THE COMPOSITION OF THE PARTY.
Well, you know what it was once upon a time. There was A BALFOUR—beg pardon, should say, THE BALFOUR—and DRUMMY WOLFFY, and De GORSTIBUS non disputandum ("no arguing with GORST"), and self. As good a quartette, though I say it who shouldn't, as ever sat down to a concerted piece, with myself as First Fiddle. But now—"Where am dat barty now?"—I don't know if I quote correctly; quoting correctly is not my forte. "Dat barty," suggests WOLFF; he was the "barty" of our party, in the merry days of old. Now—none of 'em here, and I with my ink-stand before me, a pencil, a pen, note-books galore, and any amount of foolscap, represent "the composition" of our party. I must get on with my "compo." Is reminds me of doing a "Theme" at Eton. This is a holiday task. One, two, three, off!—and away!