AT A SMOKING CONCERT.
Herr Professor (to young Warbleton Peacoclce, who has just sung Beethoven s “Adelaida ). “Ach ! vat A feaudivul Zong zat is ! I haf herrt it zung PY CARTONI. I HAF HERRT IT ZUNG PU ZIMS REEFS. ZEY ZUNG IT FERRY VELL ! Put I HAF neffer kvite known how peaudivul it VAS TILL I HAF herrt it zung py you! (Young W. P. blushes,) Vy, my young Vrent, efen YOU GANNOT MAKE IT RITIOULOUS !
OUR POLICE.
Running Commentary on the New Code, hy Verges Wrongscent, Esq. As a sort of set-off to the obligation the Detective lies under to provide himself with every possible disguise his duties may suddenly
entail on him for £18 a year, Clause 3 very reasonably points out that his work is “ more varied and interesting than ordinary street duty.” But it should never be undertaken
(bo the Clause wisely enjoins) unless he, pre
sumably in early childhood, has “manifested a voluntary inclination for it; ” and the father who, so to speak, pitchforks a son into the Force with some such remark as, “ Wants to be a rural Dean P Hang it, Sir, I tell you the boy shall be a Detective,—or I ’ll cut him off with a shilling! ” cannot be too
severely reprimanded. For, once a Detective, all the highest mental and moral faculties of which a great and rare human intelligence is capable, are called into play, and taxed to the utmost.
At onoe he must avoid proclaiming his official character hy any imprudent act, and, as if to guide him to a solution of this complex problem, Clause 11, with a fatherly solioitude, cautions him against ‘‘walking in step, or in a drilled style; wearing wry striking clothing, or displaying “ polios regulation hoots. It is clear from
this that the Deteotive who, for a freak of fancy, or even as a matter of, business, assumes the mantle, collar, and other insignia of a
A CAROL FOR CAMBRIA.
Air—“ Adgofion mehyd.”
“ The front row of choristers was composed of girls in Welsh costumes, two of them wearing the droll steeple-crowned hat
still habitually seen in Welsh country places. The Prince of Wales bestowed his first notice upon these damsels, pointed them out to the Princess, and sent his sergeant-footman to bring them over to the carriage.”—Report of Royal Visit to Swansea.
Oh, we shall have sweet recollection
Of Swansea, and what happened there ; We stood in a row for inspection,
And sung to the Prince a Welsh air. We wore the old hats of our nation,
That figure in legends and tales.
And won from the Prince admiration,
And from the fair Princess of Wales. Oh, day for all years to remember,
When summoned to stand near the Prince, Our cheeks red as leaves in November,
Our pleasure and pride would evince. For years we shaU tell the proud story,
Till memory totters and fails,
Of how we won honour and glory, The happiest girls in all Wales I
THE PRISONER INTERVIEWED.
(By Our Own Pen-and-ink- Wisitor at Kilmainham Gaol.)
“ What do you think of Archbishop Choke’s letter on the Land League Manifesto ? ” I asked.
“ Sir,” replied Mr. P-rn-ll, “ had I the misfortune to be a Saxon, I should misplace the aspirate, and speak of him as the Harsh-bishop.”
“The League must be suppressed,” I observed. “ Give you fellows an inch, and you ’U take an ell.”
“They’ve taken a Parn-ell,” he replied, pleasantly enough, “ and you and I will take some1 LL ’ together,” and he filled our glasses from his private whiskey-bottle.
“Here’s to the ‘LL’!” says I, meaning either the Lord Lieutenant or the whiskey.
“Here’s to the ‘LL’ and the ‘LLL’!” cries he; “ that’s the Land League and the Ladies’ Land League! ’’ I emptied my glass. When in prison, do as they do in prison.
“ But if the Land League’s suppressed----” I began. “Man alive!” exclaimed the Prisoner, with a wink,
and a nudge under my fifth rib, “ ye wouldn’t think of backing the Landlords against the Land Ladies, would ye now ? ”
“ Ah! ” I returned, with all my native gallantry, if you ’re going in for Petticoat Government——”
But at this moment Captain Baklow looked in, and we hid the bottle as if we’d been Sandford and Merton.
Military Knight Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath, and then, meeting the Guards’ Band, allows himself to be carried away by the
enthusiasm of the moment, and marches along with the attendant rabble in a lively, drilled style, with his trousers tucked inside his high-lows, is guilty of grave indiscretion. In a word, the Detective who, in a weak and evil moment, thus conducts himself, may be said practically to be lost.
But there is a brighter side to the picture. It is not every Clause that speaks with such terrible if necessary distinctness. Indeed, there is something almost tender in the admission of Article 7, which, in dealing with wrongful arrest, kindly commences with the consoling words “ Everyone is liable to make mistakes,” and then goes on to point out that an error in arrest should, “ the instant it is discovered be freely acknowledged.” There is sound sense, as well as delicate consideration in this. Nothing could be more fatal than to paralyse the zeal of an officer by the fear of consequences. An illustration will suffice to prove this. Imagine the case of a skiUed Detective, who has been set on the track of a celebrated burglar. Believing that “ his man,” who, he is told, has assumed respeotable apparel, is lurking about the neighbourhood of the Houses of Parliament, the better to enable him, without exciting suspicion, and yet with instant effect, to secure his prey, the Deteotive has disguised himself as the Chinese Ambassador, and further armed himself with a South American lasso and a salmon net.
