_Slowgoe._ Still Lord George is a wonderful man. Here he says, in this very speech, “he was eighteen years silent in the House of Commons.” _Nosebag._ That reminds me of a pantomine I once saw, where there was a wild man that said nothin’ all through the piece, and then at last somebody came for’ard, and held up a scroll in gold letters, that said, “_Orson is endowed with reason!_” _Nutts._ The worst of them members of Parliament is that, like children when they’re backward in their speech, they more than make up for it when they do begin. Like the Thames froze up, when once they’ve a quick thaw, they threaten to wash the speaker off his legs, and overflow the whole House of Parliament. Great pity some of these members aren’t like the Paddington Canal--with locks. _Tickle._ There you are agin, ’busin’ of the ’thorities. I’ve read the whole of it, and it was a very pretty bit of speechifying at Lynn. Didn’t the Duke of Richmond, too, talk of the battle of Waterloo? I’ve no doubt---- _Nutts._ In course he did. He talks of it when he’s asleep. The battle of Waterloo to the Duke of Richmond is like a wax doll to a little gal. He always will be showing it to company--opening and shutting its eyes, pointing out its red morocco shoes, and white frock, and cherry-coloured sash. I wish the Duke of Wellington would take the battle of Waterloo from him, and lock it up, and only let him bring it in at Apsley House once a year with the dessert. _Slowgoe._ Ha! Nutts, you haven’t a good word for nobody. I’m sure it’s quite cutting to read what Lord Bentinck and Mr Disraeli say of themselves: each of ’em trying to be smaller than the other one. _Nosebag._ Jist like boys at leap-frog. Each in his turn “tucks in his twopenny,” that the other may go clean over his head. But then, you see, Mr Slowgoe, like leap-frog, it’s only make-game after all. _Slowgoe._ I won’t have it. The member for S’rewsbury’s a great man. What a tongue he has! _Nutts._ Very great; measure tongue and all, and he’s very great, to be sure. He reminds me of a--a--dear me!--that thing that lives on wind, that I once saw at Mr Tyler’s Zologicul Gardens--a--a---- _Tickle._ Lives on wind! It can’t be nothing but a bagpipe or a chameleon. _Nutts._ That’s it: a chameleon. Well, that has a tongue as long as his body; but for all that, he can only catch flies with it. And that’s the case, I take it, with the member for S’rewsbury. I know it’s said he talked for loaves and fishes. And acause Sir Robert wouldn’t give him so much as a penny roll, not so much as the smallest sprat that swims in the Treasury, why then---- _Slowgoe._ Sir Robert! Hear what he does to Sir Robert, accordin’ to Sir John Tyrrel, who was at Lynn. He says the member for S’rewsbury “tears off Sir Robert Peel’s flesh, then polishes his bones, and sends ’em to the British Museum.”