THE DRINK QUESTION.

First Man. What rot it is to keep this tax on beer!

Second Man. Well, it's better than spirits, anyhow.

First Man. Of course you say that as you've got those shares in that Distillery Company.

Second Man. Well, you needn't talk, with your Allsopp Debentures.

First Man. Come to that, personally I take no interest in beer. It's poison to me.

Second Man. It's the finest drink in the world. I never touch spirits.

First Man. They're much more wholesome. I wonder what the Government will do about Local Veto and Compensation. I suppose, as I'm a Liberal——

Second Man. So am I. But I respect vested interests. Now, in theory, teetotalism, especially for the masses——

First Man. Waiter, bring me a whiskey and soda.

Second Man. And bring me a glass of bitter.

First Man. As for Wilfrid Lawson, he's an utter——

Second Man. Oh, Wilfrid Lawson! He's a downright——

[They drink—not Sir Wilfrid's health.

THE LOSS OF THE GALLERY.

(A Fragment from the Chronicles of St. Stephen's.)

"But must I give up this comfortable furniture?" asked the poor person, looking at the venerable chairs, some of which were distinctly rickety.

"You must, indeed," replied firmly, but still with a certain tenderness, the stern official.

"But I can nearly hear what they are saying," urged the fair petitioner.

"I cannot help it."

"And all but see them," and once again she peered through the grille.

"I am forced to obey my orders," returned the official. "You applauded. You clapped your hands—and you must retire."

"And for that little burst of enthusiasm," almost wept the person, "I am to lose all this happiness! To be stopped from hearing an indistinct murmur, seeing a blurred picture, resting on rickety seats, and breathing a vitiated atmosphere! Am I to lose all these comforts and pleasures and advantages?"

"I am afraid so," was the answer. And then the official opened the door of the Ladies' Gallery of the House of Commons, and the person passed out.