there any
Who do not bless brave Rowland Hill and his ubiquitous Penny?
One head, if 'tis a thinking one, is very often better
Than two, or twenty millions! That's just why we get our letter
From Aberdeen, or Melbourne, from Alaska or Japan,
So cheaply, quickly, certainly—thanks to one stout-soul'd Man.

A CURIOUS CURE.

Dear Mr. Punch, January13, 1890.

So much attention is now bestowed upon the prevailing epidemic that I will not apologise for troubling you with a letter detailing a case that has recently come under my own notice. My eldest son, Augustus, returned home from the educational establishment admirably conducted by my eminent and reverend friend, Dr. Swishtale, apparently in excellent health and spirits, shortly before Christmas Day. On the 4th (just a week before the date fixed for his return to the educational establishment to which I have referred) he showed symptoms of influenza. He complained of low spirits, seemed inclined to quarrel with (and thrash) his younger brothers, and flatly declined to accompany me to an inspection of the treasures contained in the Natural Historical Museum at South Kensington. I immediately prescribed for him a diet of bread and water, and an enforced retirement to bed. He spent the remainder of the day in loudly-expressed expostulation and lamentation. On the Sunday (after a consultation with his mother) I decided to adopt a home treatment of kindness, which I trusted would prevent the necessity of calling in our family doctor. I give the remainder of the case in diary form.

Monday.—Augustus very poorly. Complains of pains in his head, arms, legs, back, nose, and right little finger. Says he has no appetite, but, urged by his mother, manages to eat for breakfast two sausages and a couple of eggs. Quite unable to get up; but shortly before two o'clock, on learning that I proposed visiting the Morning Performance at Her Majesty's Theatre, expresses his desire to accompany me. He seemed to enjoy Cinderella thoroughly, in spite of his ailments; but, at the conclusion of the performance, became so very languid, that we found it desirable to take a Hansom home.

Tuesday.—Augustus prostrate. Pain in the right little finger unconsciously shifted to the left little finger. He says he had nightmare continuously, but "had not slept a wink." Breakfast, of course, in bed. No appetite for anything save muffins, herrings, and marmalade on buttered toast. Unable to move until one o'clock, when he thought (at the suggestion of his mother) that a visit to the Crystal Palace might probably do him good. The excursion was a happy thought, as certainly he seemed quite himself at Sydenham. After a hearty dinner from soup and the joint, he once more seemed languid, and had to be carried home by rail and cab.

Wednesday.—Augustus still very unwell. Seems much troubled at a dream he has had, in which he apparently died through going back to school. Still complains of insomnia. Says he did not close his eyes all night. Wished to "punch the head" (to adopt his own phraseology) of his younger brother for saying, that he had heard him snoring. However, recovered towards the evening sufficiently to accompany the rest of the family to the Circus at Covent Garden. In the theatre appeared more himself, but ill immediately afterwards.

Thursday.—Augustus (according to his own account) alarmingly ill. Found by his bedside a medical dictionary (taken from the shelves of my library) which he says, he had been reading. He thinks, that he has all the worst symptoms of delirium tremens. This is strange, as his habitual drink is ginger-beer. He complains of pains in his ears, eyes, knees, elbows, and big toes on both feet. Quite unable to get up before five o'clock, when he was fortunately, sufficiently recovered to accompany his younger brothers to a juvenile party and Christmas tree. According to Sammy (my second son) Augustus danced every dance, and served as an assistant to an amateur conjuror. But this last statement I give with some reserve, as it does not correspond with the report furnished by Augustus himself.

Friday.—Augustus at his worst. In the morning he alarmed his mother by a passionate burst of weeping. He seems to think that, if he goes back to school to-morrow, he will die immediately. Feeling that this was an unhealthy state of mind, I took him to the Zoological Gardens in the afternoon, and must confess that, while there, he appeared to experience a keen delight in feeding the bears with fragments of newspaper, concealed in stale buns. But at night his melancholia returned, and he was scarcely able to eat his dinner.

Saturday.—Received a letter from my eminent and reverend friend, Dr. Swishtale, informing me that, in consequence of the prevalence of influenza, it had been thought advisable to extend the Christmas vacation for a fortnight or three weeks. On conveying this intelligence to my eldest son, he seemed to rapidly recover, and has (I am happy to say) been well ever since.

Trusting that the history of this singular case may afford some hints and comfort to parents with children afflicted (as was my dear Augustus) with a disease so eccentric in its ramifications as influenza,

I remain, dear Mr. Punch,
Yours most truly, Simon Simple Wideawake.

Malinger Villa, Blarney Road, S. W.

VOCES POPULI.

THE CADI OF THE CURBSTONE.

Scene—A thoroughfare near Hyde Park. Shortly before Scene opens, an Elderly Gentleman has suddenly stopped the cab in which he has been driving, and, without offering to pay the fare, has got out and shuffled off with a handbag. The Cabman has descended from his seat and overtaken the old gentleman, who is now perceived to be lamentably intoxicated. The usual crowd springs up from nowhere, and follows the dispute with keen and delighted interest.

Cabman. Look 'ere, you ain't goin' not without payin' me, you know—where's my two shillings?