Jones, In-I-go (a play upon the name of the famous architect, Inigo Jones), a nickname given in the early part of Queen Victoria's reign to an enterprising youngster of the name of Jones, who attained a certain celebrity through the frequency with which he managed to make his way, unperceived by sentinels and servants, into the private apartments of Buckingham Palace, where he was more than once found concealed under a sofa. The sobriquet was afterwards transferred to Richard Monckton Milnes, as a tribute to the latter's unruffled audacity and "cheek." See COOL OF THE EVENING.

Judex damnatur cum nocens absolvitur (I., "The judge is condemned when the criminal is acquitted"), the 407th Maxim of Publius Syrus, adopted by the founders of the Edinburgh Review as the motto of their periodical.

Julienne Soup. This soup was invented by the famous Julien, who came to Boston about the time of the French Revolution and established the "Restorator" on Milk Street. He is also memorable as the inventor, or at least the instigator, of the idea of selling food in hermetically-sealed cans. After his return to France, at the Restoration, he sold his right or patent to a noted restaurant in the French capital, and the new proprietors sold the soup in cans to all nations.

Junker party, a nickname for the strict Conservatives in the Prussian Landtag, from the large majority of that party belonging to the unprogressive rural aristocracy, who in Germany are called, with a touch of opprobrium, "Junker;" the class corresponding, in a measure, with the English squirearchy, uncompromising supporters of the established state church and the established order of things in general.

Junket. In American politics this name is given to any useless legislative investigation, where the inquiry is the ostensible object, the real purpose, however, being to provide for the members of the investigating committee a frolicking tour of the country at the public expense. It is also applied to any similarly purposeless and ostensibly official tour of administrative and executive bodies or officers.

Junto, The, a small group of men who, in the reign of King William III. and under this name, dictated the policy of the Whig party, exercising an authority, in the words of Macaulay, "of which there is, perhaps, no parallel in history, ancient or modern." Its leading members were Russell, LordKeeper Somers, and Charles Montague.

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Justice the highest expediency. Wendell Phillips, in his speech on the election of Lincoln, November 7, 1860, uttered this sentence: When Infinite Wisdom established the rules of right and honesty, he saw to it that justice should be always the highest expediency." This is not unlike "Honesty is the best policy.'

Agesilaus II., King of Sparta (B.C. 398-361), being asked which he considered the highest virtue, valor or justice, replied, "Unsupported by justice, valor is good for nothing; and if all men were just there would be no need of valor."-PLUTARCH: Life.

Be just, and fear not :

Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,

Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!

SHAKESPEARE: Henry VIII., Act iii., Sc. 2.

Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust,
Ere her cause bring fame and profit and 'tis prosperous to be just.
LOWELL: The Present Crisis.

Justice, sir, is the great interest of man on earth.-WEBSTER: Speech on Mr. Justice Story (1845).

J'y suis, j'y reste (Fr., "Here I am, here I remain"), the reply of Marshal MacMahon, during the siege of Sebastopol, when advised by General Pélissier, the French commander-in-chief, to abandon the Malakoff, a position he had carried by assault September 8, 1855. Victor Emmanuel used the same expression after the occupation of Rome, when he had transferred the capital of Italy from Florence. But, after all, Luther had anticipated them both in the famous declaration made at the Diet of Worms: "Here I stand; I can do no otherwise; God help me. Amen."

If any one will answer these questions for me with something more to the point than feeble talk about the cowardice of agnosticism, I shall be deeply his debtor. Unless and until they are satisfactorily answered, I say of agnosticism in this matter, J'y suis, et j'y reste.-HUXLEY.

K.

K, the eleventh letter and eighth consonant of the English alphabet, derived from the Phoenician through the Latin and the Greek. It was little used in Latin, on account of the double function that was placed upon C (g. v.).

Kangaroo. When Captain Cook discovered Australia he saw some of the natives on the shore with a dead animal of some sort in their possession, and sent sailors in a boat to buy it of them. When it came on board he saw it was something quite new, so he sent the sailors back to inquire its name. The sailors asked, but, not being able to make the natives understand, received the answer, "I don't know," or, in the Australian language, "Kanga-roo." The sailors supposed this was the name of the animal, and so reported it. Thus the name of the curious animal is the "I-don't-know," which is almost equal to the name given to one of the monstrosities in Barnum's Museum, the "What-is-it ?"

