Iolanthe/Act II


ScenePalace Yard, Westminster. Westminster Hall, l. Clock tower up r.c. Private Willis discovered on sentry, r. Moonlight.


When all night long a chap remains
On sentry-go, to chase monotony
He exercises of his brains,
That is, assuming that he's got any.
Though never nurtured in the lap
Of luxury, yet I admonish you,
I am an intellectual chap,
And think of things that would astonish you.
I often think it's comical—Fal, lal, la!
How Nature always does contrive—Fal, lal, la!
That every boy and every gal,
That's born into the world alive,
Is either a little Liberal,
Or else a little Conservative!
Fal, lal, la!
When in that house M.P.s divide,
If they've a brain and cerebellum, too,
They've got to leave that brain outside,
And vote just as their leaders tell 'em to.
But then the prospect of a lot
Of dull M.P.s in close proximity,
All thinking for themselves, is what
No man can face with equanimity.
Then let's rejoice with loud Fal lal—Fal lal la!
That Nature wisely does contrive—Fal lal la!
That every boy and every gal
That's born into the world alive,
Is either a little Liberal,
Or else a little Conservative!
Fal lal la!

Enter Fairies, with Celia, Leila, and Fleta. They trip round stage.

Chorus of Fairies.

Strephon's a Member of Parliament!
And carries every Bill he chooses.
To his measures all assent;—
Showing that fairies have their uses.
Whigs and Tories
Dim their glories
Giving an ear to all his stories—
Lords and Commons are both in the blues:
Strephon makes them shake in their shoes!

Shake in their shoes!
Shake in their shoes!
Strephon makes them shake in their shoes!

Enter Peers from Westminster Hall.

Chorus of Peers.

Strephon's a Member of Parliament!
Running a-muck at all abuses.
His unqualified assent
Somehow nobody now refuses.
Whigs and Tories
Dim their glories,
Giving an ear to all his stories—
Carrying every Bill he may wish:
Here's a pretty kettle of fish!
Kettle of fish—
Kettle of fish—
Here's a pretty kettle of fish!

Enter Lord Mountararat and Lord Tolloller from Westminster Hall.

Celia. You seem annoyed.
Ld. Mount. Annoyed! I should think so! Why this ridiculous protégé of yours is playing the deuce with everything! To-night is the second reading of his Bill to throw the Peerage open to Competitive Examination!
Ld. Toll. And he'll carry it, too!
Ld. Mount. Carry it? Of course he will! He's a Parliamentary Pickford—he carries everything!
Leila. Yes. If you please, that's our fault!
Ld. Mount. The deuce it is!
Celia. Yes; we influence the members, and compel them to vote just as he wishes them to.
Leila. It's our system. It shortens the debates.
Ld. Toll. Well, but think what it all means. I don't so much mind for myself, but with a House of Peers with no grandfathers worth mentioning, the country must go to the dogs !
Leila. I suppose it must!
Ld. Mount. I don't want to say a word against brains—I've a great respect for brains—I often wish I had some myself—but with a House of Peers composed exclusively of people of intellect, what's to become of the House of Commons?
Leila. I never thought of that!
Ld. Mount. This comes of women interfering in politics. It so happens that if there is an institution in Great Britain which is not susceptible of any improvement at all, it is the House of Peers!

Song—Ld. Mount.


When Britain really ruled the waves—
(In good Queen Bess's time)
The House of Peers made no pretence
To intellectual eminence,
Or scholarship sublime;
Yet Britain won her proudest bays
In good Queen Bess's glorious days!


Yes, Britain won, &c.


When Wellington thrashed Bonaparte,
As every child can tell,
The House of Peers, throughout the war,
Did nothing in particular,
And did it very well:
Yet Britain set the world a-blaze
In good King George's glorious days!


Yes, Britain set, &c.


And while the House of Peers withholds
Its legislative hand,
And noble statesmen do not itch
To interfere with matters which
They do not understand,
As bright will shine Great Britain's rays,
As in King George's glorious days!


As bright will shine, &c.

Leila. (who has been much attracted by the Peers during this song).  Charming persons, are they not?
Celia. Distinctly. For self-contained dignity, combined with airy condescension, give me a British Representative Peer!
Ld. Toll.. Then pray stop this protégé of yours before it's too late. Think of the mischief you're doing!
Leila. (crying).  But we can't stop him now. (Aside to Celia). Aren't they lovely! (Aloud). Oh, why did you go and defy us, you great geese!

