ALICE IN THUNDERLAND.
Alice ... The TH-ND-R-R. White Queen ... H-RC-RT. Red Queen ... CH-MB-RL-N.
"I'll tell you what it is, your Majesty," said ALICE in a severe tone (she was always rather fond of scolding the White Queen), "it'll never do to swagger about all over the place like that! Dignitaries have to be dignified, you know!"
Everything was happening so oddly (since Thunderland had turned against Blunderland) that she didn't feel a bit surprised at finding the Red Queen and the White Queen sitting close to her, one on each side. But she found it rather difficult to be quite civil to them—especially the White Queen, who had once been rather a favourite with her, but at whom she now never lost an opportunity of girding.
"Always speak the truth," said the Red Queen (cocking her nose at the White)—"think before you speak—and write it down afterwards. It's safest, if you're dealing with some persons."
"That's just what I complain of," said the White Queen, loftily. "You couldn't tell the truth—about that Table—if you tried with both hands."
"I don't tell the truth with my hands," the Red Queen objected, icily.
"Nobody said you did," said the White Queen. "Nobody said you told it anyhow. I said you couldn't if you tried. And you don't try either. So there!"
"She's in that state of mind," said the Red Queen, "that she wants to deny something—only she doesn't know what to deny!"
"A nasty vicious temper," the White Queen remarked; and then there was an uncomfortable silence for a month or two.
The White Queen broke the silence by saying to the Red Queen, "I invite you to ALICE's Party—which used to be neutral ground—to explain, if you can, that nondescript nonsense of yours about National Councils as a substitute for Home Rule."
The Red Queen smiled sourly, and said, "And I invite you"
"I didn't know I was to have a Party at all," said ALICE. "Parties are things I don't hold with, as a rule; too great a tax and a tie. I like my freedom, I do. But, if I am to have one, I think I ought to invite the guests."
"ALICE of Thunderland, you require some lessons in manners," the White Queen remarked.
"Manners are not taught in lessons," said ALICE. "Lessons teach some people to do sums, and things of that sort."
"Can you do addition?" the Red Queen asked scornfully of the White. ("Bah, she can't do sums a bit!" she added, aside.)
"She is doubtless better at Division," interposed ALICE, significantly.
"Divide a State by a Statutory Parliament," said the Red Queen, with a derisive wink. "What's the right answer to that?"
"Much the same as dividing a Nation by an indefinite number of Councils," retorted the White Queen, smartly. "Talk about tu quoques, there's one for you!"
"Oh, as for that," rejoined the Red Queen, sniffing, "try another subtraction sum! Take a Grand Old Leader from a 'Party' of discredited 'Items,' and what would remain?"
"Why, a Policy, of course," replied the White Queen. "And another Leader," she added, sotto voce. "Here's another for you," she pursued, aloud. "Take a Liberal-Unionist Tail from a Radical 'Rat,' what would remain then?"
"I suppose you think nothing would remain," sneered the Red Queen.
"Wrong, as usual," said the White Queen; "the Rat's nasty temper would remain."
"But I don't see how!"
"Why, look here," the White Queen cried; "the Rat would lose its temper with its 'tail,' wouldn't it?"
"Perhaps it would," ALICE replied, cautiously.
"Then, if the 'Rat' went away from its 'Tail,' its temper would remain," the White Queen exclaimed.
ALICE said, as gravely as she could. "They might go different ways—the 'Rat,' the 'Tail,' and the 'Temper.'" But she couldn't help thinking to herself, "What dreadful nonsense we are talking!"
THE ONLY ONE.—A ready-penning writer in his Daily Graphic notice of doings in the Houses of Parliament, winds up his description of giving the Royal Assent to Bills in the Upper House with these words—"So ends the ceremony, which seems to take one away from the Nineteenth Century"—a little sum in subtraction—i.e., take one away from the Nineteenth Century, and the Eighteenth Century remains; but to continue—"back to the days of the Edwards and the Henrys." But why go back to any other century than the "so-called Nineteenth"? Isn't it only a very few years ago that the EDWARDS, the singular HENRY with plural surname of EDWARDS, sat for Weymouth? What other HENRYS or EDWARDS could ever occur to any well-conditioned Parliamentary scribe?