seats remain:
But yet a future we foresee
When Women will the rulers be,
And Men will beg a Pass-degree,
Will beg, and beg in vain!

* * *

P.S.--The pith of our petition
Is seldom understood,
It is not all ambition,
Though this, no doubt, is good;
But, speaking frankly, we declare
The point for which we really care
Is just to gain the right to wear
That _most_ becoming hood!

* * * * *

THE WITLER'S WISION OF WENGEANCE.

(IN A SLIGHTLY PICKWICKIAN SENSE.)

[Illustration: _Being the Dream of an angry "Brother Bung" after
attending the Meeting at St. James's Hall, and trying to soothe
himself with a dip into Dickens._]

["He" Lord BURTON, "asked why this drastic, this dishonest, this
catchpenny, this gerrymandering Bill should have been brought in?....
They had heard much of late about the Nonconformist Conscience, which
was said to be the backbone of the Liberal Party. He firmly believed
that the Bill had been brought forward to suit the Nonconformist
Conscience, to pander to the hypocritical self-righteousness, and the
sham respectability of a certain class."--_Lord Burton, at the St.
James's Hall Meeting, on the Direct Veto Bill._]

* * * * *

Mr. WITLER, the elder, gave vent to an extraordinary sound, which,
being neither a groan, nor a grunt, nor a gasp, nor a howl, nor a
hoot, nor a hiss, nor a shout, nor a shriek, yet seemed to partake
in some degree of the character of all these inarticulate laryngeal
exercises. It was a big vocal blend, and a stentorian; it made him
pant and turn apoplectically purple in the face, it shook the house,
and very nearly "brought it down."

Mr. WITLER'S "wocal wagaries" (as his son called them) when he _was_
roused, were something tremendous, earthquaky, appalling!

Mr. SWIGSLOP STIGGINS, a leading Shepherd of the Nonconformist
Rechabite Flock, unwarned by this nondescript sound, which he
understood to betoken remorse or repentance, in fact, an awakening of
the "Nonconformist Conscience," in a somewhat unlikely quarter,
looked about him, rubbed his hands, wept, smiled, wept again, and
then mechanically uttering a guttural "Hear! Hear!" (as though he were
listening, in the House of Commons, to the jocund HARCOURT, or the
jocular LAWSON, or the robustious T. W. RUSSELL, or the astute CAINE)
and then, walking across the room to a well-remembered pigeon-hole,
to