Daughter of the House.  “TELL ME, PROFESSOR BORAX, HOW DID YOU LIKE THE LADY MAMMA GAVE YOU TO TAKE IN TO DINNER?”

The Professor (innocently).  “MY DEAR GIRL, SHE’S SIMPLY THE MOST CHARMING WOMAN I EVER MET! I NEVER TALKED SO MUCH IN MY LIFE!”]

* * * * *

IN A MAZE.

“Mr. BALFOUR brought up a new sub-section, which he admitted was so obscure that he only ‘more or less’ understood it himself, and which, indeed, is of ‘plusquam-Thucydidean’ dimness and involution....  There is no excuse, we must say, for the muddle into which the Government has got over the Bill....  The House of Commons has adjourned for a short holiday, but the Irish Land Purchase Bill is not yet through Committee....  There still remained all the new clauses, for which no time had been found.”—­Times.

Little Bill loquitur:—­

  Oh do, if you please, Mr. BALFOUR, Sir, if you can,—­and who can if you
      can’t, Sir?—­
  Get me out of this Maze, where for days and days I have strayed till I’m
      all of a pant, Sir. 
  Twelve months ago we started, you know, and I’ve been on my feet ever
      since, Sir. 
  And oh, if you please, I feel weak at the knees, and the pains in my back
      make me wince, Sir. 
  Mister HOOD’s “Lost Child” wasn’t half as had, for he only strayed in the
      gutter,
  While this dreadful Maze is enough to craze; and my feeling of lostness
      is utter. 
  Oh, my poor feet!  This is worse than Crete, and old Hampton Court isn’t
      in it. 
  Oh stop, do stop! for I feel I shall drop if I don’t sit down half a
      minute.

  I really thought you knew the way out—­which I own I’m unable to guess,
      Sir—­
  And now ’twould appear you are far from clear, and are puzzled “more or
      less,” Sir. 
  The paths are really so twirly-whirly, the hedges so jimble-jumbled;
  It must be hundreds and hundreds of miles along which we have staggered
      and stumbled. 
  I thought you were a cool card.  Mister BALFOUR, and did know your way
      about.  Sir,
  But what I should like to know at present is, when we are like to get
      out, Sir. 
  How LABBY will laugh at the Labyrinth-maker, who gets lost in his own
      Great Maze, Sir! 
  Don’t say, Sir, pray, that you’ve lost your way,—­you, whom people so
      cosset and praise Sir. 
  You won’t be hurried, and you can’t be flurried, and you’re always as
      cool as a cucumber. 
  Can a little ’un like me, your own child, don’t you see, such a smart
      pioneer as are you cumber? 
  You, the modern Theseus?  Where’s your Ariadne?  Oh, I know you are cool,
      and clever. 
  Yet I feel a doubt.  When shall we get out?—­which I can’t go on
      wandering for ever!