’Stay not your course, O Mariners, or me,
    Nor furl your sails—­is not my harbour dry? 
    Nought but one vast, forsaken tomb am I.
  But steer for other lands, from sorrow free,
    Where, by a happier and more prosp’rous shore,
    Your anchor ye may drop, and rest your oar.’”

“Not at all,” I said.

Rather an inadequate remark, I see, when I come to write it down.  I’d say something better if the MARKISS would repeat the lines.

Business done.—­MARKISS announces Resignation of Ministry.

* * * * *

House of Commons, Thursday.—­House seems to have been meeting all day.  Began at three o’clock:  Sitting suspended at half-past; resumed at 4.30; off again till nine; might have been continued indefinitely through night, only thunderstorm of unparalleled ferocity burst over Metropolis, and put an end to further manoeuvring.  “Bless me!” tremulously murmured Lord SALISBURY’s Black Man, as a peal of thunder shook Clock Tower, and lighted up House of Lords with lurid flame, “if these are home politics, wish I’d stayed in far-off Ind.”

At first gathering in Commons, parties changed sides.  “The sheep to the right, the goats to the left,” as WILLIAM FIELD, Esq., M.P., said, daintily crossing the floor.

[Illustration:  William Field, Esq., M.P.]

This remark does not imply anything rude.  Fact is FIELD, when at home in Dublin, holds lofty position of President of Irish Cattle-Traders’ and Stock-Owners’ Association.  Similes from the stockyard come naturally to his lips.  Promises to be acquisition to Parliamentary life.  Is certainly lovely to look upon, with his flowing hair, his soft felt hat, the glossy black of his necktie contrasting with glossy white of his boundless shirt-front.  Thought at first he was a poet; rather disappointing to find he’s only a butcher.  Whatever he be, he’s refreshing to the eye, wearied with monotony of last Parliament.

Writs moved for new Elections consequent on acceptance of Office.  Lobby seems full of new Whips, whom JACOB grimly eyes.  CAUSTON with unusually troubled look on manly brow.  “What’s the matter?” I asked.  “Afraid you’ll be chucked?”

“Oh, no!” he said; “Southwark’s safe enough.  But they’re such doose of fellows down there.  Remember at General Election one took me neat.  After I had made speech to crowded meeting, lot of questions put.  Answered them all satisfactorily.  At last one fellow got up, asked me, in voice of thunder, ‘Are you, in favour of temperance?’ Rather ticklish thing that, you know.  As many against it as for it.  Looked all round the room; seemed remarkably decent lot; the man who was heckling me a little rubicund as to the nose; but that might be indigestion.  Anyhow, felt unless I could satisfy him, I’d lose his vote.  ‘Are you in favour of temperance?’ he roared again.  ‘Yes, I am;’ I said, heartily.  ‘Then I ain’t!’ he roared back; and stamped his way out of the room.  That’s the sort of fellows they are down at Southwark.  Never know where you have ’em.  Generally turns out they have you.”