Mr. C.-J. (meekly).  I’m really very sorry—­but I was—­er—­shown up.

Mr. M. It’s ‘igh time you and the likes o’ you were shown up, in my opinion.  ’Ow would you like to ‘ave me comin’ bustin’ up your stairs, eh?

Mr. C.-J. (thinking that he wouldn’t like it at all).  I assure you I quite feel that this is an unwarrantable intrusion on my part—­I must ask you to accept my best apologies—­but I should be very glad to know that we might count on your—­er—­support at such a national crisis.

Mr. M. I dessay yer would.  But what I ask you is—­where does the secresy of the Ballot come in, if I’m to tell you which way I’m goin’ to give my vote?

Mr. C.-J. (in distress).  Pray believe that I should not dream of—­er—­forcing any confidence from you, or dictating to you in any way!  I merely—­

Mr. M. (mollified).  Well, I don’t mind tellin’ yer this much:—­I’ve made up my mind long ago, and, when the time comes, I shall vote to please myself and nobody else; and that’s as much as you’ve got any right to know!

Mr. C.-J. (with a feeling that he would give much the same answer himself under similar circumstances).  Then I’m afraid it would be of no use if I said any more?

Mr. M. Not a bit o’ use! [He goes into his room again.

Mrs. Moleskin (coming out and addressing her son from landing).  ‘Ere, JIMMY, you come in orf o’ that doorstep, and don’t you go showin’ any more folks up, or you don’t know oo’ you may let in next!

Mr. C.-J. (sadly, to himself, as he descends).  I’d no idea canvassing was such exhausting work.  I—­I really think I’ve done enough for one afternoon! [Leaves Little Anna Maria Street—­for ever!

* * * * *

[Illustration:  “Bear with us!”]

“BEAR WITH US.”—­In the case reported in the papers last week of “an infuriated bear shot at Croydon,” Inspector ORMONDE said that “when the ring had been removed from its lip, the animal was so much relieved that it immediately turned a somersault.”  A picture of this interesting incident should be at once painted and hung up in the Divorce Court.  The husband, who has become quite a bear in consequence of his better half having rendered herself quite unbearable, would naturally turn head-over-heels with joy on getting quit of the ring.  But alas! mark the end of the poor bear.  He got more and more excited; he had to be looked up in a stable.  Here the joy and novelty of the situation overcame him; his mighty brain gave way; he became mad as a hatter—­(Alice in Wonderland might have asked, “Then why didn’t they send for a hatter, who would have brought a chimney-pot, or some sort of a tile for his bear-head?")—­and subsequently the veterinary Mr. THRALE (whose ancestral namesake had considerable experience in dealing with that learned bear.  Dr. JOHNSON) procured a gun, and potted the bear.  Awkward in his life, but grease-ful in his death.