_Friday._--Success attending new device of issuing tickets whereby seats may be appropriated before prayers, naturally leads to further development. Now proposed that replica in wax shall be made of all Members. These stored in crypt. When Member arrives just takes up his wax image, carries it under arm, pops it down on his seat, and is at liberty to wander about at pleasure. Of course, if Member intends to be in his place continuously, won't bring out the wax figger; be in his seat himself. But five times out of six only looks in now and then, and likes to know that his seat is being kept. New custom will be particularly convenient on Treasury Bench. SQUIRE OF MALWOOD frets at continuous absence of his colleagues during debate. Sometimes goes out to look for them, and stays away long time himself. With wax figgers all this trouble obviated. Treasury Bench always full, either with flesh or figger. If Minister called away, pulls out label, hangs it over figger's neck with legend, "Back in ten minutes," or the like. Whilst convenience of Members thus cared for, satisfaction of strangers in galleries largely increased. No more beggarly array of empty benches. Possibly during dinner-hour there may be noticeable a certain fixed smile on faces along crowded benches; but that better than what we've long been accustomed to. _Business done._--Busy B's took care that not too many Votes in Supply should be granted. * * * * * [Illustration: THE ROOT OF THE MATTER. SIMPLE SUGGESTION TO MASTERS OF HOUNDS (FOX OR HARRIERS) FOR INSURING THE DIRECTION IN WHICH THEIR PACKS SHOULD RUN. ["If persons went out hunting, and, by means of their hounds, did damage to other people who were in proper use of the highway, they must take the consequences. There ought to be such command over hounds that they should not be allowed to rush over the highway."--_Opinion of His Honour Judge L-w-s in Action brought by Mr. H-gh M-rr-s against Hon. C. H. W-nn._--"_Yorkshire Post._"] ] * * * * * A WARM LAMENT. (_In one of the recent Intervals of Sunshine._) O passer-by, I prithee hark to me! You wonder, maybe, why my eyelids glisten With clinging dewy teardrops, salt as sea. I'll tell the story of my sadness. Listen! The Arctic cold we've had so much of late Made every fibre of my body quiver; I struggled hard against relentless fate, Then I decided I would no more shiver. And that's just it. My grief now knows no bounds; It crushes me; I don't know how to bear it. I bought a new fur coat for fifteen pounds, And now it's got so hot I cannot wear it! * * * * *