_Business done_.--Address agreed to.

_Tuesday Night_.--GRANDOLPH turned up to-day; took his familiar
corner seat; tugged at his old moustache; caressed his new beard, and
listened to SEALE HAYNE recklessly attacking the sacred institution of
Justiciary of the Peace.

"Nothing changed, TOBY, dear boy," he said; "not even the Ministry.
When I came back from Mashonaland I was told we were on the eve of
political earthquake. The House of Commons was to be transformed into
a cockpit; the Benches steepled in the gore of an iniquitous Ministry.
But, except for some vacant places and some further advancement of
privates in the little band I once officered, it's all the same, only
a little drearier. The same throng in the Lobby, the same rows of
Members sitting on the Benches, the same Mace on the Table, the same
stately figure in the Chair, and the same Sergeants-at-Arms relieving
guard at the Cross Benches. There are not quite the same two Irish
Leaders, for BRER FOX has 'gone away.' BRER RABBIT I see sitting
over there with his kindly face and his friendly smile, perhaps the
only Irishman in the House who, if a coat were trailed before him,
would turn away from temptation. It's only Irishmen, with their
inexhaustible fund of humour, who would have put JUSTIN MCCARTHY in
his present place. Doesn't much matter so long as TIM HEALY's around.
I'll bet my gold mine at Mashonaland against the Kennel, Barks, that
TIM will make up the average of fighting even when BRER RABBIT in the
scale."

[Illustration: A GIFT FROM THE GREEKS.