sense, “non-suited.”  Mrs. MANLEY had, of course, undertaken to provide fits for her customers, and for having partially failed, her customers determined to return the compliment, by “giving her fits” if possible.  So the parties came before Judge BACON, and appealed to His Honour.  And the learned Judge mindful of ancestral Baconian wisdom, “Cast a severe eye upon the example”—­that is, he examined the dresses most critically,—­“but a merciful eye upon the person,”—­for the fair Plaintiff and fair Defendant His Honour showed himself a most fair Judge, unwilling, as BACON, “to give beans” to either party, and so dismissing them with his beany-diction.  But, pauca verba,—­and may we always have nothing but praise to bestow on Bacon’s Essays.

* * * * *

A DISCLAIMER.

(BY AN UNIONIST.)

I “prefer PARNELL”?  Oh dear, no!  There is no man I’ve hated so.  But, since he turned a fierce derider Of him he calls the “Grand Old Spider;” Since he has “blown” the Home-Rule “gaff,” And whelmed the Gladstone gang with chaff; Since he has almost wiped out PIGOTT, Half justified the Orange bigot; Proved part of the Times’ charge at least, And won the “Hill-men,” lost the Priest;—­ Since then—­why, hang it, ’tis such fun, I half forgive him all he’s done; I’ll back him, bet on him, and grin; Give him my vote, and hope he’ll win.  But I prefer him?  Goodness gracious!  Why can’t Gladstonians be veracious?

* * * * *

SIR HENRY LOCH’S “STRAIGHT TIP” TO THE INTRUSIVE BOERS IN MASHONALAND.—­“Play us none of your ’treks’!”

* * * * *

[Illustration:  HYMEN, FIN DE SIECLE.  “MAIDENS MOCKED, WITH LAUGHTER DYING, THOSE FOOL-KNOTS OF HYMEN’S TYING.”]

* * * * *

[Illustration:  MOLTKE in German-style script]

HELMUTH KARL BERNHARD VON MOLTKE.

BORN, OCTOBER 26TH, 1803.  DIED, APRIL 24TH, 1891.

  Strong, silent Soldier, whom the unmarked years
    Shaped to such service of the Fatherland
    As seldom to one firm, unfailing hand,
  A State hath owed; to-day a People’s tears
  Bedew the most illustrious of biers! 
    The waning century hastening to its close
  Hath scarce a greater on its glory-roll,
    Hope of thy land, and terror of its foes;
  Of foresight keen, and long-enduring soul! 
  War’s greatness is not greatest; there are heights
    Of splendour pure mere warriors scarce may scale,
    But thou wert more than battle’s scourge and flail,
  Calm-souled controller of such Titan fights
    As mould man’s after-history.  When thy star
  Shone clear at Koniggraetz, men gazed and knew
    The light that heralds the great Lords of War;
  And when o’er Sedan thy black Eagles flew