Wednesday.—­Puffiness worse.  Vet. looks in and says I want exercise.  Take a bolus and am walked for half an hour or so up and down some back-streets.  Bless them!—­that ain’t no good.

Thursday.—­Puffiness worse, of course.  Bother it all, being shut up here!  What wouldn’t I give just for a sight of dear old Piccadilly!  The fact is, if they don’t soon let me have my run from King’s Cross to Putney, I shall “bust up”—­and that’s a fact.  I feel it.

Friday.—­Ah, they may well come to terms!  Another day of this, and I believe I should have been off the hooks “for ever and for aye.”  It’s all very well for Capital and Labour to get at loggerheads, but, as DUCROW said, they must cut all their disputes short if they wish to save anything of their business, and look sharp, and “come to the ’osses.”

Saturday, 13th.—­Strike over!  We shall have to be in harness again on Monday, and not a day too soon, in the interests of the men, the Directors, the Public; and, last, but by no means least, specially that of “the ’osses.”

* * * * *

IN MEMORIAM.

“OLD TO-MORROW.”

THE RIGHT HON.  SIR JOHN ALEXANDER MACDONALD, LATE PREMIER OF CANADA.

  Punch sympathises with Canadian sorrow
  For him known lovingly as “OLD TOMORROW.” 
  Hail to “the Chieftain!” He lies mute to-day,
  But Fame still speaks for him, and shall for aye. 
  “To-morrow—­and to-morrow!” SHAKSPEARE sighs. 
  So runs the round of time!  Man lives and dies. 
  But death comes not with mere surcease of breath
  To such as him.  “The road to dusty death”
  Not “all his yesterdays.” have lighted.  Nay! 
  Canada’s “OLD TO-MORROW” lives to-day
  In unforgetting hearts, and nothing fears
  The long to-morrow of the coming years.

* * * * *

LEAVES FROM A CANDIDATE’S DIARY.

Billsbury, Wednesday, May 28th.—­Great doings here to-day.  For weeks past all the Conservative Ladies of Billsbury have been hard at work, knitting, sewing, painting, embroidering, patching, quilting, crocheting, and Heaven knows what besides, for the Bazaar in aid of the Conservative Young Men’s Club and Coffee-Room Sustentation Fund.  You couldn’t call at any house in Billsbury without being nearly smothered in heaps of fancy-work of every kind.  When I was at the PENFOLDS’ on Monday afternoon, the drawing-room was simply littered with bonnets and hats, none of them much larger than a crown piece, which Miss PENFOLD had been constructing.  She tried several of them on, in order to get my opinion as to their merits.  She looked very pretty in one of them, a cunning arrangement of forget-me-nots and tiny scraps of pink ribbon.  Mother promised some time ago to open the Bazaar, though she assured me she had never done such a thing before, and added that I must be sure to see that the doors moved easily,