capitally played by Miss JECKS and Mr. LIONEL RIGNOLD, do not get much of a chance against the heartrending sorrows of Miss EVELYN MILLARD, and of Mrs. PATRICK CAMPBELL, the slighted, or sea-lighted heroine, known as "Dave's Daughter" (oh, how fond Mr. W.A. ELLIOTT must be of Dave Purvis, the weakest sentimentalist-accidental-lunatic-criminal that ever was let off scot-free at R.H. first entrance before the fall of the Curtain), and the undaunted heroism and unblushing villany of Messrs. CHARLES DALTON, COCKBUKN, KINGSTON & Co. The title might well have been, Good Lights of Home, and Wicked Livers all Abroad.

"TOP-DRESSING."—Said Mr. G. to a Welsh audience, "I might as well address the top of Snowdon on the subject of the Establishment, as address you on the matter." Flattery! The top of Snowdon, of course, represented the highest intelligence in Wales.

"I pity the poor Investors!" exclaimed Mrs. R. sympathetically, when she saw the heading of a paragraph in the Times—"Bursting of a Canal Bank."

A BIG BOOMING CHANCE LOST!—Miss LOTTIE COLLINS, according to the Standard's report of the proceedings on board the unfortunate Cepheus, said that, on seeing two jeering men rowing out from shore, holding up bread to the hungry passengers, she, "had she been a man, would have shot them." She wasn't a man, and so the two brutes escaped. But what another "Boom! te-ray,—Ta, ra, ra," &c., &c., this would have been for LA COLLINS!

NOT IMPROBABLE.—Lord ROSEBERY might have ended his diplomatic reply to Mr. THOMAS GIBSON BOWLES, M.F., who recently sent kind inquiries to the Foreign Office, as to the Pamirs and Behring Sea, Canadian Government, &c., &c., with a P.S. to the effect that "his correspondent probably considered him as a Jack (in office), and therefore a legitimate object to score off in the game of BOWLES."

The Prodigal Daughter; or, The Boyne-Water Jump, by DRURIOLANUS MAGNUS and PETTITT PARVUS, was produced with greatest success, last Saturday, at Old Drury. The general recommendation to the authors will be, as a matter of course, i.e., of race-course, given in the historic words of DUCROW, "Cut the cackle and come to the 'osses." When this advice is acted upon, The Prodigal Daughter, a very fine young woman, but not particularly prodigal, will produce receipts beyond all cacklelation.

FUTURE LEGISLATION FOR NEXT SESSION.—Mr. GLADSTONE will introduce a Bill to render criminal the keeping of heifers loose in a field.

BY A PARAGRAPHIC JOURNALIST.—Very natural that there should be "pars" about "Mars."

"SIGNAL FAILURES."—Most Railway Accidents.

CULTURE BY THE SEA.

"HAVE YOU BROWNING'S WORKS?"

"NO, MISS. THEY'RE TOO DIFFICULT. PEOPLE DOWN HERE DON'T UNDERSTAND THEM."

"HAVE YOU PRAED?"

"PRAYED, MISS? OH YES; WE'VE TRIED THAT, BUT IT'S NO USE!"

THE CHÂTEAU D'"IF."

SUMMARY OF RESULT FOR OLD CATHOLIC CONGRESS.—Lucernâ Lucellum.

LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.

Mount Street, Grosvenor Square.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,—I got so wet on the St. Leger day, that I've been in bed ever since—not because I had to wait till my things were dry—but because I caught a cold! What a day it was!—I am told that in addition to the St. Leger, Doncaster is chiefly celebrated for Butter Scotch—if so, I presume they don't make it out-of-doors, or it would have stood a good chance of being melted—(not in the mouth)—on Wednesday fortnight! But the excitement of the race fully made up for the liquid weather, and we all—(except the backers of Orme)—enjoyed ourselves. I was told that the Duke of WESTMINSTER had "left the Leger at Goodwood," which is simply absurd, as I not only saw it run for at Doncaster myself, but it is ridiculous to insinuate that the Duke went there, put the Leger in his pocket—(as if a Nobleman ever kept books)—walked off quietly to Goodwood and left it there deliberately!

I conclude it can only be an expression coined to discount—(another ledger term)—the victory of La Flèche,—to which not half enough attention has been drawn, solely (in my opinion) because La Flèche is of the gentler sex, and men don't like the "horse of the year" to be a mare.

I still maintain she was unlucky to lose the Derby, as she won the Oaks two days later in two seconds quicker time:—(which is an anachronism—as if you win once out of twice—how can it be two seconds?)

There was good sport at Yarmouth last week, though owing to the rain the course must have been on the soft (roe) side,—by the way you can get them now in bottles, and very good they are. I am glad to see that staunch supporter of the turf, Lord ELTHAM, winning races again—as his horses have been much out of form lately, at least so I am told, but I was not aware that horses were in a "form" at all, unless being "schooled" over hurdles.

I shall have a word or two to say on the Cesarewitch shortly—having had some private information calculated to break a ROTHSCHILD if followed—but for the moment will content myself with scanning the programme of the Leicester and Manchester Meetings.

There are two races which seem perhaps worth picking up—one at each place; and,