You are very fond of laughing at the parrot, I observe. Now, I don’t care for the parrot. I don’t admire the parrot’s voice—it wants hoarseness. And I despise the parrot’s livery—considering black the only true wear. I would as soon stick my bill into the parrot’s breast as look at him. Sooner. But if you come to that, and you laugh at the parrot because the parrot says the same thing over and over again, don’t you think you could get up a laugh at yourselves? Did you ever know a Cabinet Minister say of a flagrant job or great abuse, perfectly notorious to the whole country, that he had never heard a word of it himself, but could assure the honourable gentleman that every enquiry should be made? Did you ever hear a Justice remark, of any extreme example of ignorance, that it was a most extraordinary case, and he couldn’t have believed in the possibility of such a case—when there had been, all through his life, ten thousand such within sight of his chimney-pots? Did you ever hear, among yourselves, anything approaching to a parrot repetition of the words, Constitution, Country, Public Service, Self-Government, Centralisation, Un-English, Capital, Balance of Power, Vested Interests, Corn, Rights of Labor, Wages, or so forth? _Did_ you ever? No! Of course, you never! But to come back to that fellow BUFFON. He finds us Ravens to be most extraordinary creatures. We have properties so remarkable, that you’d hardly believe it. ‘A piece of money, a teaspoon, or a ring,’ he says, ‘are always tempting baits to our avarice. These we will slily seize upon; and, if not watched, carry to our favorite hole.’ How odd! Did you ever hear of a place called California? _I_ have. I understand there are a number of animals over there, from all parts of the world, turning up the ground with their bills, grubbing under the water, sickening, moulting, living in want and fear, starving, dying, tumbling over on their backs, murdering one another, and all for what? Pieces of money that they want to carry to their favourite holes. Ravens every one of ’em! Not a man among ’em, bless you! Did you ever hear of Railway Scrip? _I_ have. We made a pretty exhibition of ourselves about that, we feathered creatures! Lord, how we went on about that Railway Scrip! How we fell down, to a bird, from the Eagle to the Sparrow, before a scarecrow, and worshipped it for the love of the bits of rag and paper fluttering from its dirty pockets! If it hadn’t tumbled down in its rottenness, we should have clapped a title on it within ten years, I’ll be sworn!—Go along with you, and your BUFFON, and don’t talk to me! ‘The Raven don’t confine himself to petty depredations on the pantry or the larder’—here you are with your BUFFON again—‘but he soars at more magnificent plunder, that he can neither exhibit nor enjoy.’ This must be very strange to you men—more than it is to the Cat who lived with that old lady, though!