Kettle of fish, A pretty, proverbial English, meaning a bad botch, a muddle, a contre-temps. Sir Walter Scott, in a note in "St. Ronan's Well," explains that "a kettle of fish is a fête-champêtre of a particular kind, which is to other fêtes-champêtres what the piscatory eclogues of Browne or Sannazaro are to pastoral poetry." A salmon is the principal dish provided in these picnics. But, acting on the principle attributed to the mythical Mrs. Glasse, it must first be caught. Then it is boiled in brine in a large caldron, or what our Saxon ancestors would call a cytel, hung gypsy-fashion on an extempore tripod over a fire of logs.

But when Mr. Western, in "Tom Jones," rushes into the presence of Mrs. Western and Mr. Allworthy with the vociferous cry, "Fine doings at my house! A rare kettle of fish I have discovered!" we may be sure that he is using the phrase not in its literal but in its proverbial sense. That sense, however, is hard to discover.

In the "Eleventh Annual Report of the Inspectors of Salmon Fisheries," Mr. Inspector Walpole, in reporting on the fisheries on the coast of Sussex, says, "The kettle nets, it may be interesting to note, probably derive their name from the kiddelus, or kiddle, which is mentioned in Magna Charta and many earlier fishery statutes. In their turn, the kettle-nets are, I conceive, responsible for the old proverb 'a pretty kettle of fish.'"

Palmer, in "Folk Etymology," suggests that when a kettle-net full of fish was drawn up, with its plunging contents, the confusion, flurry, and disorder of the process might easily have been made synonymous with a colloquial expression which would convey the idea of an imbroglio, a "mess," or a contre-temps of any sort; or possibly the expression may come from the Scotch

word kittle, to puzzle or perplex. "A kittle of fish" is also suggestive of a "muddle," the term being derived, we are told, from the apparatus of pulleys employed in dragging the flukes of the anchor towards the bow after it has been hoisted to the cathead. If the pulleys get out of order, it is called a "kittle of fish," but why one cannot understand, unless it be a mere corruption of "a pretty kettle of fish," already established as an equivalent for something gone wrong. It is impossible to fix the exact date when this phrase was first adopted; but perhaps it was used in derision by some early Saxon cook who, having overboiled his fish, spoiled his whole cytel-ful.

Short sight in politics affects the collective happiness of mankind much more than shortsight in morals. The short-sighted politician is a pest to his country; the short-sighted moralist is a curse to himself. It is only when such a moralist turns legislator or agitator, and therefore drops the guise of moralist for that of politician, that he becomes dangerous to the peace of others as well as to his own, and illustrates the wisdom of Dr. Johnson's observation, adopted and amplified by Mr. Buckle, that there is no greater social nuisance than your wrong-headed conscientious man. Such a man, if he comes into power, turns the affairs of his country-which previously were in a condition, if not of perfection, at least of ord r and decency into the caldron, and m kes of them what Punch once represented Lord Palmerston as calling" a pretty kettle of fish.”—Saturday Review.

Kettle-drum, an afternoon tea. The term is sometimes thought to have originated in English barracks, where officers' wives entertain their friends at tea just after dress-parade, and the final rat-tat-tat of the drums gives the signal for reunion over the teacups. But "drum" was a name given to evening parties as far back as the eighteenth century, and possibly "kettle" has been prefixed to impart the idea of a teakettle.

Anyway, a kettle-drum happens to be a pleasant sort of meal,-scarcely a meal at all, but only an excuse for meeting together in an easy manner at an interval when one has nothing else to do; while some will accept it as a welcome prelude to the onerous task of "dressing for dinner.' The afternoon tea, or kettle-drum, has other uses. Men have now no leisure for breakfast-parties, even if they were inclined to talk before facing the day's work; and the ponderous formality of the dinner which fashion prescribes, to say nothing of its often finding men tired and jaded, forbids that free interchange of sentiments which renders Johnson's tavern dinners or the sociable feasts of Holland House so pleasant a retrospect in these days and nights of hurry. Much of the friendly talk of a country-house or the liveliness of a Londun mansion crystallizes round the kettle-drum.

