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TOO MUCH GENIUS.

Poet. "OH—A—I ALWAYS WRITE MY POEMS RIGHT OFF, WITHOUT ANY CORRECTIONS, YOU KNOW, AND SEND THEM STRAIGHT TO THE PRINTER. I NEVER LOOK AT 'EM A SECOND TIME."

Critic. "NO MORE DO YOUR READERS, MY BOY!"

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

OSTRICH "FARMING."—We are afraid we cannot give you any sound or useful information to assist you in your project of keeping an ostrich-farm in a retired street in Bayswater; but that you should have already received a consignment of fifty "fine, full-grown birds," and managed, with the aid of five railway porters, and all the local police available, to get them from the van in which they arrived up two flights of stairs, and locate them temporarily in your back drawing-room, augurs at least for a good start to your undertaking. That three should have escaped, and, after severely kicking the Vicar, who happened to be dining with you, terrified the whole neighbourhood, and effected an entrance into an adjacent public-house, where they appear to have done a good deal of damage to the glass and crockery, upsetting a ten-gallon cask of gin, and frightening the barmaid into a fit of hysterics, being only finally captured by the device of getting a coal-sack over their heads, was, after all, but a slight contretemps, and not one to be taken into account when measured against the grand fact that you have got all your birds safely lodged for the night. A little arnica, and a fortnight in bed, will, in all probability, set the Vicar all right. With regard to their food, we should advise you to continue the tinned lobster and muffins, which they seem to relish. You appear to be alarmed at their swallowing the tins. There is no occasion for any anxiety on this point, the tin, doubtless, serving as the proverbial "digestive" pebble with which all birds, we believe, accompany a hearty meal. We fear we cannot enlighten you as to how you make your profits out of an ostrich-farm; but, speaking at random, we should say they would probably arise by pulling the feathers out of the tails of the birds and selling them to Court Milliners. Your idea of trying them in harness in a Hansom seems to have something in it. Turn it over, by all means. Meantime, get a Shilling Handbook on the Management of the Ostrich. We think you will have to cover in your garden with a tarpaulin as you suggest. You cannot expect the fifty birds to stay for ever in your back drawing-room; and the fact that you mention, of their having already kicked down and eaten one folding-door, is significant. They will be escaping from your balcony all over the neighbourhood if you do not take care to secure them; and as they seem fresh, very aggressive, and strong in the leg, such a catastrophe might lead you into a good deal of unpleasantness. Take our advice, and get them downstairs, tight under a stout tarpaulin, as soon as possible.

HOW IT'S DONE.

A Handbook to Honesty.

No. I.—"I'M MONARCH OF ALL I SURVEY!"

SCENE—Interior of newly-erected building. Present, the Builder and a Surveyor, the former looking timidly foxy, the latter knowingly pompous, and floridly self-important; Builder, in dusty suit of dittoes, carries one hand in his breeches-pocket, where he chinks certain metallic substances—which may be coins or keys—nervously and intermittently. Surveyor, a burly mass of broadcloth and big watch-chain, carries an intimidating note-book, and a menacing pencil, making mems. in a staccato and stabbing fashion, which is singularly nerve-shaking.

Surveyor (speaking with his pencil in his mouth). Well, Mister—er—er—WOTSERNAME, I—er—think—'m, 'm, 'm—things seem to be pretty right as far's I can see; though of course—

Builder (hastily). Oh, I assure you I've taken the greatest pains to conform to—er—rules in—er—in every way; though if there should be any little thing that ketches your eye, why, you've only to—

Surveyor. Oh, of course, of course! We know all about that. You see I can only go by rule. What's right's right; what's wrong's wrong; that's about the size of it. I've nothing to do with it, one way or another, except to see the law carried out.

Builder. Ex-ack-ly! However, if you've seen all you want to, we may as well step over to the "Crown and Thistle," and—

Surveyor (suddenly). By the way, I suppose this wall is properly underpinned?

Builder (nervously). Well—er—not exackly—but, 'er, 'er—well, the fact is I thought—

Surveyor (sternly). What you thought, Sir, doesn't affect the matter. The question is, what the Building Act says. The whole thing must come down!

Builder. But, I say, that'll run me into ten pounds, at least, and really the thing's as safe as—

Surveyor. Maybe, maybe—in fact, I don't say it isn't. But the Act says it's got to be done.

Builder. Well, well, if there's no help for it, I must do it, of course.

Surveyor (looking somehow disappointed). Very sorry, of course, but you see what must be must.

Builder (sadly). Yes, yes, no doubt. Well (brightening), anyhow, we may as well step over to the "Crown and Thistle," and crack a bottle of champagne.

Surveyor (also brightening). Well, ours is a dusty job, and I don't care if I do.

[They do so. Surveyor drinks his full share of Heidsieck, and smokes a cigar of full size and flavour. He and Builder exchange reminiscences concerning past professional experiences, the "tricks of trade," diverse devices for "dodging the Act," &c., &c. Surveyor explains how stubborn builders ("not like you, you know"), who don't do the thing handsome, often suffer by having to run themselves to expenses that might have been avoided—and serve 'em right too! Also, how others, without a temper above "tips," and of a generally gentlemanly tone of mind, save themselves lots of little extras, which, maybe, the letter of the law would exact, but which a Surveyor of sense and good feeling can get over, "and no harm done, neither, to nobody." As the wine circulates, it is noticeable that good-fellowship grows almost boisterous, and facetiousness mellows into chuckling cynicism of the winking, waggish, "we all do it" sort.

Surveyor (tossing off last glass, and smacking his lips). Well, well, the best of friends must part, and I guess I must be toddling. Very glad to have met you, I'm sure, and a better bit of building than yours yonder I haven't seen for some time. Seems a pity, hanged if it don't, that you should have to put yourself to such an additional outlay—ah, by the way, what did you say it would cost you?

Builder. Oh, about ten pounds, I suppose.

Surveyor (lighting another cigar). Humph! (Puff' puff!) Pity—pity! (Puff! puff!) Now look here, my boy—(confidentially)—suppose you and me just divide that tenner between us, five to you, and five to me; and, as to the "underpinning"—well, nobody'll be a bit the wiser, and the building won't be a halfpenny the worse, I'll bet my boots. Come, is it a bargain?

[After a little beating about the bush, the little "job" is arranged amicably, on