[Illustration: William Field, Esq., M.P.]

This remark does not imply anything rude. Fact is FIELD, when at home
in Dublin, holds lofty position of President of Irish Cattle-Traders'
and Stock-Owners' Association. Similes from the stockyard come
naturally to his lips. Promises to be acquisition to Parliamentary
life. Is certainly lovely to look upon, with his flowing hair, his
soft felt hat, the glossy black of his necktie contrasting with glossy
white of his boundless shirt-front. Thought at first he was a poet;
rather disappointing to find he's only a butcher. Whatever he be, he's
refreshing to the eye, wearied with monotony of last Parliament.

Writs moved for new Elections consequent on acceptance of Office.
Lobby seems full of new Whips, whom JACOB grimly eyes. CAUSTON with
unusually troubled look on manly brow. "What's the matter?" I asked.
"Afraid you'll be chucked?"

"Oh, no!" he said; "Southwark's safe enough. But they're such doose
of fellows down there. Remember at General Election one took me neat.
After I had made speech to crowded meeting, lot of questions put.
Answered them all satisfactorily. At last one fellow got up, asked
me, in voice of thunder, 'Are you, in favour of temperance?' Rather
ticklish thing that, you know. As many against it as for it. Looked
all round the room; seemed remarkably decent lot; the man who was
heckling me a little rubicund as to the nose; but that might be
indigestion. Anyhow, felt unless I could satisfy him, I'd lose his
vote. 'Are you in favour of temperance?' he roared again. 'Yes, I am;'
I said, heartily. 'Then I ain't!' he roared back; and stamped his
way out of the room. That's the sort of fellows they are down at