Adieu for evermore,
My Boy!
Adieu for evermore!"
The Two Canons and Bean-baggers.—The Bean-baggers are likely to come badly off with two such big guns against them as Canons Liddon and McColl. Let the matter be settled amicably by agreeing that whatever it was they did see was a "What-you-McColl-it."
HOW TO ESCAPE THE FOG.
Fogs? Nonsense! Fogs are always mist. And the way to miss them is to go to the Institute of Painters in Oil. That will oil the wheels of life in this atrociously hibernal weather, and make existence in a fog enjoyable. There, in the well-warmed, pleasantly-lighted rooms, will you find countless pleasant pictures—delightful sea-subjects, charming landscapes, and amusing scenes, by accomplished painters, which will infuse a little Summer into the dull, depressing, brumous, filthy atmosphere of a weary London Winter. If you cannot get away to Monte Carlo, Mentone, Nice, or Rome, hasten at once and take one of Sir John Linton's excursion coupons, and personally conduct yourself—if you don't conduct yourself as you ought, you'll probably be turned out—round the well-filled galleries in Piccadilly.
Sir Drummond is ordered off to Teheran. "Well, we're successful in keeping one Wolff from our door," as Sir Gorst, Q.C., observed to Grandolph. "Poor Wolffy!" sighed Grandolph. "I shall write a fable on 'The Wolff and the Shah!'"