protest against your pushing in here, Sir. We're hot enough already without that. It's monstrously unfair!

The New Comer. I s'pose I've got as much right to see the bloomin' Presents as what you 'ave?

The P.-f. O. G. You've no right to push in out of your turn, Sir. You must take your proper place down at the end of the queue and wait, like everybody else.

The New Comer. What, all the way down there, and 'ow long might I have to wait, now?

The P.-f. O. G. (with tremendous dignity). That I can't say, Sir. I can only tell you this—that I have been standing here myself for over three-quarters of an hour without advancing ten yards or seeing anything distinctly, and so have all these ladies and gentlemen.

The New Comer. Hor, hor, hor! D'jear that, Joe? Ten yards in three-quarters of an hour! What price snails, eh? Well, Sir, if that's your ideer of amusin' yourself on a warm afternoon, it ain't mine, so you'll excuse me and my friend 'ere joinin' your little percession. Don't lose 'art, Sir, keep on at it. You'll git there afore bedtime if you don't overexert yourselves. Take it easy now!

[They pass on with ribald laughter, to the general relief. Eventually, after infinite delay and maddening exhortations to "keep moving," the outer queue succeed to the barrier and to the unpopularity enjoyed by their predecessors.

Along the Barrier.

Now we shan't be nearly so squeeged, Minnie! There's nothing partickler to look at just yet, except kerridges.... It's not the smallest use telling us to hurry, my good woman, because we can't move till those in front choose to go on.... Look at the 'arness, Minnie—pretty 'arness, ain't it? with their crest on it and all!... Well, I call it shabby givin' 'em a kerridge without even so much as a old moke to dror it. I'd ha' done it 'ansome, or not at all.... Lor, look at the dust on all the furniture—it will want cleanin' up!... That's a beautiful gong, Minnie; see, that's the thing they 'it it with.... Ain't that a comfortable looking chair in red moroccer? That'll be for the 'all porter to set in, I expect—there's a 'at in it. Lor no, my dear, it 'ud ha' been a better lookin' 'at than what that is, if it was one of the presents, depend on it! There's a weighin' machine.... Fancy goin' and givin' them a thing like that! Oh, I expect it's for them to weigh theirselves with. Ah, 'ere come the Jewels now. Now we shall see somethink!... I don't see our present yet, do you, 'Arriet? There's old Uncle Bill's. See, that dimond and pearl necklace. Well, if they ain't gone and put it down as "Persented by six 'undred and fifty ladies of England!" And the old man savin' up his screw for weeks for it—he will be 'urt when he 'ears of it! Some bloke's gone and given 'em a pillar-post box. I thought of sendin' the one at our corner, on'y it wouldn't come out easy: and what with the copper bein' on his beat—why, I decided I'd give 'em somethink else.... Walking-sticks? Why, he wouldn't want more if he was a—a centipede!... I wonder where they'll put all the things, I'm sure! 'Ullo, a pearl and dimond tiarer, made o' cardboard. I 'ope they thanked 'im nicely for that! Why, that's on'y a model, like. Well, and a very good model, too, what I call eckernomical.... Look at those lovely toast-racks!... Lavender, what a magnificent old mirror!—Elizabethan, I expect. I wonder who gave that?... Oh, me and 'Arriet give 'er that, mum.... Oh, dear, I wish I was them, to have all these presents.... Why, my dear, it doesn't matter to them—they have everything lovely as it is!... 'Arriet, when you and me git married, we'll 'ave a show of all our presents—not 'ere, there won't be no room. We'll take the Agricultural 'All, and have a catalogue and everythink. "Set of Elizabethian sheep's trotters, from the Hearl of Alamode." eh? "Pound of Queen Anne saveloys, from the Markis o' Mile-end." "Yard o' flypaper, from the Dook o' Shoreditch." "Packet of 'airpins, persented by seven 'underd lydies of Whitechapel." "Donkey-barrer an' kerridge-rug, from the residents in the Ole Kent Road." Etceterer ... I do wish you wouldn't go on so foolish! Why, if someone hain't sent her a set o' straw soles to keep her shoes dry—what next, I wonder!... And a very sensible thing too.... Well, my dear, I'm sure nothing can't be too good for her, and they've certainly been set up with every blessing a young couple can require—and may they live long to enjoy them!

[And so says Mr. Punch.

A SLAVE TO COURTESY.

He. "Do you mind stoppin' a bit now. I get rather giddy, don'tcherknow."

She. "But if you get Giddy, why do you come to Dances?"

He. "Well, I'm a Bachelor and that sort of thing, and it's the only way I can see of repayin' Hospitality."

Parliamentary Declension.

Nominative—M.P. "named." Genitive—M.P. in possession of the House. Dative—Giving it hot to M.P. Accusative—Charge against M.P. Vocative—"O! O!" and (pro-vocative cries). Ablative—M.P. is removed in custody of Serjeant-at-Arms.

The subject of conversation in the presence of Mrs. R. was the Darlington magistrates' decision in the palmistry case. "Yet," remarked our old friend, thoughtfully, "palmistry is very ancient, and practised professionally by most excellent and good people. Isn't David always spoken of as 'The Palmist'?"

THE SONG OF THE SHOPKEEPER.

THE VOLUNTEERS' VADE MECUM.

(For the Centre Weeks of July.)

• Question. Do you prefer Bisley to Wimbledon?
• Answer. Officially, yes; as a civilian, no.
• Q. Why do you make the distinction?
• A. Because I go to Bisley in a double capacity.
• Q. Why do you prefer Bisley to Wimbledon officially?
• A. Because there are no distractions, and the ranges are less subject to atmospheric interruption.
• Q. Why do you prefer Wimbledon to Bisley as a civilian?
• A. Because Wimbledon was an extremely cheery place, where you could entertain your friends to your heart's content, and have a generally good time of it.