DuetLeila and Celia.


In vain to us you plead—
Don't go;
Your prayers we do not heed—
Don't go!
Its true we sigh,
But don't suppose
A tearful eye
Forgiveness shows.
Oh, no!
We're very cross indeed—
Don't go!


Its true we sigh, &c.


Your disrespectful sneers—
Don't go!
Call forth indignant tears!
Don't go!
You break our laws—
You are our foe!
We cry, because
We hate you so!
You know!
You very wicked Peers!
Don't go!


You break our laws,
You are our foe:
We cry because
We hate you so!
You know!
You very wicked peers!
Don't go!

Lords Mount. and Toll.

We break their laws,
They are our foe:
They cry because
They hate us so!
Oh, ho!
If that's the case my dears,
We'll go!

Exeunt Mountararat, Tolloller, and Peers. Fairies gaze wistfully after them. Enter Fairy Queen.

Queen. Oh, shame shame upon you! Is this your fidelity to the laws you are bound to obey? Know ye not that it is death to marry a mortal?
Leila. Yes, but it's not death to wish to marry a mortal!
Fleta. If it were, you'd have to execute us all!
Queen. Oh, this is weakness! Subdue it!
Celia. We know it's weakness, but the weakness is so strong!
Leila. We are not all as tough as you are!
Queen. Tough! Do you suppose that I am insensible to the effect of manly beauty? Look at that man (referring to sentry) A perfect picture! (To sentry) Who are you, Sir?
Willis. (Coming to "attention.")  Private Willis, B company, 1st Grenadier Guards.
Queen. You're a very fine fellow, sir.
Willis. I am generally admired.
Queen. I can quite understand it. (To Fairies) Now here is a man whose physical attributes are simply god-like. That man has a most extraordinary effect upon me. If I yielded to a natural impulse, I should fall down and worship that man. But I mortify this inclination: I wrestle with it, and it lies beneath my feet! That is how I treat my regard for that man!

Song—Fairy Queen.

Oh, foolish fay,
Think you, because
His brave array
My bosom thaws,

I'd disobey
Our fairy laws?
Because I fly
In realms above,
In tendency
To fall in love
Resemble I
The amorous dove?
(aside) Oh, amorous dove!
(aside)Type of Ovidius Naso!
(aside)This heart of mine
(aside)Is soft as thine,
(aside)Although I dare not say so!


Oh, amorous dove, &c. Chorus.

On fire that glows
With heat intense
I turn the hose
Of common sense,
And out it goes
At small expense!
We must maintain
Our fairy law;
That is the main
On which to draw—
In that we gain
A Captain Shaw!
(aside) Oh, Captain Shaw!
(aside)Type of true love kept under!
(aside)Could thy Brigade
(aside)With cold cascade
(aside)Quench my great love, I wonder!


Oh, Captain Shaw! &c. Chorus.

[Exeunt Fairies and Fairy Queen, sorrowfully.]

Enter Phyllis.

Phyllis. (half crying.) I can't think why I'm not in better spirits! I'm engaged to two noblemen at once. That ought to be enough to make any girl happy. But I'm miserable! Don't suppose it's because I care for Strephon, for I hate him! No girl could care for a man who goes about with a mother considerably younger than himself!

Enter Lord Mountararat and Lord Tolloller.

