JOHN BRIGHT. "IRISH CHURCH COMING DOWN! - PULL OUT O' THE WAY THERE WITH THAT 'INFATUATED' OLD MACHINE OF YOURS-CAN'T YER?"

GROOM OF THE CHAMBERS. "JOHN, JOHN, YOU'RE FORGETTING YOUR PLACE YOU MUSTN'T USE THAT SORT OF LANGUAGE NOW."

James. "You DO A DEAL O' SHOPPIN', DON'T YOU, CHARLES?"

Charles. "YES, AND A GOODISH BIT O' HOPERA; BUT THE HEARLY MORNIN' CHURCH SERVICE TAKES IT OUT O' ME MOST!"

Ir the Lords had thrown out (may we not say "evicted"?) the Irish Church Bill, so many persons would have attributed this result to the

For the Sovereign whose Triple Hat flouts the QUEEN'S Crown BISHOP OF PETERBOROUGH and the spell of his eloquence, that he might

MORE HAPPY THOUGHTS.

knives in their mouths, recklessly. WIGTHORPE asks, “Why not?" When I tell him that I don't think it's good-breeding, he retorts that I'm narrow-minded.

Some of them have little bits of red riband in their button-holes, and others parti-coloured rosettes about the size of a fourpenny piece. WIGTHORPE whispers to me that there are lots of secret police always out a Secret Policeman. about here. I say, "Indeed!" and can't help looking about to find

دو

THE worst of WIGTHORPE is, that he's a fellow who never has any change. I make this note the day after our French dinner. I had never met WIGTHORPE before in London: always in the country, at somebody else's house, where, of course, one didn't want change. He proposes a cab up to the French restaurant. It's somewhere in Soho, and will only be, he says, a shilling's-worth." A Hansom passes its driver looking the other way. I don't like to shout in First Dish. Mussels in butter. I think I'd rather not. WIGTHORPE Regent Street, so I hail him with my umbrella. He passes on. Three says, "Absurd! You don't know how good they are. He adds, that Hansoms pass on, all looking the other way. One trots up with no it is the dish here. After tasting them, I am sorry to hear it is the one inside. He sees me, but shakes his head, and doesn't stop. Why dish, as I confess I don't like them. WIGTHORPE replies, "Perhaps is this? I eat as many as I can, to WIGTHORPE says it's because he's going home. I say it's you don't at first-it's an acquired taste." impudence. I say I should like to have taken his number. WIG- Prove to WIGTHORPE that I am not a mere JOHN BULL, and prejuTHORPE wants to know what I should have done with it. I reply, had We then have some fish and oil, or rather Oil and fish. _ WIGTHORPE diced, but I can't get beyond half-a-dozen, and those with suspicion. him up. On consideration I don't know where I should have had him up, or what I should have charged him with. The charge might have is in raptures. He says it's the best French dinner in London. He been for going home, and not taking me. I stop another. We get in. pours out a bumper of red wine. I do the same. I suggest to WIGAS WIGTHORPE doesn't know the name of the place he is going to, he THORPE that perhaps it's a little thin and acid. He won't hear of it, tells him to drive along Oxford Street, and he'll direct him whenever of the country." He speaks as if we were in France-not within five and replies, indignantly, "Acid! Not a bit! Hang it, it's the wine WIGTHORPE is a fidgety fellow. Odd that I never noticed this minutes of Leicester Square. I want some bread, and call out, before. He keeps popping forward to see where the turning is. He "Waiter!" WIGTHORPE is disgusted. He likes to keep up the illuGarçon! du pain!" and puts hits up the little trap-door, under the driver's nose, suddenly, and sion about being in Paris. He says, shouts out, "To the right!" then he directs him with his umbrella. himself on a par with the émigrés and the secret police. Very intricate place, Soho. We are perpetually turning from right to "They never do use spoons for salt and pepper," he says, helping himI can't get a spoon for the salt, or the pepper. WIGTHORPE laughs. left, and left to right, down little streets. At last we stop at a shabby; self with the point of his knife. After the fish we have radishes, sarlooking restaurant. Now, my boy," says WIGTHORPE, heartily, "I'll give you a French dinner." He jumps out, and enters the house. If dines, and butter. I ask him if we've finished dinner, as I'm still I pay the cabman now, I can settle with WIGTHORPE afterwards. A hungry. The waiter brings some filets de bœuf au cresson. WIGTHORPE married man must be careful. When I was a bachelor, a trifle like is in ecstasies. There is barely enough for one to be divided by two. eighteenpence (it isn't a shilling's-worth ") wouldn't have mattered. Happy Thought.-He says he'll give me a French dinner. I wonder if I'm dining with him, or whether we're dining together? question.

he has to turn.

Happy Thought.-Better not ask. Take it for granted that I'm dining with him.

