Spectral Caretaker. "''Ouse o' Lords,' Sir? Why, it's GONE!!"
"If," says Wilfrid Lawson, an authority on Church matters, "it were customary to commence the Session by singing a hymn I know what Squire of Malwood would give out. It's the one beginning
And are we still alive
And see each other's face?
Thought it was to be all over before Christmas; Cabinet broken up; everybody retiring; Parliament dissolved; demoralised Party finally smashed up at polls; the other side left to settle who was to be who in best of all Governments. 'Instead of which,' as the Judge said, here we are in for a long Session, with, as usual, more work on hand than could be done in two."
"So you haven't resigned after all?" I remarked, getting up on a chair to have a chat with the Squire of Malwood.
"Et tu, Toby!" he cried. "I thought better of your intelligence. I welcome re-opening of Session for one thing. Obliged to be in my place every night. Whilst House is sitting people will see I haven't resigned. That should—don't know that it will—check to certain extent what at Derby I ventured distantly to allude to as mendacious inventions. I have, as you know, had a somewhat troublesome time during recess. Rarely got up in morning but found by newspapers I had resigned overnight. Seldom went to bed without conviction derived from glancing over evening papers that I had upset the Ministerial coach—I, the mildest mannered man that ever sat in Cabinet Council. Daresay you remember incident in almost equally troubled career of Louis the Sixteenth. When he was brought back to Paris and lodged in Tuileries after his flight to Varennes, the sans-culottes, Messieurs et Madames, could not sleep in their beds at night from apprehension that king had again escaped. They used to make up little family parties, stroll down to Tuileries, mass themselves before the King's bedroom window, and call upon Louis Capet to show himself. The King thereupon got out of bed, put on red Cap of Liberty and showed himself at the window. 'Mes enfants,' he said, 'you see I am here.' 'Tres bien,' said Monsieur, Madame, et le Bébé, and trudged back content to the Faubourg St. Antoine. Now that was all very well for a King. But you know, Toby, it can't be expected of me in so-called holiday times to be constantly attending knocks at the front door, or even getting up in the dead of night, showing myself at the window, and saying, 'My good newspaper friends, I have not resigned.'"
Business done.—Just commenced.
"The Portrait of Nobody."—When the signature "Oυτις" first appeared to a pamphlet or an article, people wondered "who 'tis?" and "'ow 'tis he knows all about it?" The signature appearing again to an article in The New Review, No. 69, suggests that though the author has an anti-scriptural objection to a single-eyed individual, perhaps 'Oυτις' simply indicates a person who, with the majority of us, detests an egotist. Only one would hardly gather this explanation of the assumption of this classic and poetic signature from the style of the article.