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NEW BOOK OF IRISH LIFE.—­The Bedad’s Sons.  By the Author of the tale of Indian Life, The Begum’s Daughters.

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[Illustration:  THE DELIGHTS OF TRIAL BY JURY.

THESE GENTLEMEN ARE EXPECTED TO BE IN A JUDICIAL FRAME OF MIND AFTER
HANGING ABOUT THE PRECINCTS OF THE COURT FOR SEVERAL DAYS, UNDER
PENALTY OF A HEAVY FINE, WHILE THEIR PRIVATE BUSINESS IN THE CITY AND
ELSEWHERE IS GOING TO THE DOGS. (WHY SHOULD NOT HALF-PAY OFFICERS DO
THE WORK, AND RELIEVE BUSY MEN?)]

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ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.

House of Commons, Thursday, January 22.—­Both Houses met to-day after Christmas Recess.  No QUEEN’s Speech; no moving and seconding of Address; no Royal Commission and procession of SPEAKER to Lords.  All seems strange, and spirits generally a little depressed.  Only ROBERT FOWLER rises superior to circumstances of hour.  Blustering about the Lobby “like Boreas,” says CAUSTON.

[Illustration:  King Yah!  Yah!]

“Only not so rude,” says HARRY LAWSON, jealous for the reputation of Metropolitan Members, even though some sit on the Benches opposite.  With folded hands thrust behind coat-tails, rollicking stride, thunderous voice, and blooming countenance, Sir ROBERT positively pervades the Lobby.  Personally receives POPE HENNESSY; shakes hands with everybody; and finally halting for a moment under the electric-lit archway leading into House, presents interesting and attractive picture of the Glorified Alderman.

Scotch Members take possession of Commons to-night.  LORD ADVOCATE brings in Bill, providing new machinery for private legislation; the Scotch Members with one accord fall upon proposal, and tear it to ribbons.  Meanwhile other Members troop off to Lords, where spectacle is provided which beats the pantomimes into fits.  Two new Peers to take their seats; procession formed in back room outside; enters from below Bar.  First comes Black Rod, with nothing black about him; then Garter King-at-Arms, a herculean personage, fully five feet high, with a dangerous gleam in his eye, and the Royal Arms of England quartered in scarlet and blue and gold on his manly back.  Behind, in red cloaks slashed with ermine, the new Baron and his escort of two brother Peers.  There being no room for them to advance in due procession, they fall into single file, make their way to the Woolsack, where sits that pink of chivalry, that mould of fashion, that perfection of form, the LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR.