class="i2">From Brummagem you know!

And wheresoever Solly went

That Lamb was bound to go.

The Lion and the Lamb in fact!

And what could be more jolly?

Yet some do whisper that—sometimes—

The Lamb seems leading Solly.

"What Ho, Apothecary!"—Last week the Earl of Bessborough was announced as having arrived at Bessborough, Pilltown, Ireland. What an appropriate spot for erecting an Irish Apothecaries' Hall! What is Lord Bessborough's family name? Is it The O'Cockle?

THE AUTHOR.

The First Duty of an Opposition (As it now seems to be understood).—"To lie in cool Obstruction, and talk rot."—(Shakspeare—slightly adapted.)

Modern Translation by our Youngest Sporting Etonian.—"In formâ pauperis"—i.e., "in rather poor form."

AT AN AFTERNOON ENTERTAINMENT.

Scene—Prince's Hall, Piccadilly. Among the Audience are—A London Aunt, and her Eldest Daughter, with a Cousin from the Country, who is just a little difficult to amuse; a Serious-minded Lady from Brixton, with a more frivolous Friend; a pair of Fiancés; and an Unsophisticated Father, with an Up-to-date little Daughter. An exhibition of "Pure Sleight-of-Hand" has just been given on the Stage.

The Serious Lady. Clever? Yes, my dear, it is clever enough, if that's all; but I never can quite reconcile my conscience to encouraging a fellow-creature to make a living by deliberate deception!

Her Friend. Oh, I don't see any harm in conjuring, myself.

The S. L. I can't forget that Pharaoh had his Sorcerers and Magicians, and how they acted!

Her Friend. Ah, I never saw them.

The London Aunt (to her Niece). Enjoying it, Sophy? Such a treat for you, to see really good conjuring!

Sophy. Yes, Aunt, thank you. But our new Curate did that trick with two rabbits at the last Penny Readings we had!

[A calico screen is brought forward on which the Entertainer throws various shadows with his hands.

The S. L. Is that a little house at the corner? Oh, he doesn't do that with his hands—then I see no merit in it. Who's that? (A small male shadow, cast by the performer's right hand, crosses the screen, and knocks timidly at the door, which is opened by the left hand, in the character of a little Lady. The couple embrace effusively, and retire inside.) Ah, that's the husband coming home!

[Another male shadow enters and knocks furiously, while the little Lady reconnoitres cautiously from the window above.

Her Friend. I expect that must be the husband.

The S. L. What?—and the wife behaving like that in his absence! If I thought that was the—— (The first male shadow comes out, and fights the second, who retreats, worsted.) I never saw anything so scandalous. How you can call yourself consistent, and sit there and laugh at such things——!

Her Friend (apologetically). I can't help laughing—and, after all, perhaps they're only rival lovers, or he's her father, or something.

The S. L. And she inviting one to come into the house in that bold way—a nice example for young persons! Look there, he's come back with a flageolet, and she's actually poured a jug of water on his head out of the window! "Only a pair of hands," did you say? So it may be—but we all know who it is that "Finds some mischief still For idle hands to do"—and there we have an illustration of it, my dear.

[She shakes herself down in her sealskins with virtuous disapproval.

The Unsophisticated Father (who has been roaring with laughter). Capital! It is amazingly clever, 'pon my word! Can't imagine how they do these things—can you, Vivvie? [To Up-to-Date Child.

Miss Vivien. Oh, well I've seen so much conjuring at parties, you know, Father, that I don't notice it particularly,—but it's nice to see you so amused!

The U. F. I'm young, you see, Vivvie; but I hope you're not bored?

Miss V. No, I'm not bored—only I thought there'd be some Serpentine dancing, and more of the Music Hall about it.

The U. F. Music Hall! Why, what do you know about Music Halls, eh?

Miss V. (with calm superiority). Several of their songs—if you call that anything.

The U. F. I should be inclined to call it a good deal too much!

Miss V. (compassionately). Would you? Poor dear Father! But you never were very modern, were you?

[A Blind-folded Lady on the Stage has been reading and adding up figures on a black board, and now offers to tell the day of the week of any person's birth in the audience.

Her Colleague. Will some gentleman kindly oblige me with the date of his birth?

The Fiancée. Now, Jack, tell yours. I want you to.

Jack (in an unnaturally gruff voice). Fourteenth of February, eighteen-sixty-nine!

The Blindfolded Lady (with the air of the Delphic Pythia). Yes—that fell upon a Monday. [Applause.

Her Coll. Is that correct, Sir?

Jack. Don't know.

[He reddens, and tries to look unconscious.

Her Coll. Now I will ask the Lady if she can mention some event of importance that took place on the same date.

The Bl. L. Let me think. Yes. (Solemnly.) On the same date, in the year seventeen-hundred-and-thirty-seven, goloshes were first invented! [Loud applause.

Miss V. (as the pair retire). Well, thank goodness, we've seen the last of that beastly black-board. I didn't come here to add up sums. What is it next? Oh, a "Farmyard Imitator." I expect that will be rather rot, Father, don't you?

[Enter a Gentleman in evening dress who gives realistic imitations of various live-stock.

The Country Cousin. That's exactly the way our little Berkshire pig grunts, and "Sweetlips" calls her calf just like that—and, oh, Katie, I wonder if he could have heard our Dorkings clucking at home—I think he must have—he does it so exactly the same!

Katie. Then you do think that's clever, Sophy?

Sophy. Oh, well—for an imitation, you know!

[A "Sensational Cage Mystery" is introduced; a pretty child is shut up in a cage, which is opened a moment after, and found to contain a Negro who capers out, grinning.

The London Aunt. Sophy, do you see that?—there's a black man there now, instead!

Sophy (without enthusiasm). Yes, Aunt, I see, thank you.

Katie. Don't you like it,