to stir the liver up, and then to calm him down.

Now he can trouble us no more, although we go the pace;

A diet of Tomatoes keeps the tyrant in his place.

SWEETS TO THE ACID.—In an excellent speech, last week, Mr. HENRY IRVING suggested that a Charitable Organisation Society should be established for the Distribution of Art Relief. He rightly contended that the Beautiful was as necessary to perfect happiness as the Severely Useful. Drains (excellent things in their way) are scarcely on a level with Pictures. This is an idea that the so-called "goody-goody folk" find a difficulty in accepting; possibly because most of them personally represent everything that is unlovely.

"WAX TO RECEIVE, AND MARBLE TO RETAIN."

"Whacks to Receive."

According to an evening paper, the wedding-present of Colonel GOURAUD to a distinguished couple took the novel and charming form of a phonograph, recording, for all time, the musical portion of the marriage ceremony. In all probability, this precedent will be widely followed, and a set of waxen phonographic cylinders will be a familiar feature in the list of presents at every wedding of any pretensions to smartness. Still, there may be cases in which those who intend to imitate Colonel GOURAUD'S example would do well to consider first whether the conditions are equally appropriate. For instance, young JACK RIVENLUTE is not a bad fellow, though he may not be given to sentiment, and VIOLA MANDOLINE is a very charming girl, if she is apt to be a trifle high-flown and exacting at times. When they marry—(they have not even met at present, but they will marry, the year after next, unless Mr. Punch's Own Second-sighted Seer grossly deceives himself)—when they marry, VIOLA'S Uncle JOHN will be the person to present them with the then orthodox phonograph and appurtenances. But if he could foresee the future as distinctly as Mr. Punch's Seer has done in the following prophetic visions, he might substitute a biscuit-box, or a fish-slice and fork, a Tantalus spirit-case, or even a dumb-waiter, as likely, on the whole, to inspire a more permanent gratitude.

FIRST ANNIVERSARY—say, in 1893.

SCENE—A charming drawing-room. TIME—About 9:30 P.M.

Mr. RIVENLUTE is on a chair by the open window; Mrs. RIVENLUTE on a low stool by his side.

Mrs. R. (for the fiftieth time). I can't ever thank you nearly enough for this lovely ring, JACK dear!

Jack (rather gruffly). Oh, it's all right, Pussy. Glad you like it, I'm sure. Do they mean to bring in the lamps? It's pitch dark.

Mrs. R. I'll ring presently—not just yet. It was so dear of you to remember what day it was!

Jack (who only just remembered it in time, as he was driving home). Been a brute if I hadn't!

Mrs. R. You couldn't be a brute, JACK, if you tried—not to me. I'm so glad we haven't got to go out anywhere to-night, aren't you?

Jack (heartily). Rather! Beastly bore turning out after dinner. What on earth are you up to over there?

Mrs. R. (who has risen, and has apparently been winding up some instrument in the corner—as she returns). Oh, it's only something I wanted to do this evening.... Now, JACK, listen!

[The phonograph begins to click and whirr.

Jack. That beastly cat in the room again! Turn it out quick—it's going to be ill.

Mrs. R. (laughing a little hysterically). No—no, JACK, it isn't poor Snowball this time! Wait, and you will hear something.

[The "Voice that Breathed o'er Eden" is suddenly rendered by an organ and full choir: the remarks of two choristers (who are having a little difference over a hymn-book), and the subdued sniffs of MRS. MANDOLINE, being distinctly audible between the verses.

Mrs. R. (breaking down). Oh, JACK, isn't it beautiful? Wasn't it sweet of Uncle JOHN to give it to us!

Jack (who, privately, would have infinitely preferred a small cheque). Yes—he's a good old buffer at bottom.

Mrs. R. He's a perfect old love! Tell me, JACK, you're not sorry you married me, are you?

Jack. What a thing to ask a fellow Of course I'm not!

Mrs. R. (softly). Do you know, JACK, I'm sometimes sorry I married you, though.

Jack (uneasily). Come, I say, you know—what on earth for?

Mrs. R. Because I should like to marry you all over again!... Ah, I knew I should frighten you! (The final "Amen" of the Choir dies away, amid the coughing, rustling, and nasal trumpeting of last year's Congregation.) There are some more cylinders, JACK—shall we put them in next?

Jack (who feels sufficiently solemnised). Well, if you ask me, I think they'll keep till next year. Pity to disturb the effect of that last, eh?

SECOND ANNIVERARY—1894.

Same Scene and Time. Mrs. RIVENLUTE discovered alone.

Mrs. R. He might at least have made some allusion to the day—it would have been only decent! He can't possibly have forgotten! I don't know, though, very likely he has.... Well, I'm not going to remind him! I suppose he means to stay downstairs, smoking, as usual, all the evening. Oh, if I could only make him ashamed of himself just once!... I know! Uncle JOHN'S phonograph! He can't help hearing that. (She winds it up, as JACK R. enters, yawning.) Dear me, this is an unexpected honour. (Softening slightly.) Have you come up to keep me company—for once?

Jack. Well, to tell you the truth, my dear, I fancy I left the evening paper here. An, there it is.

[He seizes it, and prepares to go.

Mrs. R. You can read it here, if you like, you know—I don't mind your smoking.

Jack. Thanks—but it's cosier in the study.

Mrs. R. Of course I know that any place where I don't happen to be is cosier in your opinion.

Jack. Oh, hang it, don't begin all that again—there, I'll stay! (He chooses a comfortable chair.) What the doose is that?

[The phonograph has begun to buzz and hum.

Mrs. R. Hush!—it's Uncle JOHN'S present.

[The "Wedding March" strikes up with a deafening blare.

Jack (startled). Bless my soul! I thought something had blown up. "Hallelujah Chorus," is it—or what?

Mrs. R. (coldly). As it happens, it is MENDELSSOHN'S "Wedding March."

Jack. Sounded familiar somehow. 'Jove! MENDELSSOHN was determined to let 'em know he was married!

Mrs. R. That was intended to let people know we were married. It is our Wedding March.

Jack. Ours? You said it was MENDELSSOHN'S just now! But what are you turning it on now, for?

Mrs. R. Do