EDITORIAL CHAMBER!

SCENE 2.--The Strand. Meeting of two Reporters, one coming up from the
House of Commons, the other going down. "_Likely to sit?_" "_Another
hour--Irish row._" "_Bless those Irish!_" "_Amen._" They part--_exit_
Reporter to the House. The other lights a cigar, and three ruffians
spring out upon him. They have long Macintosh coats, but beneath the
disguise is seen the glittering uniform of the Guards. "_You bring the
wepawt of_ LORD NAMBY MACPAMBY'S _Speech_!" "_I have._" "_Hand it
over._" "_With my life only._" They seize him, but he dashes his cigar
into the face of the first, and wrestles with the second, but would be
over-mastered by the third, when the latter is dashed to the earth. Two
run away, the last is prisoner. "_But, who is my preserver?_" "_Sir, I
am but a numble actor, but you were once kyind to me in a notice of my_
Clown _in the Pantermine, and, believe me, Sir, kyindness is like the
gentle jew from eaven, which droppeth, &c._" They drag the prisoner
beneath a lamp. "THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE MARQUIS OF HAUGHTYCASTLE! _Ha,
minion!_" "_Nay, let him go--my numble Friend. I know the game._ A
LADY'S SECRET."

SCENE 3.--Same as first. Beautiful woman comes out in tears. "_He was
most courteous, but firm as the monumental adamant._" She enters the
carriage, and throws herself sobbing on the cushion. Policeman springs
in after her, and seating himself opposite, throws his bull's-eye full
on her face. "_My husband!_" "_Aye, wrrrretched woman. Drive on_,
JEEMES." (In a voice of thunder.) "HOME!" (With intense irony,) "_Your_
home, Madam; yours, _once loved_ CORONETTINA."

* * * * *

ACT TWO.

The House of Commons. Very full. Cries of "_Order, order!_" Clamour
increases, and no one can be heard. Fifty Members on their legs, trying
to speak. LORD JOHN RUSSELL springs upon the table and gesticulates
violently; but all that can be heard from him, is "_Obleege_," and
"_Constitution_." MR. DISRAELI dashes his hand furiously upon the Green
Box, which gives way, and all his oranges roll out. Scramble and comic
business. LORD NAMBY MACPAMBY rises; dressed in the extreme of fashion,
and also extremely tipsy. Terrific cries of "_Spoke, spoke!_" The
Chairman of Committees falls on his knees and pleads for silence, but
sinks beneath the volley of blue books, votes, and bills, instantly
hurled at him from all the Members. Suddenly the SPEAKER rushes in,
seizes the mace, and