yearns for deserts free, the mariner for grog,

The hielan' laddie treads the heath, the croppy trots the bog;

The Switzer boasts his avalanche, the Eskimo his dog,

But only London in the world, can show a London fog.

A WONDERFUL SHILLINGSWORTH.

My Dear Mr. Punch,—Fresh from the country (which has been my perpetual residence for the last twenty years), I came to London, a few days ago, to visit an establishment which seemed to me to represent that delight of my childhood, the Polytechnic Institution, in the time of Professor PEPPER's Ghost, and glass-blowing by machinery. I need scarcely say that the Royal Aquarium was the attraction, where a shilling entrance fee I imagined would procure for me almost endless enjoyment.

I had seen the appetising programme—how the doors were opened at 10 A.M., to close a good thirteen hours later—after a round of novelties full of interest to a provincial sight-seer, to say nothing of a Londoner. I entered and found the Variety Entertainment was "on." I was about to walk into an enclosure, and seat myself in a first-rate position for witnessing the gambols of some talented wolves, when I was informed that I could not do this without extra payment. Unwilling to "bang" an extra sixpence (two had already been expended) I tried to find a gratuitous coign of vantage, but (I am sorry to add) unsuccessfully. But I was not to be disheartened. Could I not see "KENNEDY, King Laughter-Maker of the World," or "a Grand Billiard Match," or (more interesting still) "the Performing Fleas"? Yes, indeed I could, but only by expending a shilling on the Mesmerist, a like sum for the Billiard Match. and sixpence on the carefully-trained hoppers. Seeing that "the Wonderful and Beautiful Mystic MURIEL" was in the building, I attempted to interview her, but was stopped at the door by a demand for the fifth of half-a-crown. A like sum stood as a barrier between me and an entertainment that I was told was "described by Mr. RIDER HAGGARD in his well-known romance, called She." Passing by a small bower-like canvas erection, I was attracted by the declaration of its custodian that it was "the most wonderful sight in the world," a statement he made, he said, "without fear of contradiction." But "Eve's Garden" (as the small bower-like canvas erection was called) was inaccessible to those who did not expend the grudgingly-produced but necessary sixpence. Foiled in this direction, I fain would have visited the celebrated Beckwith Family performances, but was prevented by finding that a shilling was the only passport to admission, unless I happened to be a child, when the modified charge of sixpence would be deemed sufficient. There was, however, one entertainment almost free (only a penny was charged), an automatic sight-tester, which pleased me greatly. By putting a copper in the slot, pressing a pedal, and turning a handle, I learned that anyone could discover, literally at a glance, the condition of his eyes. Had I not made up my mind to disburse nothing further than the bare shilling I had already expended, I should certainly have ascertained if the time had arrived for my regretful assumption of a pinch-nose or a pair of spectacles.

I was now losing heart, when, to my great joy, I came upon "the White Kangaroo, the Laughing Jackasses, &c.," all of which were to be seen "free gratis and for nothing." It is right, however, that I should add that I found some difficulty in distinguishing "the White Kangaroo" from "the Laughing Jackasses," and both from "&c." I now made for Mlle. PAULA's Crocodiles, but here, again, alas! I was doomed to disappointment. As I approached the Reptile-House, in which the fair dame was disporting herself (no doubt) amongst "Indian Pythons and Boa Constrictors," I was warned off by the legend, "Admission, Sixpence." It was then I remembered that, after all, I was in an Aquarium, and, consequently, had no right to expect anything but fish. So I approached the tanks, and, to my great delight, found in one of them some floating bodies, that I am almost sure must have been herrings. Having thus gratified my curiosity for the strange and the curious, I returned, well satisfied, to the country, where I purpose remaining a further term of next twenty years. In the meanwhile, believe me, Dear Mr. Punch,

Yours sincerely, ONE EASILY PLEASED.

Something very big.—"The principal rôle (Falstaff), in VERDI's new comic Opera is amplified and enlarged," writes a special Correspondent to The Standard, "from the Falstaff of the other plays (besides the Merry Wives) in which he takes a part." "Takes a part!" Good Heavens! Falstaff "amplified and enlarged" will be something more than a part. It will be that mathematical impossibility, "a part greater than the whole." Surely, with such a rôle in it, this can't be a light Opera.

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Golden Bells, rung by DEAN AND SON,—quite appropriately ecclesiastical this,—and edited by Mrs. ELIZABETH DAY, will ring forth peals of delight in the nursery, it being the Christmas number of The Little One's Own Paper.

Arrowsmith's Christmas Annual, by WALTER BESANT, bears the cheerful and seasonable title of "The Demoniac."

Mr. HYNE's Four Red Nightcaps is somewhat in the style of Three Men in a Boat, only there are "Four men in a Yacht."

Most of the Magazines have their special numbers of these. The English Illustrated Harper's, The Century, are got up with the most charming illustrations.

The Gentlewoman has her first Christmas Number, and,—so like her!—a coloured satin picture! The Pictorial World has two good pictures for framing.

The Baron liketh much the latest contribution to the Rosslyn Series, edited by Earl HODGSON, who is of the Peerage of Parnassus, as you won't find this Earl in Brett's Peerage. The Baron congratulates the Earl, and has also sent an order for a pound of laurels wherewith to decorate the brow of WALTER HERRIES POLLOCK. Among the many gems of his songs let me select "A Continuation"—there would have been "a pair of continuations," could he have rivalled himself; then "Lalage," and "The Chansonnette," which, with "Rizzio to Marie Stuart," ought to be set to music by a gifted composer. There are also some delightful verses to "Old Court Trinity," which will delight all Trinitarians of Cambridge—"cum multis aliis"—to quote the ancient Roman singer, so, as a short way with our Poet POLLOCK, the classic Baron, remembering how the ancients swore "By Pollux!" adapts the ejaculation, and says, "Buy POLLOCK's—book."

All Meredithians must possess George Meredith, Some Characteristics, by Richard Le Gallienne. The book is a complete and excellent guide to the novelist and the novels, a sort of Meredithian Bradshaw, with pictures of the traffic superintendent, and of the head office at Boxhill. Even Philistines may be won over by the blandishments of Mr. Le GALLIENNE, from whom I learn, by the way, that GEORGE MEREDITH is "the HARVEY of the Ego," and that he is not ADRIAN HARLEY. I hear, also, that "daily, from one quarter or another, come critical cuff and kick, to impress upon a numb public the latest example of its immemorial purblindness." And the Baron adds this cufflet to the rest. Mr. JOHN LANE has added a Bibliography, which is a model of minute industry. So here's to the book of RICHARD and JOHN.

Among the Arts for obvious reasons not known to Ancient Greece is The Art of Cooking by Gas. In a little book under this title, published by CASSELL, Mrs. SUGG has