WIGTHORPE is astonished at my appetite. The next thing is the leg of a chicken in a lot of olives. This is also for two. Then there is cheese, then coffee and a cigarette. "For goodness' sake," cries Delicate WIGTHORPE, "don't take milk with your café!" While here he talks all his English in a subdued voice, and his French very loud. "There's a dinner, Sir," says he: "better than you can get at any Club in London; and only two-and-sixpence altogether. Two-and-sixpence each! Very cheap! And threepence for garçon-two-and-nine." WIGTHORPE feels in his pocket, and confounds it, because he has no change. "I have: what for? Ah," he says, "you can't manage a cheque, can you, for twenty? "No, I can't.' "Then," says he, pleasantly, ". you square the dinner, and I'll settle with you afterwards." I don't feel I've dined, and say so. WIGTHORPE pretends to be perfectly full and satisfied. He adds, "Well, we can sup together somewhere."

I follow him in, along a narrow passage. At the end of the passage is a perspiring man in a white nightcap, backed by stewpans and black pots. He salutes WIGTHORPE, and we pass into the dining-room. In an off-hand way (just like WIGTHORPE, now I know him) he stops as he is opening the door, to ask me, "Did you pay the cabman ?" I reply that I did, expecting him to offer his share. He answers, "Ah, that's all right, as I hadn't any change." I think (to myself) he's evidently giving me the dinner, as he has brought a note out with him, and no small change. He takes off his hat to a respectable-looking woman standing behind a counter, and informs me that it's a French

custom.

WIGTHORPE says good-bye, and hopes I'll “ Happy Thought.-To say I should like it, but am engaged to WILLIS. come and look him up" in town. I will; and then he can settle with me for the dinner. Happy Thought.-Will go to Paris with WIGTHORPE. Will write Back to WILLIS's, in Conduit Street. Maid opens door. "Oh, are and tell my wife. Better not take her until I've been once or twice you the gentleman, Sir, who's going to sleep here to-night?" I reply myself, and know the place. A literary man (engaged on such a work that I am. Ah, then," says the maid, "here's MR. RAWLINSON'S as Typical Developments) must go about and see varieties of life. It's latch-key." MR. RAWLINSON is, it appears, the sharer of WILLIS'S business, not pleasure. My wife and her mother-in-law (very poorly-sitting-room. I ask if he won't want it himself? Maid replies that he read person, MRS. SYMPERSON) are inclined to call it pleasure. They left it out a purpose, as he was gone to bed early, and he'd just had a letter from MR. WILLIS in the country, who wasn't coming up to town, but had given his bedroom to a friend for the night. Good fellow, WILLIS. Wonder how he knew I was coming? Or did the maid mean that he had given permission to MR. RAWLINSON to let a friend have it? Maid says she dare say that was it; only, as MR. WILLIS hadn't sent up his own latch-key, MR. RAWLINSON had lent his in case I wanted to stay out late.

never can understand what I mean.

WIGTHORPE appears to be known here. He says, Garçon!" boldly to the waiter, who returns," Bienm'sieu!" and whisks imaginary crumbs off a table with his napkin. WIGTHORPE reads several French names to me from the bill of fare, and asks me what I'd like. I say I'll leave it to him. "Then," he says, "I'll give you a regular French dinner, just what you'd get at the Diner de Paris."

Happy Thought.-Capital preparation for going to Paris. Come and dine here often, and speak nothing but French to the waiter. Mem. To do it.

I wish they wouldn't allow smoking while I'm dining. That's the worst of foreigners; all in the same room and at different stages of dinner. The room is full of foreigners-Frenchmen, I suppose-and two or three have evidently brought their wives or daughters. They all seem to know one another, and talk across the tables and to the Woman at the Counter.

Happy Thought.-Good name for a novel, The Woman at the Counter.

Mem. in note-book.

Happy Thought. -Go somewhere.

Pharmacy Unusual.

ACCORDING to the report of a case of poisoning in Lancashire, caused by taking a powder instead of a pill:

"The powder was intended for a wash, and not to be taken inwardly." scribed ablutions, in default of water, virtually with sand; but the Mahometan pilgrims in the desert are allowed to perform their prepowder that was intended for a wash, one would think, could have been prescribed nowhere out of old Ireland.

New Fabric.

The proprietor is a stout Frenchman, who plays with a dog and a cat, and patronises the establishment in his shirt-sleeves, which are very white; in fact he is so round and white, and so white all round, that his face comes out at the top like a brown plum-pudding. As this is a decidedly happy simile (I am better, I think, at similes than I used to be), I tell it to WIGTHORPE, who begs me to "hush," as the proprietor that the PRINCESS LOUISE wore a dress of "straw-coloured pont de Ar the State Ball at Buckingham Palace on the 17th, we are told understands English, and hates to be called a plum-pudding. WIGTHORPE tells me that most of the foreigners dining here are émigrés, who are perpetually plotting something or other. He says that they all stick together like wax. I should say they do, as they all look very hot. [Note this down for Vol. II. of Typical Developments, "On Emigrés."] I notice that all these distinguished Royalists put their

soie." Rather a remarkable sight, to see a young lady in a ball-room
telegraphs to say that this is a mistake for poult de soie.)
dressed in a "bridge of silk! (VISCOUNTESS PUNCH'S Court Milliner

A MONSTER MEETING.-A Giant and a Dwarf.