Ld. Mount. Phyllis! My darling!
Ld. Toll. Phyllis! My own!
Phyl. Don't! How dare you? Oh, but perhaps you're the two noblemen I'm engaged to?
Ld. Mount. I am one of them.
Ld. Toll. I am the other.
Phyl. Oh, then, my darling! (to Mountararat.) My own! (to Tolloller.) Well, have you settled which it's to be?
Ld. Toll. Not altogether. It's a difficult position. It would be hardly delicate to toss up. On the whole we would rather leave it to you.
Phyl. How can it possibly concern me? You are both Earls, and you are both rich, and you are both plain.
Ld. Mount. So we are. At least I am.
Ld. Toll. So am I.
Ld. Mount. No, no!
Ld. Toll. I am indeed. Very plain.
Ld. Mount. Well, well—perhaps you are.
Phyl. There's really nothing to choose between you. If one of you would forego his title, and distribute his estates among his Irish tenantry, why then I should then see a reason for accepting the other.
Ld. Mount. Tolloller, are you prepared to make this sacrifice?
Ld. Toll. No!
Ld. Mount. Not even to oblige a lady?
Ld. Toll. No!
Ld. Mount. Then the only question is, which of us shall give way to the other? Perhaps, on the whole, she would be happier with me. I don't know. I may be wrong.
Ld. Toll. No. I don't know that you are. I really believe she would. But the awkward part of the thing is that if you rob me of the girl of my heart, one of us must die. It's a family tradition that I have sworn to respect. It's a painful position, for I have a very strong regard for you, George.
Ld. Mount. (much affected). My dear Thomas!
Ld. Toll. You are very dear to me, George. We were boys together—at least I was. If I were to survive you, my existence would be hopelessly embittered.
Ld. Mount. Then, my dear Thomas, you must not do it. I say it again and again—if it will have this effect upon you, you must not do it. No, no. If one of us is to destroy the other, let it be me!
Ld. Toll. No, no.
Ld. Mount. Ah, yes!—by our boyish friendship I implore you!
Ld. Toll. (much moved). Well, well, be it so. But, no—no—I cannot consent to an act which would crush you with unavailing remorse.
Ld. Mount. But it would not do so. I should be very sad at first—oh, who would not be?—but it would wear off. I like you very much—but not, perhaps, as much as you like me.
Ld. Toll. George, you're a noble fellow, but that tell-tale tear betrays you. No, George; you are very fond of me, and I cannot consent to give you a week's uneasiness on my account
Ld. Mount. But, dear Thomas, it would not last a week! Remember, you lead the House of Lords! on your demise I shall take your place! Oh, Thomas, it would not last a day!
Phyl. (coming down). Now I do hope you're not going to fight about me, because it's really not worth while
Ld. Toll. (looking at her). Well, I don't believe it is!
Ld. Mount. Nor I. The sacred ties of Friendship are paramount.

Quartette—Mountararat, Tolloller, Phyllis, and Willis.

Ld. Toll.

Though p'raps I may incur your blame,
The things are few
I would not do
In Friendship's name!

Ld. Mount.

And I may say I think the same;
Not even love
Should rank above
True Friendship's name!


Then free me, pray; be mine the blame;
Forget your craze
And go your ways
In Friendship's name!


Accept, O Friendship, all the same,
This sacrifice to thy dear name!


Oh, many a man, in Friendship's name,
Has yielded fortune, rank, and fame!
But no one yet, in the world so wide,
Has yielded up a promised bride!

[Exeunt Mountararat and Tolloller, lovingly, in one direction, and Phyllis in another.]

Enter Lord Chancellor, very miserable.

Recit.—Lord Chancellor.

Love, unrequited, robs me of my rest:
Love, hopeless love, my ardent soul encumbers:
Love, nightmare like, lies heavy on my chest,
And weaves itself into my midnight slumbers!

Song.—Lord Chancellor.

