standard.] PRINCE B-SM-RCK, addressing our distinguished representative, Count BEN TROVATO, who has forwarded the report to us, and speaking excellent Anglo-German, observed, à propos of these Easter Eggs, "Ja, Herr, of deser eggs I lofe der vite, und do durroly abbreeshiate a good yoke. Vancy! ein onderd-und-von good yoke! all vresh und new! No Yomiller Yokes among dem! Dey are a vortune do a Brofeshonal Diner-out!"