hitherto unexplored regions of South or Central Africa. I dined with Johnnie the evening before he left England. He was in the highest spirits. His talk was of rich farms, of immense gold-mines. He was off to make his pile, and would then come home, buy an estate in the country—he had one in his eye—and live a life of sport, surrounded by all the comforts, and by all his friends. And so we parted, never to meet again. He was lost while making his way back to the coast with a small party, and no trace of him has ever since been discovered. But to his friends he has left a memory and an example of invincible courage, and unceasing cheerfulness in the face of misfortune, of constant helpfulness, and unflinching staunchness. Can it be said that such a man was a failure? I don't think so. I must write again. In the meantime I remain, as usual,

D.R.

Signs of the Season.—"Beauty's Daughters!" These charming young ladies are to be obtained for the small sum of one penny! as for this trifling amount,—unless there is a seasonably extra charge,—you can purchase the Christmas Number of the Penny Illustrated, wherein Mr. Clement Scott "our dear departed" (on tour round the world—"globe-trotting"), leads off with some good verses. Will he be chosen Laureate? He is away; and it is characteristic of a truly great poet to be "absent." And the Editor, that undefeated story-teller, tells one of his best stories in his best style, and gives us a delightful picture of Miss Elsie Norman. "Alas! she is another's! she never can be mine!" as she is Somebody Elsie's. Success to your Beauties, Mr. Latey, or more correctly, Mr. Early-and-Latey, as you bring out your Christmas Number a good six weeks before Christmas Day.

Motto for the Labour Commission.—"The proper study of mankind is—Mann!"

The New Employment.—Being "Unemployed."

A CABBIN' IT COUNCIL IN NOVEMBER.

CABBIN' IT COUNCIL.

(In November.)

REAL PRESENCE OF MIND.

Policeman X 24, drunk and almost incapable, is just able to blow his Whistle for Help!

LADY GAY'S GHOST.

Mount Street, Berkeley Square.

Dear Mr. Punch,

More than a fortnight ago I fled from the London fog, with the result that it got thicker than ever about me in the minds of your readers and yourself! I determined during my absence to do what many people in the world of Art and Letters have done before me, employ a "Ghost"—(my first dealings with the supernatural, and probably my last!). I wired to one of the leading Sporting Journals for their most reliable Racing Ghost—he was busy watching Nunthorpe—(who is only the Ghost of what he was!)—and the Bogie understudy sent to me was a Parliamentary Reporter!—(hence the stilted style of the letter signed "Pomperson." Heavens! what a name!)—I had five minutes to explain the situation to him before catching the train de luxe—(Lord Arthur had gone on with the luggage)—and I don't think he had the ghostliest idea of what I wanted!—the one point he grasped, was, that he was to use anonymous names—which he did with a vengeance!—My horror on reading his letter was such that I dropped all the money I had in my hand on the "red" instead of the "black"—and it won!—(I think I shall bring out a system based on "fright.")

Of course all my friends thought Lord Arthur and I had quarrelled, and I was "off" with someone else!—What a fog. This idea being confirmed by the following week's letter, which was the well-meant but misdirected effort of my friend Lady Harriett Entoucas, to whom I wired to "do something for me"—(she pretty nearly did for me altogether!)—there was nothing for it but to come home—where I am—Lord Arthur wanted to write you this week, but I thought one explanation at a time quite enough—so his shall follow—"if you want a thing done, do it yourself!"—so in future I will either be my own Ghost or have nothing to do with them! Yours apparitionally,

Lady Gay.

ALL ROUND THE FAIR.

No. II.

Inside the "Queen's Grand Collection of Moving Waxworks and Lions, and Museum Department of