All is now ready, and he sees the object of his search enter Westminster Hall. He follows him; a chaee, artfully excited, soon commences; and after tearing after him, with full hue and cry, up and down the various flights of stairs, and through the lobbies, he
Herr Professor (to young Warbleton Peacoclce, who has just sung Beethoven s “Adelaida ). “Ach ! vat A feaudivul Zong zat is ! I haf herrt it zung PY CARTONI. I HAF HERRT IT ZUNG PU ZIMS REEFS. ZEY ZUNG IT FERRY VELL ! Put I HAF neffer kvite known how peaudivul it VAS TILL I HAF herrt it zung py you! (Young W. P. blushes,) Vy, my young Vrent, efen YOU GANNOT MAKE IT RITIOULOUS !
OUR POLICE.
Running Commentary on the New Code, hy Verges Wrongscent, Esq. As a sort of set-off to the obligation the Detective lies under to provide himself with every possible disguise his duties may suddenly
entail on him for £18 a year, Clause 3 very reasonably points out that his work is “ more varied and interesting than ordinary street duty.” But it should never be undertaken
(bo the Clause wisely enjoins) unless he, pre
sumably in early childhood, has “manifested a voluntary inclination for it; ” and the father who, so to speak, pitchforks a son into the Force with some such remark as, “ Wants to be a rural Dean P Hang it, Sir, I tell you the boy shall be a Detective,—or I ’ll cut him off with a shilling! ” cannot be too
severely reprimanded. For, once a Detective, all the highest mental and moral faculties of which a great and rare human intelligence is capable, are called into play, and taxed to the utmost.
At onoe he must avoid proclaiming his official character hy any imprudent act, and, as if to guide him to a solution of this complex problem, Clause 11, with a fatherly solioitude, cautions him against ‘‘walking in step, or in a drilled style; wearing wry striking clothing, or displaying “ polios regulation hoots. It is clear from
this that the Deteotive who, for a freak of fancy, or even as a matter of, business, assumes the mantle, collar, and other insignia of a
A CAROL FOR CAMBRIA.
Air—“ Adgofion mehyd.”
“ The front row of choristers was composed of girls in Welsh costumes, two of them wearing the droll steeple-crowned hat
still habitually seen in Welsh country places. The Prince of Wales bestowed his first notice upon these damsels, pointed them out to the Princess, and sent his sergeant-footman to bring them over to the carriage.”—Report of Royal Visit to Swansea.
Oh, we shall have sweet recollection
Of Swansea, and what happened there ; We stood in a row for inspection,
And sung to the Prince a Welsh air. We wore the old hats of our nation,
That figure in legends and tales.
And won from the Prince admiration,
And from the fair Princess of Wales. Oh, day for all years to remember,
When summoned to stand near the Prince, Our cheeks red as leaves in November,
Our pleasure and pride would evince. For years we shaU tell the proud story,
Till memory totters and fails,
Of how we won honour and glory, The happiest girls in all Wales I
THE PRISONER INTERVIEWED.
(By Our Own Pen-and-ink- Wisitor at Kilmainham Gaol.)
“ What do you think of Archbishop Choke’s letter on the Land League Manifesto ? ” I asked.
“ Sir,” replied Mr. P-rn-ll, “ had I the misfortune to be a Saxon, I should misplace the aspirate, and speak of him as the Harsh-bishop.”
“The League must be suppressed,” I observed. “ Give you fellows an inch, and you ’U take an ell.”
“They’ve taken a Parn-ell,” he replied, pleasantly enough, “ and you and I will take some1 LL ’ together,” and he filled our glasses from his private whiskey-bottle.
“Here’s to the ‘LL’!” says I, meaning either the Lord Lieutenant or the whiskey.
“Here’s to the ‘LL’ and the ‘LLL’!” cries he; “ that’s the Land League and the Ladies’ Land League! ’’ I emptied my glass. When in prison, do as they do in prison.
“ But if the Land League’s suppressed----” I began. “Man alive!” exclaimed the Prisoner, with a wink,
and a nudge under my fifth rib, “ ye wouldn’t think of backing the Landlords against the Land Ladies, would ye now ? ”
“ Ah! ” I returned, with all my native gallantry, if you ’re going in for Petticoat Government——”
But at this moment Captain Baklow looked in, and we hid the bottle as if we’d been Sandford and Merton.
Military Knight Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath, and then, meeting the Guards’ Band, allows himself to be carried away by the
enthusiasm of the moment, and marches along with the attendant rabble in a lively, drilled style, with his trousers tucked inside his high-lows, is guilty of grave indiscretion. In a word, the Detective who, in a weak and evil moment, thus conducts himself, may be said practically to be lost.
But there is a brighter side to the picture. It is not every Clause that speaks with such terrible if necessary distinctness. Indeed, there is something almost tender in the admission of Article 7, which, in dealing with wrongful arrest, kindly commences with the consoling words “ Everyone is liable to make mistakes,” and then goes on to point out that an error in arrest should, “ the instant it is discovered be freely acknowledged.” There is sound sense, as well as delicate consideration in this. Nothing could be more fatal than to paralyse the zeal of an officer by the fear of consequences. An illustration will suffice to prove this. Imagine the case of a skiUed Detective, who has been set on the track of a celebrated burglar. Believing that “ his man,” who, he is told, has assumed respeotable apparel, is lurking about the neighbourhood of the Houses of Parliament, the better to enable him, without exciting suspicion, and yet with instant effect, to secure his prey, the Deteotive has disguised himself as the Chinese Ambassador, and further armed himself with a South American lasso and a salmon net.
All is now ready, and he sees the object of his search enter Westminster Hall. He follows him; a chaee, artfully excited, soon commences; and after tearing after him, with full hue and cry, up and down the various flights of stairs, and through the lobbies, he