"And I do not hesitate to betray to you this secret, that not infrequently in the summer months, when winding my way homewards after midnight, sometimes very long after it, from the House of Commons, I have stopped my course for a moment by the side of the drinking fountain in Great George Street, Westminster, when there was nobody to look at me, and have indulged in the refreshing draught which was there afforded me, feeling at the same time that I was not performing any action which could expose me to the resentment or displeasure of my excellent friend whose name is well known to you all—Sir WILFRID LAWSON."
I'D BE A CRIMINAL.
A SONG OF THE RULING SENSATION.
TUNE—I'd be a Butterfly.
I'd be a criminal, born in a slum,
Where refuse, and rowdies, and raggedness meet;
For when to the court for my trial I come,
I'll be gazed on by all that is gracious and sweet.