[Mournfully.
Pay at the counter as you pass without.
(Here you are supposed to watch your rival's exit with a gloomy scowl.)
Thus ends my vengeance as some idle dream,
Yet no—'tis but deferred, with interest!
(You conclude with a bitter apostrophe to your intended victim.)
Back to your Bandolina, plumaged daw!
Be bald, but resolute, in your disguise,
Till haply on her honeymoon she learns
How you have drawn her with that single hair,
And I may be avenged! Till then, adieu!
(Stalk gloomily off, and allow somebody else to remove the chair.)
On the Stump, in Two Senses.—So the Parliamentary Session and the Cricket Season are over at last, and contemporaneously. The latter has been productive of long scores and high averages, the former of little but long speeches and low language. And now two teams of British Cricketers are outward bound by the Iberia, for a holiday campaign in Australia. Nobody knows exactly how many teams of slogging politicians are also going for their holiday campaign—"on the stump," all over the Kingdom. Mr. Punch wishes the two lots of willow-wielders, led respectively by Mr. Vernon and Arthur Shrewsbury, a far merrier time and much better "scores" than he fears will fall to the lot of the peripatetic Parliamentarians.