ishment of a gallery for British Art."

[Illustration: Young Father Dillwyn.]

"That's not quite it," said Young Father DILLWYN, with hand to ear,
listening from corner seat below Gangway he shares with that other
eminent statesman, the SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE. "What we complain
of is, that you have so managed matters that the door hasn't been
opened."

"Ah, well," said JOKIM, wringing his hands, "it's no use my trying
anything. Remember once seeing in dock of police-court at Lyons, a
sailor brought up charged with some offence. On his arm was tattooed
the legend, '_Pas de chance_.' He told long story of honest endeavour,
combined with strict honesty and tireless industry, ever frustrated by
malign accident. In short, he was no sooner out of prison than he was
sent back upon fresh conviction. He had no chance, and one time, in
enforced retirement from the world, he indelibly inscribed the legend
on his forearm. _Moi aussi, je n'ai pas de chance._ Ever since I
joined this Government things have gone wrong with me, whether in
Budget Schemes, when acting as Deputy Leader of the House, with L1
notes, and now in this affair, where I run my head against TATE (sort
of _tete-a-tete_), and, though I'm innocent as a lamb, everybody will
have it that I've muddled things and lost the nation a munificent
gift. _Pas de chance; cher Toby; pas de chance!_"

[Illustration: Craig (not Ailsa).]

HANBURY been looking into our Army Service, and behold! it is very
bad. Condemns it, lock, stock, and barrel. Things no better than they
were in time of Crimean War. Our Army costs more, and could do less
than any in the world. Curious to find statement like this gravely
made in presence of twenty-eight Members, all told, including the
SPEAKER. Suppose it's true, Empire on verge of precipice, into which,
on slightest impulse, it may totter and disappear. Hon. Members, in
the main, care so little that they busy themselves writing letters,
chatting in Lobby, gossipping in Smoke-room; the few present admirably
succeed in disguising terror that must possess them as HANBURY, in
solemn voice, utters his lamentation.

"HANBURY," said CRAIG, looking across the House at tall figure below
Gangway, "reminds me of the old party that rust LOCHIEL, and told him
his prospects in the next war were at least doubtful,--

'LOCHIEL, LOCHIEL, beware of the day
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle-array.'"

LOCHIEL STANHOPE recks no more than the