Captain STOKES, who peremptorily ordered Mr. O'BRIEN off to prison, seems to be the sort of a man that CHARLES DICKENS described as a "Harbitrary Gent." Quite a despotic Turk. As the Nationalists call the Castle Officials "Bashi-Bazouks," let them allude to the gallant Captain and Magistrate as "STOKES BEY."
INTERNATIONAL ARBITRATION.--Should difficulties ever arrive at this peaceable solution--(so likely!--ahem!--but always a Bright Dream)--then there could not be a name of better omen for a representative of British Interests than "LYON PLAYFAIR."
Trafalgar Square may be "the finest site in the world," but the Mob in it isn't.
What does it all mean? "Pitch 'em over!" cries Sir COUTTS-LINDSAY of his "salaried assistants," and perhaps Sir COUTTS would like to pitch Messrs. COMYNS CARR and C. E. HALLÉ all over, and make them come out uncommonly black after the process. But apparently the "salaried assistants" have thrown over their munificent patron of the Arts, and turned themselves out. But this is "no new thing," for whenever we have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. CARR or Mr. HALLÉ, they have always been uncommonly well turned out, and not a speck on either of them. Evidently the CARR has been upset, and HALLÉ has walked off, showing himself a "Hallé Sloper." The two "salaried assistants" will not go to swell the ranks of the "Unemployed," and, in order to prevent the re-entrance of the "salaried assistants," Sir COUTTS now keeps guard at the Gallery door, armed with a Pike.
SUMMARY OF THE ENDACOTT-CASS AFFAIR.--A Miss-take.
_Mamma._ "IT'S VERY LATE, EMILY. HAS ANYBODY TAKEN YOU DOWN TO SUPPER?"
_Fair Débutante (who has a fine healthy appetite)._ "OH YES, MAMMA--SEVERAL PEOPLE!"]
No, no! A natural alarm, but needless! 'Tis true subversive dolts in these sad times Do call on you to flourish and to feed less, And hint that pomp and turtle soup are crimes. The sour fanatics! Scribblers who'd set the world straight from their attics. But they will never dare--the dastards, No!-- To stop the Lord Mayor's Show.
Your fright, my Lord, 's a pardonable error. The Proclamation can't apply to you. No one, I'm sure, can take you for a Terror, Red, white, or any other tint or hue. Are you "disorderly"? No; you within legality's trim-kept border lie; From touching you even almighty Law Would shrink with utter awe.