And who is Sir Henry Tyler?
or, rather, who was he?
for after emerging into public notoriety by playing the part of a prosecutor, he fell back into his natural obscurity.
He remained a Member of Parliament, but no one heard of him in that capacity, except now and then when he asked a foolish question, like others of his kind, who are mysteriously permitted to sit in our national legislature.

Three years ago, however, he was a more conspicuous personage.

He was then chairman of the Board of Directors of the Brush Light Company; and according to Henry Labouchere's statements in _Truth_, he was a "notorious guinea-pig." He was certainly an adept in the profitable transfer of shares: so much so, indeed, that at length the shareholders revolted against their pious chairman, and appointed a committee to investigate his proceedings.

Whereupon this modern Knight of the Holy Ghost levanted, preferring to resign rather than face the inquiry.

This is the man who asked in the House of Commons whether Mr.
Bradlaugh's daughters could not be deprived of their hard-earned grants for their pupils who successfully passed the South Kensington examinations! This is the man who posed as the amateur champion of omnipotence! Surely if deity wanted a champion, Sir Henry Tyler is about the last person who would receive an application.