spectful invitation from some Brook Street
Photographers to favour them (without charge) with a sitting, "to
enable them to complete their series of portraits of distinguished
legal gentlemen," regrets to say that, as he has already sat for
another Firm making the same request (see _Papers from Pump-handle
Court_), he is unable to comply with their courteous request. However,
he is pleased to hear that a similar petition has been forwarded
to others of his learned friends, one of whom writes to say, he
"possesses a wig, and the right to wear it, but that there his
connection with the Law begins and ends." Mr. A. BRIEFLESS, Junr.,
wishes the industrious Firm every success in their public-spirited
undertaking.

* * * * *

GOSCHEN CUM DIG.; OR, THE (FAR FROM) DYING SWAN.

(A LONG WAY AFTER LORD TENNYSON.)

[Illustration: "WHAT I LIKE ABOUT THIS RECESS IS ITS PERFECT QUIET!"]

"Were I to go further into detail, I should show you that the
floodgates of (financial) abuse have been opened even to a
much larger extent than I have described. We are getting into
a system under which Parliament is treated, and the country is
treated, to the exhibition of fictitious surpluses of revenue
over expenditure."--_Mr. Gladstone (at Hastings) on Mr.
Goschen's Finance._

I.

The backwater was snug and fair,
And the gay Canoeist cavorted there.
Thinks he, "I have built up everywhere
A reputation for pluck and stay!"
Amidst the reeds the river ran;
Behind them floated a Grand Old Swan,
And loudly did lament
The better deeds of a better day;
Ever the gray Canoeist went on,
Making his memos. as he went.

II.

"My foes are piqued, I must suppose,
But cannot see their way to a 'Cry.'"
(So mused the man with the Semite nose,
As up the backwater he swept.)
"What I like" (said he) "in this nook so shy,
Is that I am quiet, and free as a swallow,
Squaring accounts at my own sweet will.
With never a fear of the Big Swan's Bill!
The Swan's as quiet as though he slept.
I fancy I've funked the fierce old fellow!"

III.

The Grand Old Swan came out of his hole,
Snorting with furious joy.
Hidden by rushes he yet drew near,
Behind the Canoeist, until on his ear
Those snortings fell, both full and clear.
Floating about the backwater shy,
Stronger and stronger the shindy stole,
Filling the start