“Five pounds!” echoed the Millionnaire, impatiently, “What is five pounds?—­five thousand is much more like the figure!  Now, I will give you five thousand pounds on one condition.”

“Name it!” cried the Deputation in a breath.

“The simplest thing in the world,” continued the Millionnaire.  “I will give you five thousand pounds on the condition that you get ninety-nine other fellows to do the same.  Nay, you shall thank me when all is collected.  I can wait till then.”

* * * * *

The above words were spoken more than thirty years ago.  Since then the Deputation have been waiting for the other fellows—­and so has the Millionnaire!

* * * * *

PROFESSOR V. PROFESSOR.

PROFESSOR VIRCHOW seems by no means Koch-sure about the tuberculosis remedy.  Indeed Professor KOCH finds that there is not only “much virtue in an ‘if,’” but much “if” in a VIRCHOW!  He is inclined to sing with SWINBURNE:—­

  “Come down, and redeem us from VIRCHOW.”

* * * * *

THE FRIEND OF IRELAND AND THE WORDY KNIFE-GRINDER.

(IMITATION SAPPHICS SOME WAY AFTER CANNING AND FRERE.)

[Illustration:  Wordy Knife-Grinder.  “STORY!  GOD BLESS YOU!  I HAVE NONE TO TELL, SIR!”]

Friend of Ireland:—­

“Wordy Knife-Grinder!  Whither are you going? 
Dark is your way—­your wheel looks out of order—­
Mitchelstown palls, and there seems no more spell in

                    O’BRIEN’s breeches!

“Wordy Knife-Grinder, little think the proud ones,
Who in their speeches prate about their Union-
Ism, what hard work ’tis to keep a Party

                    Tightly together!

“Tell me, Knife-Grinder, what your little game is. 
Do you mean playing straight with me and others? 
Or would you jocky Erin like a confounded

                    Saxon attorney?

“Give us a glimpse of that same Memorandum! 
Pledge yourself clear to what needs no explaining! 
Prove that your plan is not quite a sham, sly-whittled

                    Down into nullity!

“Ere I depart (if go I must, TIM HEALY)
Give me a pledge that I’m not sold for nothing. 
Tell us in plain round words, without evasion, the

                    True Hawarden story.”

Knife-Grinder.

“Story!  God bless yer!  I have none to tell, Sir!
Never tell stories, I; ’tis my sole business
This Wheel to turn with treadle and cry, ’Knives and

                    Scissors to grind O!’

“Constabulary?  Question of Land Purchase? 
Number of Irish Members due in justice? 
Never said aught about ’em; don’t intend to—­

                    Not for the present.