But—teeth that could crush chain-mail seem scarce shaped for mumbling coral!

A WEIGHTY PROSPECT.

The Captain (who has just been giving a spin to his last purchase, for his Wife's inspection). "Good goer, ain't he? and a full Fourteen-Stone Horse, you know!"

Young Wife (as yet somewhat innocent in horsey matters). "Oh, I'm sure he's more than that, dear. Why, Mamma weighs nearly as much!"

A LETTER HOME.

(From our Youngest Contributor.)

My dear Mr. Punch,—This is about the last letter you will receive from me. I know it is, as all will soon be over! And I shall be glad of it. I can't last out until the Christmas holidays. Who could with such food? Why, it would make a dog cough!

It's no use learning anything. Why should I, when it will be all over almost directly? What's the good of Latin and Greek if you are going to chuck it almost at once? And mathematics, too! What use are they if the end is near? It's all very well to cram, but what's the good of it when you know you won't survive to eat the plum pudding?

There's no news. There's never any news. Smith Minor has got his cap for football, and Snooks Major is going up to Oxford instead of Cambridge. What does it matter when the beef is so tough that you might sole your boots with it? And as for the mutton! Well, all I can say is, that it isn't fit for human food, and the authorities should be told about it. As for me, I am passing away. No one will ever see me more. For all that, you might send me a hamper. Your affectionate friend,

Jacky.

STAR-GAZING.

["Astronomy has become a deservedly fashionable hobby with young ladies."]

"In the Name of the Prophet!"—Which is the right way of spelling the name of the Prophet of Islam? Is it Mohammed? Mahomet? Muhammed? or Mahomed? Are his followers Mohammedans? Mahommedans? Mahometans? Moslems? Mussulmen? or Muslims? Perhaps, to adapt Mr. Mantalini's famous summary, and merely substituting "all" for "both," and "none of 'em" for "neither," we may say "So all are right, and none of 'em wrong, upon our life and soul, O demmit!"

UNDER THE ROSE.

(A Story in Scenes.)

Scene IX.—Charles Collimore's Sitting-room at Keppel Street, Bloomsbury. Time—Saturday afternoon.

Mrs. Cagney (the landlady, showing Mr. Toovey in). Oh, I thought Mr. Collimore had come in, Sir, but I expect him in every minute. Will you take a seat?

Mr. Toovey (sitting down). Thank you, I'm in no hurry—no hurry at all. (To himself.) Cornelia wished me to put a few questions quietly to the landlady. I suppose I'd better do it while——(Aloud.) Hem, I hope, Ma'am, that you find Mr. Collimore a—an unexceptionable lodger—in all respects?

Mrs. Cagn. (crossing her hands stiffly in front of her). Mr. Collimore conducks hisself as a gentleman, and treats me as a lady, which is all my requirements.

Mr. Toov. Quite so—very satisfactory, I'm sure, but—does he keep fairly regular hours? Or is he at all inclined to be—er—fast?

Mrs. Cagn. (on her guard). I can't answer for the time his watch keeps, myself. I dessay it goes as reg'lar as what most do.

Mr. Toov. No, no; I was referring to his habits. I mean—does he usually spend his evenings quietly at home?

Mrs. Cagn. You'll excuse me, but if you're arsking me all these questions out of mere himpertinent curiosity——

Mr. Toov. I—I trust I have a higher motive, Ma'am. In fact, I may as well tell you I am Mr. Collimore's uncle.

Mrs. Cagn. (to herself). The old fox! So he's trying to ferret out something against him, is he? Well, he won't—that's all. (Aloud.) If you are his huncle, Sir, all I can say is, you've got a nephew to be proud on. I wouldn't wish to let my first floor to a steadier or a more industrious young gentleman; comes in punctual to a tick every night of his life and 'as his dinner, and sets studyin' his book till 'alf-past ten, which is his bed-time. I don't know what more you want.

Mr. Toov. (to himself). This is really very satisfactory—if I could only believe it. (Aloud.) But do I understand you to say that that is his invariable practice? Occasionally, I suppose, he goes out to a place of amusement—such as a music-hall, now?

Mrs. Cagn. (to herself). Well, he may; and why not? He don't get into no mischief, though light-'earted. I ain't going to give him a bad name. (Aloud.) Lor, Sir, don't you go and put such ideas into his 'ed. Bless your 'art alive, if he knows there are such places, it's as much as he does know!

Mr. Toov. (testily). Now, now, my good woman, I'm afraid you're trying to deceive me. I happen to know more about my nephew's tastes and pursuits than you imagine.

Mrs. Cagn. (roused). Then, if you know so much, whatever do you come 'ere and ask me for? It's my belief you ain't up to no good, for all you look so respectable, comin' into my 'ouse a-pokin' your nose into what don't concern you, for all the world like a poll-pryin', sneakin' Russian spy!

Charles (entering behind her). Hallo, Mrs. Cagney, what's all this—who's a Russian spy, eh? (Recognising Mr. Toovey.) What—Uncle! you don't mean to say it's