Since your election your attitude on every question has been deplorable, and although I am of the opposite party I may say that in this view I am in no sense actuated by party feeling. This is a matter too serious for the bitterness of partisanship. I repeat that in my opinion you have frequently employed the blustering artifice of a rhetorical hireling. Unless I hear from you within half-an-hour I shall send a copy of this letter to the Press. Yours faithfully, A. B. C. WENTWORTH-COKE. P.S.--Could you oblige me by letting me know who was the originator of the phrase? N. Y. Z. THOMSON-THOMSON, ESQ. SIR,--You have totally failed to substantiate the serious charges you made against me, and I am sorry, for the sweetness of political life, that you have not had the courage or the fairness to withdraw them. I am glad that we have been able to conduct this correspondence on the courteous lines which have ever characterised our public careers. I have sent a copy of this letter to the Press. Yours faithfully, N. Y. Z. THOMSON-THOMSON. P.S.--I do not know who was the author of the phrase. But I knew _you_ couldn't be. A. B. C. WENTWORTH-COKE, ESQ. SIR,--I have nothing to add to my last letter. Yours truly, A. B. C. WENTWORTH-COKE. P.S.--I purpose sending a copy of this letter to the Press. N. Y. Z. THOMSON-THOMSON, ESQ. * * * * * Some idea of last week's Parliamentary crisis may be gathered from the following poster:-- ------------- | CABINET | | SENDS FOR | | FRENCH | ------------- Our neighbours across the water were too busy with their own troubles to respond. Much better have sent for Germans. Their arrival might have pulled us together. * * * * * SHOP. (_Spring Thoughts by One In Trade._) When the new Spring is drawing near There always rises in my blood A keen desire to see the year Fresh opening in the bud. From my tame task to wander free; For one brief day to get me gone To some sweet rural spot, and see How things are getting on. So, when a rising glass invites, Off by the ready train I fare; How sweet are all the country sights, How fresh the country air! Here every prospect has its charm; On every side I find a spell; There is a pleasure in a farm, And (almost) in the smell. 'Tis sweet to see the pretty lambs, To mark them as they frisk and jump, Or nestle round their anxious dams, So placid and so plump.