PARLIAMENTARY INTELLIGENCE.--According to the announcement in the _Gazette_, the SPEAKER will take the Chair in the House of Commons on Tuesday, the 11th of February, when the new Session opens. But, as a matter of fact, _The Speaker_ will be on the book-stalls on Saturday next, the 4th of January, entering upon what promises to be a useful and prolonged Session. Thereafter _The Speaker_ will take the book-stall once a week regularly, there being Saturday sittings throughout the year. _The Speaker_ will, of course, be on the side of Law and "Order! Order!" * * * * * A BALLAD OF EVIL SPEED. _A Cool Collation of Several Bards._ I would I had not met you, Sweet, I wish you had been far away From where, in Upper Wimpole Street, We two foregather'd yesterday. Somewhere in that unlovely street Summer's lost beauty, hid away, Woke at the music of your feet, And sought the little girl in grey. Around your head the sunbeams play-- Home to the depths of your deep eyes Soft shadows of the woodland stray, Then sparkle with a quick surprise, As when the branch-entangled skies Shake from the depths of woodland stream, Awhile in laughing circles gleam, Then spread to heaven's peace again. Amber and gold, and feathery grey, You suited well the Autumn day, The muffled sun, the misty air, The weather like a sleepy pear. And yet I wish that you had been Afar, beside the sounding main, Or swaying daintily the rein Of mettled courser on the green, So I had passed, and passed unseen. For I arose, from dreams of thee, So late that morn, my matin tea Was cold as mutton two days cooked; As in the looking-glass I looked, Methought the razor need not wreak Its wonted vengeance on my cheek, Nor clear the shadow from my chin Till to the City I had been. Thus, horrid with a nascent beard, By chance through Wimpole Street I steered, Trusting therein to shun contempt Of who abhor a man unkempt. For like a mother-bird, who's caught The cant of modern woman's thought, My restless tie refused to sit, And restless fingers vainly sought To soothe the silkworm's stubborn toil. But only did its candour soil, And suffered none the less from it. For all my neck, and head no less, Owned to a vague unquietness, As when the vagrant spiderlet Has spread at large her filmy net To catch the moonbeams, wavering white, At the front gate on Autumn night.