and the training for which, by the very
nature of the case, requires uproarious
conduct, late hours, the constant imbibition of
ardent spirits, and a systematic shattering
of the constitution. Think with disgust of
the orgies that take place at the rifle butts,
where marksman's badges and bulls'-eyes
can never be attained unless the hand
shakes with the palsy consequent upon
excessive drinking. As for drilling, it is
so well known that military precision is
impossible to be reached, without the
faltering gait and general bearing of delirium
tremens, that it is needless to dwell upon
the unpleasant topic.

The popularity of these enervating and
dissipated pursuits may account for the
evil doings of the foul fiend, Recreation.
So may the abominable custom of running
cheap excursion trains: particularly now,
when railway refreshment-rooms are
improving. So may the disgraceful facilities
afforded for intoxication by the system of
afternoon performances at places of public
entertainment: where, let us by all means
declare, the major part of the audience—
or say the whole, while we are about it—
is invariably dead drunk.

The Lord Mayor on Recreation is but
the old platform principle, on the Mansion
House Bench. Some people alloy recreation;
no people shall enjoy recreation.
Some people misuse Everything; no people
shall enjoy Anything.

Lord Mayors, unlike Poets, are made:
not born. And before you can be a Lord
Mayor, O aspiring Reader, you must be an
Alderman. Yet take heart. Though only
an Alderman, you may, if born under a
lucky star, be as wise as a Lord Mayor.
There is actually an Alderman , as wise as
a Lord Mayor, in the present House of
Commons. Think of it!

MR. LAYARD, the First Commissioner of
Works, whose government of the public
Parks is influenced by a sound common
sense, and a responsible anxiety for the
comfort and enjoyment of their frequenters,
worthy of such a man, was engaged a few
weeks ago in carrying the estimates of his
department through committee of supply,
when "MR. ALDERMAN LUSK objected," says
the Times' report, "to the licensing of a
place for the sale of beer in Victoria Park.
He objected to the sale of beer in any park.
It was offensive to Tee-Totallers to set up a
DRUNKERY in the middle of a park. He
was not a Tee-Totaller, but he sympathised
with those who were, and he did not want
needlessly to give them offence. It did
not become Parliament to set up a beershop
in the middle of a park, and therefore
he protested against it."

As far as we know, Drunkery is a new,
as well as an elegant, addition to the
English language. It is a forcible word too.
A suggestive word besides. The Alderman
objects to setting up a Drunkery in the
middle of a park. As though one should
object to setting up a Hee-Hawery or a
Gruntery, in the middle of the House of
Commons. We suppose the noun-substantive,
Drunkery, to mean a low kind of
public-house frequented by persons for the
purpose of getting drunk. Mr. Layard,
knowing that a minister getting his
Estimates through, is set up—not to write it
irreverently—like an Aunt Sally, to be
shyed at, and that he must take all the
sticks that are set a flying at him, did not
evade even this poor stick. He
condescended to explain that he was not going to
set up a Drunkery, but merely to provide
sober refreshment for sober people. He
endeavoured to hammer into the Aldermanic
head that the state of things so much
deprecated had for years existed in this
very Victoria Park, and in Battersea Park:
although in tents on the cricket-fields, and
not in brick and mortar Drunkeries. Of
course the Alderman was ignorant of the
facts, and the vote passed, after he had, as
above, released his mighty mind.

Is it generally known in Finsbury, which
returns Mr. Alderman Lusk, that there
is such a place as the South Kensington
Museum? Have his meek constituents
heard that there is in that building, which
is frequented at all times by vast numbers
of sight-seers, many of whom are of that
working class which one of our Finsbury
M.P.'s affects to think much of at election
time, but which he calumniously mistrusts,
when elected, a most appalling Drunkery?
Do they know, down in Finsbury, that
besides the dinners which can be procured
there, beer and wine are sold, and not only
beer and wine, but spirits? And do they
know that the people do NOT get drunk
there, do NOT destroy the art-treasures of
the place, and do, on the whole—as they
do on the whole everywhere—behave
themselves almost as well as the Court of
Common Council? If so, will they do
themselves the justice to point this out to their
shining light?

What do they say, down in Finsbury,
to that enormous and pestilent Drunkery
known as the Crystal Palace, at Sydenham?
Did they ever attend that building