When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo'd by anxiety,
I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in, without impropriety;
For your brain is on fire—the bedclothes conspire of usual slumber to plunder you:
First your counterpane goes, and uncovers your toes, and your sheet slips demurely from under you;
Then the blanketing tickles—you feel like mixed pickles—so terribly sharp is the pricking,
And you're hot, and you're cross, and you tumble and toss till there's nothing 'twixt you and the ticking.
Then the bedclothes all creep to the ground in a heap, and you pick 'em all up in a tangle;
Next your pillow resigns and politely declines to remain at its usual angle!
Well, you get some repose in the form of a doze, with hot eye-balls and head ever aching,
But your slumbering teems with such horrible dreams that you'd very much better be waking;
For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in a steamer from Harwich—
Which is something between a large bathing machine and a very small second-class carriage—
And you're giving a treat (penny ice and cold meat) to a party of friends and relations—
They're a ravenous horde—and they all came on board at Sloane Square and South Kensington Stations.
And bound on that journey you find your attorney (who started that morning from Devon);
He's a bit undersized, and you don't feel surprised when he tells you he's only eleven.
Well, you're driving like mad with this singular lad (by-the-bye the ship's now a four-wheeler),
And you're playing round games, and he calls you bad names when you tell him that "ties pay the dealer;"
But this you can't stand, so you throw up your hand, and you find you're as cold as an icicle,
In your shirt and your socks (the black silk with gold clocks), crossing Salisbury Plain on a bicycle:
And he and the crew are on bicycles too which they've somehow or other invested in—
And he's telling the tars, all the particulars of a company he's interested in—
It's a scheme of devices, to get at low prices, all goods from cough mixtures to cables
(Which tickled the sailors) by treating retailers, as though they were all vegetables—
You get a good spadesman to plant a small tradesman, (first take off his boots with a boot-tree),
And his legs will take root, and his fingers will shoot, and they'll blossom and bud like a fruit-tree—
From the greengrocer tree you get grapes and green pea, cauliflower, pineapple and cranberries,
While the pastry-cook plant, cherry brandy will grant, apple puffs, and three-corners, and banberries—
The shares are a penny, and ever so many are taken by Rothschild and Baring,
And just as a few are allotted to you, you awake with a shudder despairing—
You're a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck, and no wonder you snore, for your head's on the floor, and you've needles and pins from your soles to your shins, and your flesh is a-creep, for your left leg's asleep, and you've cramp in your toes, and a fly on your nose, and some fluff in your lung, and a feverish tongue, and a thirst that's intense, and a general sense that you haven't been sleeping in clover;
But the darkness has passed, and it's daylight at last, and the night has been long—ditto ditto my song—and thank goodness they're both of them over!

(Lord Chancellor falls exhausted on a seat.)

Lords Mountararat and Tolloller come forward.

Ld. Mount. I am much distressed to see your Lordship in this condition.
Ld. Ch. Ah, my Lords, it is seldom that a Lord Chancellor has reason to envy the position of another, but I am free to confess that I would rather be two Earls engaged to Phyllis than any other half-dozen noblemen upon the face of the globe!
Ld. Toll. (without enthusiasm). Yes. It's an enviable position when you're the only one.
Ld. Mount. Oh yes, no doubt—most enviable. At the same time, seeing you thus, we naturally say to ourselves, "This is very sad. His Lordship is constitutionally as blithe as a bird—he trills upon the bench like a thing of song and gladness. His series of judgments in F sharp, given andante in six-eight time, are among the most remarkable effects ever produced in a Court of Chancery. He is, perhaps, the only living instance of a judge whose decrees have received the honour of a double encore. How can we bring ourselves to do that which will deprive the Court of Chancery of one of its most attractive features?"
Ld. Ch. I feel the force of your remarks, but I am here in two capacities, and they clash, my lord, they clash! I deeply grieve to say that in declining to entertain my last application, I presumed to address myself in terms which render it impossible for me ever to apply to myself again. It was a most painful scene, my lord—most painful!
Ld. Toll. This is what it is to have two capacities! Let us be thankful that we are persons of no capacity whatever.
Ld. Mount. Come, come. Remember you are a very just and kindly old gentleman, and you need have no hesitation in approaching yourself, so that you do so respectfully and with a proper show of deference.
Ld. Ch. Do you really think so? Well, I will nerve myself to another effort, and, if that fails, I resign myself to my fate!

Trio—Lord Chancellor, Lords Mountararat and Tolloller

Ld. Mount.

If you go in
You're sure to win—
Yours will be the charming maidie:
Be your law
The ancient saw,
"Faint heart never won fair lady!"


Faint heart never won fair lady!
Every journey has an end—
When at the worst affairs will mend—
Dark the dawn when day is nigh—
Hustle your horse and don't say die!

Ld. Toll.

He who shies
At such a prize
Is not worth a maravedi,
Be so kind
To bear in mind—
"Faint heart never won fair lady!"


Faint heart never won fair lady!
While the sun shines make your hay—
Where a will is, there's a way—
Beard the lion in his lair—
None but the brave deserve the fair!

Ld. Ch.

I'll take heart
And make a start—
Though I fear the prospect's shady—
Much I'd spend
To gain my end—
Faint heart never won fair lady!


Faint heart never won fair lady!
Nothing venture, nothing win—
Blood is thick, but water's thin—
In for a penny, in for a pound—
It's Love that makes the world go round!

Dance, and exeunt arm-in-arm together.

Enter Strephon in very low spirits.

