Meeting announced to take place at eight o'clock. On the very strike of the hour, a stentorian voice, not unfamiliar in the House of Commons, floated over the assembled multitude. "Men of Longford," it said, "we are assembled here in the exercise of our privilege as free men." First of all they could not tell where the voice came from. Looking up, behold! there was +Tim+ planted inside the top of the tall chimbley, using it like a Bishop's pulpit. It was a capital idea, and worked admirably for half an hour, with the Police all throbbing and raging round, and +Tim+ eyeing them quite calmly, and all the crowd roaring and cheering, and throwing up their hats, and +B-lf-r+ getting it hot. Somehow, whether from treachery or accident no one knows, and perhaps never will know, but in the middle of one of his best sentences, +Tim+ suddenly vanished from sight, and was a clear three minutes later picked up from among the cinders in the furnace below. The proceedings then terminated. There is a good deal more I could tell you, +Toby+, my bhoy, if time permitted. I should like above all to tell you of Major +O'G-rm-n+'s magnificent oration delivered from the main shaft of the sewer in Waterford, with his former constituents hanging on his lips and the grate of the sewer. But I am just off myself to address a meeting of my fellow citizens. This too, is of course, proclaimed, and equally of course that makes no difference. I get on the top of the Lord Mayor's coach, leaning on the Mace, and supported by the Sword-bearer. The horses move at walking pace, and I address the crowd. It's wonderful what a lot one can take out of +B-lf-r+ that way. Yours faithfully, +T. D. S-ll-v-n+. * * * * * AMEN! "In deepest reverence and sincere love, the Reichstag is mindful of His Imperial and Royal Highness the Crown Prince. May God protect the dear life of our beloved Crown Prince, and preserve it for the welfare of the Fatherland."--_Telegram from the Reichstag to the Crown Prince_. "So mote it be!" That deep and reverent prayer In all true hearts finds echo everywhere; Not least in those that flush with British blood. Prince, a loved daughter from our Royal brood, In trouble as in joy, is at your side, Sharing your sorrow as she shared your pride. For her dear sake, and for your own not less, We wish you, gallant soldier-chief, success In a dread struggle keener, sterner far Than those you faced in the fierce lists of war. We know--have you not proved it?--that 'twill be Met with the same cool steadfast gallantry As marked your bearing in more martial strife. Punch joins in that warm prayer for "the dear life," And echoes, from a far yet kindred strand, The pleading voices of the Fatherland! * * * * *