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A DISCLAIMER.--The Right Hon. Mr. HENRY CHAPLIN, M.P., Anti-muzzle-man
and Minister of Agriculture, wishes to deny explicitly that, when, by a
_lapsus calami_, he was made to describe Mr. TAY PAY O'CONNOR as
"peeping from behind the Speaker's chair," he ever intended to fix upon
that honourable gentleman the _sobriquet_ of "Peeping Tom"; nor had he
any idea of sending him to Coventry. What he _did_ say was----but it
doesn't much matter what "he _did_ say," what he _didn't_ say is so much
more to the point.
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THE STANLEY AND AFRICAN EXHIBITION.--One of the largest contributors
will be Mr. BONNY. This sounds well; at all events, it's BONNY. The
French, who are now welcoming their own private African hero, _le
Capitaine_ TRIVIER, back to his native land, may be induced to place
their trophies under Mr. BONNY'S care, as, if Imperialists, they can
then say they have a BONNY-part in this Exhibition.
* * * * *
FROM AN INDIGNANT CORRESPONDENT.--"Sir,--I sent you a joke three months
ago, which you have not used. Since then I have made arrangements for
the joke to appear elsewhere." [What a chance we have lost!--ED.]
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[Illustration: INFELICITOUS QUERIES.
_He._ "BY THE BYE, TALKING OF OLD TIMES, DO YOU REMEMBER THAT OCCASION
WHEN I MADE SUCH AN AWFUL ASS OF MYSELF?"
_She._ "_WHICH?_"]
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"THE BIG GUN!"
_Grand Old Gunner loquitur:--_
'Tis a regular "Mons Meg" of a cannon!
The swabs, they have been every one,
Very hard the Grand Old (Gunner) Man on,
But what will they think of _this_ gun?
Double shotted, and charged to the muzzle,
And trained by my hands and my eye,
The foes I conceive it will puzzle,
And tempt them to fly.
Mere skirmishing, up to the present,
With pop-guns, and flint-locks, and such;
But now! They will not find it pleasant,
When once this huge touch-hole I touch.
Mighty CÆSAR! I guess they won't like it;
Great SCOTT! won't it just raise a din?
And don't they just wish they could spike it
Before we begin?
The fun of it is, they have furnished
The filling themselves, unaware.
The shot they've cast, polished, and burnished,
The powder were prompt to prepare.
It's pitiful, quite, their position,
To see, the unfortunate elves!
Their carefully-stored ammunition
Thus turned on themselves.
Their batteries big it should batter,
Their trenches should burst and blow up,
Their forces allied it should scatter,
It's worse than an Armstrong or Krupp.
Chain-shot for swift slaughter's not in it,
For spreading it's better than grape,
They'll all be smashed up in a minute,
Scarce one can escape.
Now, MORLEY, my boy, and brave PARNELL,
_I'll_ lay it; just follow my hand.
That plain will soon look like a charnel,
With all that remains of their band;
The "fragments of him called McCARTY"
(Referred to, I think, in the song)
Were huge chunks to the scraps that their Party
Will show before long.
They shall see what I can do, when ready,
As Grand Old (Artillery) Man.
Right, PARNELL! left, MORLEY! Now, steady!!!
Stop! Just one last peep, whilst I can!
I _do_ hope, dear boys, there's no blunder;
I _think_ it is loaded all right.
Are they horribly frightened, I wonder?
Well, now for a sight!!!
* * * * *
[Illustration: "THE BIG GUN!"
GRAND OLD GUNNER (_inspecting Cannon_). "IT'S BEAUTIFULLY LOADED! WHY,
THE MERE LOOK OF IT IS ENOUGH TO SHAKE SM-TH'S 'RESOLUTION.'"]
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