Considerable resentment was shown in the Ursine encampment at Mr. LLOYD GEORGE'S somewhat disparaging reference to the bear's hug. (It will be remembered that he compared with it the attitude of the Tories in respect of the Finance Bill.) The CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER evidently regarded it as an insincere caress, whereas it was a perfectly honest expression of hostility. This attack was all the more unjust and undeserved since the bear was a most hardworking and underpaid member of the community. When a politician reached the top of the poll he got L400 a year. When a bear did the same he only got a penny bun. A conversation with a leading representative of the colony of Penguins revealed the interesting fact that they were incapable of appreciating our Parliamentary procedure owing to their hereditary inability to sit down. * * * * * Illustration: _Mr. Punch's_ HOLIDAY PAGES. * * * * * THE PRIMA DONNA. [_The repertoire of Summer is here made to embrace the prelude of many good things that come within the wider scope of the holiday season._] Good gentlemen, good gentlemen, we crave your kind attention! Here's Summer, at your service (till you bid the lady stop); Good gentlemen, she's songs for you--'tis time to drop dissension; 'Tis time to cut the cackle and to close awhile the shop; For stags shall be in Badenoch, and Kent hath twined the hop. Yes, songs for every son o' you, and all have silver linings! Good gentlemen, good gentlemen, it's close, your London air; If I'm mixing up the proverbs, 'tis because my roads run shining Through the fret of far-off pine-woods, and I'm wishful to be there; Or at hand among the hop-poles when the vines are trailing fair. Good gentlemen, the prologue! Here's a programme most attractive: She's songs for everyone o' you--oh, rare the tunes and rich! Here's hackneyed _Devon Harbours_ (but the pollock's biting active); Here's _Evening_ (rise in Hampshire); here's _The Roller on the Pitch_; And music in the lot o' them--it doesn't matter which. We've long _White Roads o' Brittany_ and pretty _Wayside Posies_, _Blue Bays_ (beneath the undercliff--the white sails crawling by); We've _Rabbits in a Hedgerow_ (how the bustling Clumber noses); We've _Grouse Across the Valley_ (crashing crumpled from the sky); And magic's in each note of her--it doesn't matter why. Here's _Salmon Songs_ and _Shrimping Songs_, according to your pocket; Here's _Hopping_ (with a lurcher--twice as useful as a gun For the fat young August pheasants that'll never live to rocket); Here's a jolly _Song o' Golf Balls_; here's the tune of _Cubs that Run_; We've something for each Jack o' you, for every mother's son.