14.]

"The Proposed Commons Preservation Bill."—Seeing this heading to an article, an eminently well-informed Conservative politician, whose zeal was in excess of his knowledge, exclaimed, "Ah! I thought it would come to this! The Ultra-Radicals are not going straight for the abolition of the Upper House, but have decided on undermining it, by doing away with the Lower One to begin with. Fancy its being necessary for the Commons to bring in a Bill for their own self-preservation!!"

VADE MECUM FOR A CERTAIN COURT OFFICIAL.

Question. Your duty, I believe, is to protect the public from receiving impressions—from your point of view—of a pernicious character?

Answer. Certainly; and this I accomplish by reading and rejecting what I think the public should avoid.

Q. How long has the office been in existence?

A. About a century or so.

Q. How did the public get on before your office came into existence?

A. Fairly well, especially in the days of Shakspeare.

Q. Had the Bard of Avon to obtain a licence for the production of his plays?

A. No; they were then practically edited by the public.

Q. Could not the public edit plays in the reign of Queen Victoria with the intelligence displayed in the days of "Good Queen Bess"?

A. It is impossible to say, as the question has not been tested by experiment.

Q. You say that your duty is to preserve the purity of the public taste; was that also the object of the earlier of your predecessors?

A. Seemingly not, as the office was called into existence to serve as a bar to the dissemination of opinions of an entirely political character.

Q. But that is not now the raison d'être of the appointment?

A. Oh, no; for nowadays, thanks to the newspapers, politics enjoys free trade.

Q. But still, the right of interference exists?

A. Yes, but it is only used to prevent a performer from "making up" as a Cabinet Minister, to the annoyance of the right hon. gentleman favoured with the attention.

Q. Is there any rule to guide the use of the official blue pencil?

A. None in particular. That emblem of concrete authority may be diligently used for a decade, and then be laid aside for a quarter of a century.

Q. Then there is no policy in the office?

A. None to speak of. What was wrong in 1875 may be right in 1895, and may be wrong again at the commencement of the next century.

Q. But purely such an office has not gained the entire applause of the London Press?

A. On the contrary, the all but universal condemnation.

Q. And yet when the office became vacant there were many journalistic applicants?

A. Because journalists accept the situation of the hour, and make the best of it.

Q. Is it possible that the candidates who have failed may find their objection to the existence of the office stronger than ever?

A. It is not only possible, but probable.

Q. And thus any non-journalist who accepts the appointment may not have a very pleasant time of it?

A. So it would appear to the casual observer.

MY INFLUENZA.

Monday.—This is the day I promised to go with my aunt to the first meeting of that new Society for the Propagation of Female Suffrage amongst the Turks. Wish I'd never promised. Don't see how I can escape. Why, yes, good idea—the influenza! I'll have it. Almost fancy I have a slight pain in my back, which would certainly be a symptom. I will decide that I have a pain in my back. Send note, saying, in uncertain weather caution is necessary; fear that I'm attacked by the prevailing epidemic; wish every success to the good cause, and so forth. Then, relieved in my mind, down to the club, and forget all about the old lady.

Tuesday.—Shall have a melancholy time this evening. Mrs. Pogson's At Home, with recitations. Oh lord! Daren't offend old Pogson by refusing. It would not be so bad if there were not the five Miss Pogsons. Of all the awful, middle-aged young women——! Ha, by Jove! Never thought of it. Of course. The influenza. Telegraph at once. Deeply regret, illness, and so forth. I really have a slight pain in my back. Wonder what it is. Put on my thickest coat when I go out.

Wednesday.—Awful joke this influenza. Shall escape old Blodgett's dinner to-night. Should have been bored to death. Now sixpenny telegram settles it all. The only thing is I really have a pain in my back. Reminds me of boy crying "Wolf" in the fable. Shall stay in this evening, and keep warm by the fire.

Thursday.—Do not feel much worse, but pain still there. Shall not venture out. Can therefore, quite truthfully, excuse my absence from Boreham's matinée. Good enough fellow, Boreham, but can't write a tragedy at all. So shall escape the awful infliction of his mixed imitation of Ibsen and Shelley. The worst of it is that, with this beastly pain in my back, I begin to think my influenza is no sham at all. Stop in all day in warm room. In the evening feel headache, as well as pain in back. Fear the worst.

Friday.—No doubt about it. In bed. Must see the doctor. Letter from Gadsby. Wants me to go to the theatre to-night. Jolly party. Supper after at his house. Little dance to finish with. Jolly, lively fellow Gadsby. Knows lots of pretty actresses, and has all sorts of larks. Would have been good fun. And here am I in bed! Hang the influenza! But cannot risk anything. Get Jones fetched—Jones, M.D., my old chum. Tell him how I feel, and say I have the influenza. "Bosh!" says he, "you've been sitting in a draught somewhere, and got a little lumbago in your back. It's nothing. And you've stuck in a hot room till you've got a headache for want of fresh air. Get up and go out as soon as you can." Feel better already. Show him Gadsby's letter. "The very thing," says he; "I'm going. We'll go together. With that influenza of yours, you oughtn't to go out without someone to watch the case."

THE "SEXO-MANIA."

"We think Lips that have Gone Astray the foulest novel that ever yet defiled the English tongue; and that in absolute filth its Author can give any modern French writer six and beat him hollow!"—The Parthenon.

Fair Author (to her Publisher, pointing to above Opinion of the Press quoted in his advertisement of her Novel). "And pray, Mr. Shardson, what do you mean by inserting this hideous Notice?"

Publisher. "My dear Miss Fitzmorse, you must remember that we've paid you a large Price for your Book, and brought it out at great Expense—and we naturally wish to Sell it!"

THE EASY CHAIR;

Or, Mr. Speaker's Valediction.

["According to present arrangements the Speaker will deliver his valedictory address on the eve