were not so terrible to the enemy, as he should then be less urgently called upon to go and fight. Mr. Punch wishes that his works were not so universally attractive, as he should not then have to answer so many questions about them. He has actually had to receive a Deputation upon the subject of his splendid and unparalleled Pocket-Book for 1872. It appears that certain improvements which he introduced into the volume have given the most enormous and outrageous satisfaction to the majority of mankind, and that the demand for the book has been excessive—almost inconvenient. But a minority of excellent persons, who hate all kinds of changes, have complained that by taking out certain blank pages, he has prevented the complainants from embalming their own observations by the side of his preternatural wit and humour. As aforesaid, a Deputation on the subject approached the presence last Saturday. Mr. Punch, of course, listened with his usual affability. The strong points of the applicants were, that they had been accustomed for years to write their own biographies and engagements in the sacred volume, and that the record of their lives thus became nearly imperishable, as no one in his right senses would ever destroy a Punch's Pocket-Book. They therefore humbly begged him to restore the old form.

Mr. Punch smiled, and gently said that of course he must be the best judge of what his friend the Universe required at his hands, and this proposition was conceded with respectful acclamation. He might just suggest that his Pocket-Book, although a precious jewel, was not a thing to be locked up in a cabinet, but one to be the light and joy of a household for a year, but it might not be so evident that personal entries, as "Charles very cross"—"Sweet letter from Arabella," "Bless Smithson's mistletoe!" "I hate Aunt Popkins," "Said I had not dined at Greenwich:" "Ridiculous sermon by new curate," and the like, were equally adapted for the perusal of the said household. Such things might be confided to a humbler receptacle. But the pleas being renewed, without reference to the answer (we need hardly remark that most of his visitors were of the sex "that can't argue, and pokes fires from the top," as good Archbishop Whatley said) Mr. Punch blandly promised that the views of the deputation should receive the utmost consideration at his hands. And when he had thus spoken he dismissed the assembly—or rather conducted it to a sumptuous, yet delicate lunch.

Duties and Imposts.

Important Notice to Travellers.—Any person arriving from the Continent is permitted to clear his throat at the Custom House free of all duty.

EVENINGS FROM HOME.

The next evening Tommy was dressed in an unusual style of elegance: every article of his attire was of the most exquisite cut; every species of ornament that fashion permitted to decorate his person was his; not a stud was omitted, nor was one drop, less than necessary, of india-rubber-boot-polish forgotten that could tend to render his toilet perfect. And, indeed, neither Mr. Barlow nor Harry were far behind him in appearance on this memorable occasion, which was nothing less than that of their first visit to the Royal Grecian Theatre, in the City Road.

Here, from their stalls (which were remarkably inexpensive, being, indeed, only one shilling and sixpence each) they surveyed the wonderful sight which presented itself to them, of a house densely packed from the floor to the ceiling.

The Pantomime was the only piece played, and was entitled Zig-Zag, the Crooked. When Mr. George Conquest, who represented Zig-Zag himself, first appeared, as if hewn out of the rock, inanimate as the Sphinx, a thrill of astonishment ran through the audience, which gradually showed itself in vehement applause when Zig-Zag's fearful eyes began to move, as at the command of the Young Prince, the monster became endued with life and descended from the rock.

Tommy. I declare this is the most extraordinary thing I ever saw.

Harry. Indeed, you are right, and I could not have conceived anyone being at once so hideous and so diverting.

Presently there was a brilliant scene, in which there were some admirable selections from the works of various composers, principally French, executed in a manner so creditable to the performers, as to call forth from Mr. Barlow the remark that he had heard nothing better of its kind in any Theatre this year. When Mr. Conquest and his Son leaped several times from the stage to the top scenes ("which" Mr. Barlow informed his pupils "are termed flies"), and tumbled through trap-doors, coming up again so quickly, and in so great a variety of places all over the "boards," that the audience was in a state of constant excitement as to what next might be going to happen; and when finally Zig-Zag took such a header, as Harry had seen the big boys at school do, when they were going to dive for chalk eggs, from the flies right through the stage, and was lost to all eyes, then the enthusiastic admiration of Mr. Barlow and his young friends knew no bounds, and they evinced their pleasure, as did the rest of the company, in such rounds of applause as brought on Mr. Conquest and his Son, without their wigs and false noses, to bow their acknowledgments.

The following night they went to the Gaiety to witness the performance of Mr. Toole in Dearer than Life, which Mr. Barlow had seen before, and in Thespis, the Christmas novelty at this theatre.

Tommy. If you please, Sir, what sort of piece is this?

Mr. Barlow. Indeed, my dear Tommy, I cannot exactly tell. And it is nearly impossible for an ordinarily well-instructed person to comprehend the precise meaning of any one subject on which those who should know best are apparently disagreed, and who, in consequence, signally fail in rendering their own meaning intelligible in the public.

Harry. That is true, Sir, and I perceive that you have noticed how, at various times, this same piece has been announced as a "Musical Extravaganza," an "Operatic Burlesque," a "Grotesque Drama, illustrated with music by Mr. Sullivan," a "Comic Opera," and lately an English Opera Bouffe. As perhaps next week it may be styled a Tragicomicopera, or some other title, I would like, Sir, to join Tommy in his question as to what you suppose this piece really to be?

Mr. Barlow. Why, then, for my part, I suppose it is intended for a specimen of English Opéra bouffe.

Harry. And what, Sir, is Opéra bouffe?

Mr. Barlow. It is a French burlesque—a vehicle for extravagances in costume, in acting, and in singing. It is in one, two, three, or even five Acts, and differs from the English burlesque in that it is written in prose, and depends mainly for its success upon the original music written for it by some composer, instead of on selections from various popular sources. In this piece, for example, the dialogue is prosy—I mean in prose—and the music has been written to suit it. I think we may, therefore, suppose this piece to be an English Opéra bouffe.

Tommy (during the First Act). I do not understand what characters these worthy people represent who are trying their best to divert us.

Mr. Barlow, who had been giving the play his closest attention, seemed to