And to think that all the lovely places as we seed in them three lovely days is past and gorn for the present, makes us long only the more artily for the glorius days still in store for us!
SERGEANT-MAJOR and Mrs. BAKER were one of a trio of couples successful in winning their claim to the prize of a flitch of bacon at Dunmow. Three hundred and sixty-six days of married life without a flitch--we should say, hitch--in the flow of amicable intercourse is, nowadays, a marvellous achievement, and merits due recognition. We, however, commiserate the gallant and hambitions sergeant-major on having his matrimonial intentions aspersed by the opposing counsel, who, in attempting to "save the bacon," suggested that "BAKER had one eye on the lady and the other eye on the flitch." The prospect of a reward even "more lasting than ham" would hardly, it is to be feared, serve to keep ordinary couples from "tiffs" for the space of a year and a day continuously.
_Father Thames._ "NOW THEN, STIR UP, OLD STICK-IN-THE-MUD! SUMMER OR WINTER, YOU'RE STILL FOUND WANTING, AND THEN _I_ GET THE BLAME!"]
[Mr. CHAMBERLAIN at the opening of Parliament wore a red orchid in his buttonhole.]
Of colour-symbols much we hear, And something, too, of colour-music; But here's a sight that much I fear Will make the beaten Red Rad crew sick: Red! 'Tis the hue of my old flag-- In days that are as dead as mutton; Now, with the instinct of a wag, I sport it still,--but at my button. It signifies how much I care For the "consistency," quite brainless, Which is the Radical bugbear. Their poisoned darts are harmless, painless. _JUDAS?_ Egregious TANNER tries, In vain, to link me with ISCARIOT. What need I care for envious lies, With S. and B. bound to my chariot. They'd bite my heel, I crush their head, And wear their colour in--my orchid! Red! It will make the Rads "see red," They're fangless, though their tongues be forkèd. "They toil not, neither do they spin,"-- I said, of the old Tory lilies. Now they will have to work, to win, And that the Rads don't see--the sillies! SALISBURY'S Tories were one thing, My Unionists are another matter; My Ransom-Song no more I sing,-- Then I was bowler, now I'm batter. We have new wickets, smooth and dry, And one who coolly smites and places, May, with firm wrist and steady eye, Outshine the greatest of the Graces, "The white flower of a blameless life" Is--well, laid up at last at Harwarden, Sheltered from storm, afar from strife, And--other blossoms deck the garden. Roses and lilies had their turn, Now other blooms woo sun and showers; And the Red Orchid--well, they'll learn-- In time--the new Language of Flowers! Of parasitic opulence Orchids are types, it will be said, The difference though may be immense When the new Orchid's _mine_--and Red!