_Justice._ Welcome, Sister. We sometimes are severed, but when we do meet the right prevails. _Law._ Certainly, Sister--to a great extent. And what is the cause of our present communion? _Justice._ I have to call your attention, Sister, to many great works of mercy recently performed by wielders of the pen--in fact some of my servants. _Law._ Your servants are noted for their good works. _Justice._ You are very kind. Well, these good servants have defended the poor, protected the weak, and denounced hypocrites. _Law._ Very right indeed. But how did they manage it without my assistance? _Justice._ You have a short memory. It was with your aid that they brought these good things about. Surely you have not forgotten them? _Law._ Well, since I have been combined with Equity I have been doing so much excellent work that I have neither time nor inclination for the recording of details. Well, and your _protégés_, were they successful? _Justice._ Certainly; they won all along the line. Never was the power of the Press manifested to better advantage. _Law._ Surely they were not in actions for libel? _Justice._ Yes; and although they did much good, were practically mulcted in costs. _Law._ Costs! That is in my department! _Justice._ And not in mine. Costs in such a matter have nothing to do with Justice! _Law._ But (as you say) are inseparably connected with Law! [_They part hurriedly._ * * * * * [Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY.] _She._ "AND YOU'LL HAVE TO MAKE A SPEECH AFTER DINNER, WON'T YOU?" _He._ "OH--I SHALL JUST HAVE TO TALK A LITTLE NONSENSE TO THEM, YOU KNOW!" _She._ "AH--AND NOBODY'S BETTER QUALIFIED TO DO THAT THAN YOURSELF!" * * * * * THE STOUT SINGER'S SMILE. O buxom maiden, blithe and gay, With movements light and airy, Some five-and-twenty stone you weigh, Fair, fat and forty fairy! A fairy of the music-halls, Some men might call you ripping; In tights, and satin coat and smalls, You enter, gaily skipping. It is not that which brings me joy, Nor face, nor form entrances, It is your smile, so very coy, Your bashful, girlish glances. Some twenty years ago, no doubt, You were a slender maiden, But now, so long you have been "out," With weight of years you're laden. So when you sing of love-sick grief, And smile so very sweetly, I, too, behind my handkerchief, Smile quite unseen, discreetly. The more you sing the more you smile, Stout charmer, winsome, winning, Dressed like _Lord Fauntleroy_--meanwhile, Like Cheshire Cat I'm grinning. Then comes the end; you curtsy low, With looks to heaven soaring; You are extremely funny so, I'm positively roaring. They clap, they shout, they thump the floor, These "gents" serenely smoking, You kiss your hand, smile yet once more, And leave me simply choking.