_Father Thames._ "NOW THEN, STIR UP, OLD STICK-IN-THE-MUD! SUMMER OR WINTER, YOU'RE STILL FOUND WANTING, AND THEN _I_ GET THE BLAME!"] * * * * * THE RED ORCHID. (_Soliloquy of a Victorious Statesman._) [Mr. CHAMBERLAIN at the opening of Parliament wore a red orchid in his buttonhole.] Of colour-symbols much we hear, And something, too, of colour-music; But here's a sight that much I fear Will make the beaten Red Rad crew sick: Red! 'Tis the hue of my old flag-- In days that are as dead as mutton; Now, with the instinct of a wag, I sport it still,--but at my button. It signifies how much I care For the "consistency," quite brainless, Which is the Radical bugbear. Their poisoned darts are harmless, painless. _JUDAS?_ Egregious TANNER tries, In vain, to link me with ISCARIOT. What need I care for envious lies, With S. and B. bound to my chariot. They'd bite my heel, I crush their head, And wear their colour in--my orchid! Red! It will make the Rads "see red," They're fangless, though their tongues be forkèd. "They toil not, neither do they spin,"-- I said, of the old Tory lilies. Now they will have to work, to win, And that the Rads don't see--the sillies! SALISBURY'S Tories were one thing, My Unionists are another matter; My Ransom-Song no more I sing,-- Then I was bowler, now I'm batter. We have new wickets, smooth and dry, And one who coolly smites and places, May, with firm wrist and steady eye, Outshine the greatest of the Graces, "The white flower of a blameless life" Is--well, laid up at last at Harwarden, Sheltered from storm, afar from strife, And--other blossoms deck the garden. Roses and lilies had their turn, Now other blooms woo sun and showers; And the Red Orchid--well, they'll learn-- In time--the new Language of Flowers! Of parasitic opulence Orchids are types, it will be said, The difference though may be immense When the new Orchid's _mine_--and Red! * * * * * [Illustration: ON THE CARDS. _Young Wife._ "OH, MAMMA, DO YOU KNOW I BELIEVE ALFRED'S GOING TO REFORM AND GIVE UP GAMBLING!" _Her Mother._ "WHAT MAKES YOU THINK SO DEAR?" _Young Wife._ "WHY ALL LAST NIGHT HE KEPT TALKING IN HIS SLEEP ABOUT HIS MISERABLE, WORTHLESS HEART!"] * * * * * THE NEARLY REACHED SHILLING. (_A School-Board Chronicle._) "Utterly impossible!" replied the official. "A good plain cook! No, the Board does not create persons of that kind. If you had wanted a _chef_ for a club, or a _cordon bleu_ for a West End hotel, we might have accommodated you. But a good plain cook! No--utterly impossible!" "But surely cookery is taught in the schools," pleaded the Ratepayer.