The Spokesman having for a few moments consulted with his colleagues, hereupon turned to the Chairman, and delivering with fearful emphasis the customary curse on the School Board, its Chairman, and all its belongings, at the same time thanking the Chairman for his courteous reception of the Deputation, silently and sulkily withdrew.

* * * * *

DRURIOLANUS AND DANCING.—­The Fancy Dress Ball—­not a “Ball Marsky”—­at Covent Garden, last Tuesday week, was a great success, on which DRURIOLANUS FORTUNATUS is hereby congratulated.  There is to be a similar festivity, to celebrate Mi-Careme.  Quite appropriate this date, when the season is half Lent, and the costumes almost all borrowed.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  AN APPEAL CASE, HOUSE OF LORDS.]

* * * * *

TO MR. RUDYARD KIPLING.

    ["Every minute of my time during 1891 is already mortgaged.  In
    1892 you may count upon me.”—­Mr. KIPLING to Magazine Editor,
    who wished to secure him as a Contributor.]

  Oh, happy man! for whom this world of ours
    Is but a ceaseless round of milk and honey,
  Who use your wondrous word-compelling powers
    For us in telling tales (and making money),

  How you must laugh to rake the dollars in,
    The publishers—­how badly you must bleed them;
  Your tales are good, but yet, ere you begin
   On more, just think of us who’ve got to read them.

  It frightens us to hear your Ninety-One
    Is mortgaged—­for the prospect’s not inviting,
  To think of all that may and will be done,
    If, through the present year you ne’er cease writing!

  With bated breath we ask, and humble mien—­
    We realise how far we come behind you—­
  That you will leave one remnant Magazine
    In which we may be sure we shall not find you.

  Then will your RUDYARD name with joy be hailed,
    And yours will be a never-fading glory,
  If, when you’re asked to write a Light that Failed,
    You merely tell us, “That’s another story.”

* * * * *

AN UPPER NOTE.

Sir,—­I mustn’t interfere with the diary of TOBY, M.P.  But, as he is not reported as being in the Upper House on this particular occasion, I cannot help drawing general attention to the dispatch of business among the Lords on Thursday last.  I quote from the Parliamentary Report in the Daily Telegraph, which informed us that

    “The LORD CHANCELLOR took his seat on the Woolsack at a
    quarter-past four o’clock.”

Then in came “A New Spiritual Peer.”  Awful!  It sounds like an apparition in a blood-curdling ghost-story.  Where was LIKA JOKO with his pencil?  Well, “the new Spiritual Peer took his oath and his seat”—­why wasn’t he called upon for his toast and sentiment?—­and then—­what happened?  Did their Lordships stay to have a friendly chat with the new-comer?  No, not a bit of it; for the report says,