NEWS FROM UGANDA.--"A conference," so the _Times_ special lately wrote, "took place between Bishop TUCKER and Monseigneur HIRTH," with a view to amicably arranging their respective missions. Monseigneur HIRTH wished to sing the old nigger melody of "_Out ob de way ole Dan Tucker_." Imperial Commissioner objected. Bishop TUCKER, lineal descendant of the celebrated little _Thomas_ who "cried for his supper," wanted to have all the black and white bread to himself according to the ancient nursery tradition of the TUCKER family. Commissioner, quite a GALLIO in his way, wouldn't hear of it. Ultimately the two ecclesiastical antagonists came to terms, the Commissioner (Our Own) wisely observing that "as the object of both missions was a spiritual one, there ought to be no Hirthly ground for disagreement." [Illustration: MRS. NICKLEBY IN THE CHAIR.] * * * * * LAYS OF MODERN HOME. THE FIRST COOK! [Illustration] Oh! the first Cook, in that ambrosial, unwithering Halcyon, rapturous, and honeymooning prime!-- She, who, aware of HELEN'S babyish and blithering Innocence, did a lot of mischief in her time. Oh! for her soup, a weird, insuperable fearfulness, Compound of arrowroot, and gelatine, and lard; Hard, to reject it, when a bride besought, with tearfulness, Hard, to accept, and to assimilate it, hard! Oh! for her leather-like, her nauseating omelette, Oh! for her cutlets and potatoes black as ink! Oft, of necessity, would I the Buttons, TOMMY, let Batten on luxuries that bothered him, I think. And she would mingle, would that woman who did _that_ to me, Proofs incontestable with everything I ate, Whereby the veriest beginner of anatomy Knew that she must be in complexion a _brunette_. Wild were her sauces, like herself, devoid of reasoning; Still I have never been indubitably clear, _Why_ the invariable factor in her seasoning Always reminded me so forcibly of Beer. Why, when my darling sighed, "The weekly books are ready, TED," And I rejoined that _we_ were thin while _they_ were fat,-- Why, their increasing superfluities were credited All to a manifestly unoffending cat. Why, when a joint of whatsoever solid vastiness Quitted the dining-room, it never came again; Why my allusions to her culinary nastiness Only encouraged her, it beats me to explain. True, for our wages, which were somewhere near the "Twenty-ones," Great expectations would have been a trifle rash. Still, as her perquisites, I know, were cent.-per-cent.-y ones, Ah! how I wish a _Chef_ had fed us for the cash! Oh! my first Cook! A gem with so much rare and rich in her, Irreconcileable, impenetrable soul, How I exulted when she fell against the kitchener, Urged by a Nemesis (and legs) beyond control.