Streph. I suppose one ought to enjoy onesself in Parliament, when one leads both parties, as I do! But I'm miserable, poor, broken-hearted fool that I am! Oh Phyllis, Phyllis!—

Enter Phyllis.

Phyl. Yes?
Streph. (surprised). Phyllis! But I suppose, I should say "My Lady." I have not yet been informed which title your ladyship has pleased to select?
Phyl. I—I haven't quite decided. You see I have no mother to advise me!
Streph. No. I have.
Phyl. Yes; a young mother.
Streph. Not very—a couple of centuries or so.
Phyl. Oh! She wears well,
Streph. She does. She's a fairy.
Phyl. I beg your pardon—a what?
Streph. Oh, I've no longer any reason to conceal the fact—she's a fairy.
Phyl. A fairy! Well, but—that would account for a good many things! Then—I suppose you're a fairy?
Streph. I'm half a fairy.
Phyl. Which half?
Streph. The upper half—down to the waistcoat.
Phyl. Dear me (prodding him with her fingers). There is nothing to show it! But why didn't you tell me this before?
Streph. I thought you would take a dislike to me. But as it's all off, you may as well know the truth—I'm only half a mortal!
Phyl. (crying). But I'd rather have half a mortal I do love, than half a dozen I don't!
Streph. Oh, I think not—go to your half dozen.
Phyl. (crying). It's only two! and I hate 'em! Please forgive me!
Streph. I don't think I ought to. Besides, all sorts of difficulties will arise. You know, my grandmother looks quite as young as my mother. So do all my aunts.
Phyl. I quite understand. Whenever I see you kissing a very young lady, I shall know its an elderly relative.
Streph. You will? Then, Phyllis, I think we shall be very happy! (embracing her).
Phyl. We wont wait long.
Streph. No—we might change our minds. We'll get married first.
Phyl. And change our minds afterwards?
Streph. That's the usual course.

Duet.—Strephon and Phyllis.


If we're weak enough to tarry
Ere we marry,
You and I,
Of the feeling I inspire
You may tire
By and bye.
For Peers with flowing coffers
Press their offers—
That is why
I think we will not tarry
Ere we marry,
You and I!


If we're weak enough to tarry
Ere we marry,
You and I,
With some more attractive maiden,
You may fly.
If by chance we should be parted,
Broken hearted
I should die—
So I think we will not tarry
Ere we marry,
You and I!

Phyl. But does your mother know you're— I mean, is she aware of an engagement?

Enter Iolanthe.

Iol. She is—and thus she welcomes her daughter-in-law! (kisses her).
Phyl. She kisses just like other people! But the Lord Chancellor!
Streph. I forgot him! Mother, none can resist your fairy eloquence: you will go to him, and plead for us?
Iol. (Much agitated.) No, no, impossible!
Streph. But our happiness—our very lives, depend on our obtaining his consent!
Phyl. Oh, madam, you cannot refuse to do this!
Iol. You know not what you ask! The Lord Chancellor is—my husband!
Streph and Phyl.  Your husband!
Iol. My husband and your father! (addressing Strephon, who is much moved).
Phyl. Then our course is plain: on his learning that Strephon is his son, all objection to our marriage will be at once removed!
Iol. No, he must never know! He believes me to have died childless, and dearly as I love him, I am bound, under penalty of death, not to undeceive him. But see—he comes! Quick—my veil! (They retire up as Iolanthe veils herself.)

Enter Lord Chancellor.

Ld. Ch. Victory! Victory! Success has crowned my efforts, and I may consider myself engaged to Phyllis! At first I wouldn't hear of it—it was out of the question. But I took heart. I pointed out to myself that I was no stranger to myself—that, in point of fact, I had been personally acquainted with myself for some years. This had its effect. I admitted that I had watched my professional advancement with considerable interest, and I handsomely added that I yielded to no one in admiration for my private and professional virtues. This was a great point gained. I then endeavoured to work upon my feelings. Conceive my joy when I distinctly perceived a tear glistening in my own eye! Eventually, after a severe struggle with myself, I reluctantly—most reluctantly—consented!

Iolanthe comes down veiled—Strephon and Phyllis go off on tip-toe.



My Lord, a suppliant at your feet I kneel,
Oh, listen to a mother's fond appeal!
Hear me to-night! I come in urgent need—
'Tis for my son, young Strephon, that I plead!