Though afternoon tea is a product of advanced civilization, its analogues may be found in the past. Thus, Isidore, a grammarian of the seventh century, explains the Roman meal called merenda, concerning which antiquaries have always been puzzled, as having been "food taken in the afternoon, to be eaten after mid-day, and just before dinner; whence," he adds, certain call it antecænia,' or dinner prelude. This exactly corresponds to our cup of tea taken in the afternoon just before dinner. So that in this case, as in so many others, there is nothing new under the sun. Lucullus gathered his guests around him in the shady arbor at his country-house for merenda on oppressive afternoons, just as cups of tea now solace our young people under the croquet tent before the dressing-bell rings.-Chambers's Journal, November 20, 1875.

"Go to Mrs. Hyson's five-o'clock tea with you?" said Mr. Placer Dam, the California millionaire, to his wife. "Not much, my dear. You can whoop it up to sassiety all you blame please; me and your brother William will keep down to plain old California style. No five-o'clock teas for men who ain't got reel intimate with biled shirts yet. Five-o'clock tea! Bill, let's us take a little pasear round to Ryan's and get a seventeen-minutes-tothree-o'clock whiskey."-Puck.

Kick, Kicker. To kick is an expressive Americanism for to object, to find fault, to grumble. The Detroit Free Press quotes the following sentences in point: "Citizen Jones kicks against being assessed so high for his Fourth Street property." "Anson raised a double-jointed, gilt-edged kick when the umpire gave him out in the second innings yesterday.' "The High School girls kick against long study-hours," etc. A kicker means a chronic grumbler, and in politics the term is applied to a Mugwump, an Independent,-i.e., one who kicks over the traces.

A sensitive exchange dolorously complains that the ballet-girls throughout the country are

kicking because Margaret Sangster has written a poem, "The Girls of Ninety-One." The one who would deny a ballet-girl the right to kick is indeed hard-hearted.—Philadelphia Press.

But, like many another "Americanism," this is simply a recrudescence and extension of a good old English phrase which may be found in the Authorized Version of the Bible, and even in Tennyson:

Wherefore kick ye at my sacrifice and at mine offering, which I have commanded?— I. Samuel ii. 29.

You hold the woman is the better man :

A rampant heresy, such as, if it spread,
Would make all women kick against their lords.

TENNYSON: Princess, iv.

"To kick against the pricks" (Acts ix. 5), a metaphorical allusion to ploughing-oxen kicking against the goads, is common in England and America for any ineffectual resistance to superior force.

To kick one's self, often used with an infinite variety of adjuncts,—i.e., to kick one's self "all over the house," "all over the place," etc.,-means to feel or express violent dissatisfaction with one's self, to be mortified or chagrined. This is a pure Americanism.

Ascombe. So Betts lost heavily on the races, eh? What is he doing now?
Bascombe. Trying to invent a perpetual-motion machine.

Ascombe. Of what use will that be to him?

Bascombe. He wants it to kick himself with.-Puck.

Kick the bucket, a slang phrase common on both sides of the Atlantic, meaning to die. The allusion is probably to the way in which a slaughtered pig is hung up,-viz., by passing the ends of a bent piece of wood behind the tendons of the hind legs and so suspending it to a hook in the beam above. This piece of wood is locally termed a bucket, and so, by a coarse metaphor, the phrase came to have its present meaning. A correspondent of Notes and Queries, first series, ix. 107, offered a derivation which should be quoted as a curiosity: "One Balsover, having hung himself to a beam while standing on the bottom of a pail or bucket, kicked the vessel away in order to pry into futurity, and it was all up with him from that moment.' The physician who attended George Colman in his last illness paid one day a later visit than usual, and explained it by saying that he had been called in to see a man who had fallen down a well. "Did he kick the bucket, doctor?" faintly inquired the patient.

