Mother received the news very well. "Accepted you, my darling boy?" she said. "Of course she did. How _could_ she do otherwise? Bring her to see me soon. She shall, of course, have all the family jewels immediately, and the dining-room furniture too. There'll be a few other trifles too, I daresay, that you'll be glad of." Dear Mother, she's the kindest soul in the world. _Carlo_ has been informed of the news, and is said to have manifested an extraordinarily intelligent appreciation of it, by insisting on a second helping for supper. He's a remarkable dog. * * * * * "SEMPER EADEM." ["The position of the Jews in Russia becomes daily more terrible. An order that they are henceforth to work upon their Sabbath and holy festivals is about to be issued and put in force."--_Standard_.--"A most pertinent illustration of the falsity of repeated rumours and reports representing in some cases a strong disposition, and in others an actual decision, on the part of the CZAR and the Russian Government, to alleviate the miseries of the Jews."--_Times_.] Who said the scourge should slacken? Who foretold The goad should cease, the shackle loose its hold? The wish, perchance, fathered once more the thought, Though long experience against it fought. Not so! The CZAR's in Muscovy, and all Is well with--Tyranny! The harried thrall Shall still be harried, though, a little while, The Autocrat on the Republic smile; The Jew shall be robbed, banished, outraged still, Although the tyrant, with a shuddering thrill Diplomacy scarce hides, for some brief days Must listen to the hated "_Marseillaise_!" Fear not, Fanatic! Despot do not doubt! The rule of Orthodoxy and the Knout Is not yet over wholly. France may woo, Columbia plead, the Jew is still the Jew; And, spite of weak humanitarian fuss, CÆSAR be praised, the Russ is still the Russ! * * * * * A GROUSE OUTRAGE.--Shooting them before the Twelfth. * * * * * "WON'T WORK!" AIR--"_ST. PATRICK'S DAY IN THE MORNING_." _IRISH SPORTSMAN SINGS_:-- [Illustration] St. Patrick, they say, Kicked the snakes in the say, But, ochone! if he'd had such a hound-pack as mine, I fancy the Saint, (Without further complaint) Would have toed the whole troop of them into the brine. Once they shivered and stared, At my whip-cracking scared; Now the clayrics with mitre and crosier and book, Put the scumfish on me, And, so far as I see, There's scarce a dog-crayture But's changed in his nature. I must beat some game up by hook or by crook, But my chances of Sport Are cut terribly short On St. Grouse's Day in the morning!