He loves! If the bygone years
Thine eyes have ever shed
Tears—bitter, unavailing tears,
For one untimely dead—
If in the eventide of life
Sad thoughts of her arise,
Then let the memory of thy wife
Plead for my boy—he dies!

He dies! If fondly laid aside
In some old cabinet,
Memorials of thy long-dead bride
Lie, dearly treasured yet,
Then let her hallowed bridal dress—
Her little dainty gloves—
Her withered flowers—her faded tress—
Plead for my boy—he loves!

The Lord Chancellor is moved by this appeal. After a pause:

Ld. Ch.

It may not be—for so the fates decide
Learn thou that Phyllis is my promised bride!

Iol. (in horror).

Thy bride! No! No!

Ld. Ch.

It shall be so!
Those who would separate us woe betide!


My doom thy lips have spoken—
I plead in vain!

Chorus of Fairies. (without).

Forbear! forbear!


A vow already broken
I break again!

Chorus of Fairies. (without).

Forbear! forbear!


For him—for her—for thee
I yield my life.
Behold—it may not be!
I am thy wife

Chorus of Fairies. (without).

Aiaiah! Aiaiah! Willaloo!

Ld. Ch. (recognizing her)

Iolanthe! thou livest?


I live! Now let me die!

Enter Fairy Queen and Fairies. Iolanthe kneels to her.


Once again thy vows are broken:
Thou thyself thy doom hath spoken!

Chorus of Fairies.

Aiaiah! Aiaiah!
Willahalah! Willaloo!
Laloiah! Laloiah!
Willahalah! Willaloo!


Bow thy head to Destiny:
Death thy doom, and thou shalt die!

Chorus of Fairies.

Aiaiah! Aiaiah! &c.

The Peers and Strephon enter. The Queen raises her spear.

Leila. Hold! If Iolanthe must die, so must we all; for, as she has sinned, so have we!
Queen. What! (Peers and Fairies kneel to her—Lord Mountararat with Celia; Lord Tolloller with Leila.)
Celia. We are all fairy duchesses, marchionesses, countesses, viscountesses, and baronesses.
Ld. Mount. It's our fault. They couldn't help themselves.
Queen. It seems they have helped themselves, and pretty freely, too! (After a pause.) You have all incurred death; but I can't slaughter the whole company! And yet (unfolding a scroll) the law is clear—every fairy must die who marries a mortal!
Ld. Ch. Allow me, as an old equity draughtsman, to make a suggestion. The subtleties of the legal mind are equal to the emergency. The thing is really quite simple—the insertion of a single word will do it. Let it stand that every fairy shall die who don't marry a mortal, and there you are, out of your difficulty at once!
Queen. We like your humour. Very well! (Altering the MS. in pencil.) Private Willis!
Sentry. (coming forward). Ma'am!
Queen. To save my life, it is necessary that I marry at once. How should you like to be a fairy guardsman?
Sentry. Well, ma'am, I don't think much of the British soldier who wouldn't ill-conwenience himself to save a female in distress.
Queen. You are a brave fellow. You're a fairy from this moment (wings spring from Sentry's shoulders.) And you, my Lords, how say you, Will you join our ranks?

(Fairies kneel to Peers and implore them to do so).

Ld. Mount. (to Ld. Tolloller). Well, now that the Peers are to be recruited entirely from persons of intelligence, I really don't see what use we are, down here.
Leila. None whatever.
Leila. Good! (Wings spring from shoulders of Peers.) Then away we go to Fairyland.



Soon as we may,
Off and away!
We'll commence our journey airy—
Happy are we—
As you can see,
Every one is now a fairy!


Every one is now a fairy!

Iol., Queen, & Phyl.

Though as a general rule we know
Two strings go to every bow,
Make up your minds that grief 'twill bring,
If you've two beaux to every string.


Though as a general rule, &c.

Ld. Chan.

Up in the sky,
Ever so high,
Pleasures come in endless series;
We will arrange
Happy exchange—
House of Peers for House of Peris!


House of Peers for House of Peris!

Ld. Chan., Mount., & Toll.

Up in the air, sky high, sky high,
Free from Wards in Chancery,
I/He will be surely happier, for
I'm/He's such a susceptible Chancellor!


Up in the air, &c.



Henderson, Rait, & Spalding, Printers, 5 & 5, Marylebone Lane, London, W.