Kickshaws, the name for light French ragouts or made-dishes of an unsatisfactory nature; also, and more generally, anything trivial. The word is an Anglicized form of the French quelque chose, the end-syllable shaw being perhaps mentally associated with pshaw, in token of contempt. The Germans have twisted the same word into geckschoserie ("foolery"), the contempt in their case being indicated by the first syllable, geck being the nearest equivalent in German for dude or jackanapes. The development of the present English form of the word is shown by the following extracts:

Only let mee love none, no, not the sport
From country grasse, to confitures of court,
Or cities' quelque choses, let not report
My mind transport.

DONNE: Poems (1635), p. 8.

Limberham. Some foolish French quelquechose, I warrant you.

Brainsick. Quelquechose! O ignorance in supreme perfection! he means kekshose.
DRYDEN: The Kind Keeper.

Sir And. I delight in maskes and revels sometimes altogether.
Sir To. Art thou good at these kickchawses, knight?

Twelfth Night (fol. 1623), Act i., Sc. 3.

Kilkenny Cats have an ill name for ferocity. "As quarrelsome as Kilkenny cats" is a popular proverb. Over a hundred years ago, it is said, a great battle of felines took place in the neighborhood of the town, which was participated in by all the cats in the city and county of Kilkenny, aided and abetted by cats from other parts of Ireland. One thousand cats were found dead next morning upon the field of battle, and many were identified by their collars as coming from remote regions of the country.

But the most famous legend concerning Kilkenny cats is that two of them, fighting in a saw-pit, bit and scratched so long and so ferociously that at last only two tails were left in the arena: each had devoured the other. An anonymous bard has versified the incident as follows:

There once were two cats of Kilkenny,

Which thought there was one cat too many,

So they mewed and they bit,

And they scratched and they fit,

Till, excepting their nails and the tips of their tails,
Instead of two cats there weren't any.

This seems nothing but a bit of broad Irish humor, or perhaps even a typical Irish bull; nevertheless an attempt has been made to rationalize the myth in the following story:

During the Irish rebellion of 1798 or 1803-for authorities differ-Kilkenny was garrisoned by a regiment of Hessian soldiers, whose favorite pastime in their barrack-rooms was to throw two cats, tied together by their tails, face to face, across a clothes-line. The officers, learning of this barbarous sport, determined to put an end to it. For this purpose an officer was ordered to inspect each barrack-room daily. But the soldiers, learning of this system of espionage, detailed one of their comrades to watch the officer. One day the sentinel neglected his duty, and the officer was heard ascending the stairs while the cats were fighting. There was no time to disengage them. A trooper hastily drew his sword and with one blow severed the tails of the cats, who thereupon escaped through the window. When the officer entered he severely demanded whence came the bleeding tails upon the floor, whereupon the trooper informed him, with a ready wit worthy of his Irish surroundings, that two cats had been fighting desperately together, that it had been impossible to separate them, and that they had ended by devouring each other,

all but the tails.

Some authorities reject this story as obviously manufactured after the event, and insist on considering the inter-destructive cats an allegory of the neighboring municipalities of Kilkenny and Irishtown, which from A.D. 1377 to the close of the seventeenth century contended so fiercely about boundaries that they mutually impoverished each other and left only a trace of their former selves. De Gubernatis, on the other hand, ingeniously surmises that the origin of the myth may be traced to the German superstition which dreads the combat between cats as presaging death to the one who witnesses it.

Kilmainham Treaty, the name given by the English Conservatives to an arrangement alleged to have been made between Gladstone and certain Irish members of Parliament who were imprisoned in Kilmainham jail during the agrarian troubles of 1880-1882, whereby the prisoners were released on agreeing to support the Liberals, Mr. Gladstone agreeing in turn to certain concessions to be made by him to Ireland.

King. The king is dead! Long live the king! In the French monarchical period, when a king of France died, a herald appeared upon the balcony of the royal palace, and cried three times to the crowd below, "The king is dead! Long live the king!" ("Le roi est mort! Vive le roi!") Again at the funeral ceremonies, when the royal corpse was committed to its