Sharing your sorrow as she shared your pride.

For her dear sake, and for your own not less,

We wish you, gallant soldier-chief, success

In a dread struggle keener, sterner far

Than those you faced in the fierce lists of war.

We know—have you not proved it?—that 'twill be

Met with the same cool steadfast gallantry

As marked your bearing in more martial strife.

Punch joins in that warm prayer for "the dear life,"

And echoes, from a far yet kindred strand,

The pleading voices of the Fatherland!

As among the best books for a young man who had to be the architect of his own fortunes, some one in Mrs. Ram's hearing mentioned Thomas à Kempis. "Oh yes," exclaimed the worthy lady, "I know. He built a great part of Brighton which was named after him."

A Real "Orleans" Plum.—The forged letters.

Mrs. Ram, at this time of year, takes a great interest in the state of the weather, and studies the daily Meteorological chronicle. She says that she always reads the reports from Ben Nevis's Observatory. She hopes that, one of these fine days, this learned astronomer will be made a Knight. Sir Benjamin Nevis would be, she considers, a very nice title. "Of course," she adds, "judging by his name, he must be a Jew. They're such clever people. And, let me see, ain't there a proverb, or something of that sort, about 'the Jew of Ben Nevis'?"

BISHOP AND PORT.

My Dear Mr. Punch,

In my Autobiography, which I am glad and proud to say, has met with your cordial approbation, I have recorded how the late lamented Bishop, Dr. Sumner, said to me, "I have drunk a bottle of port wine every day since I was a boy." Well, his son, the Archdeacon, is annoyed at this statement. Now, my memory is a very good one, and if I am wrong in one point so circumstantially narrated, why not in several, why not in all? If the Bishop did not say this, to me, who did? Somebody said it, that I will swear. Who said it? If my memory fails me, is it not also likely that the Bishop's memory was not particularly good, and consequently, that he was mistaken in thinking that he had drunk a bottle a day since his boyhood? I have little doubt that the Bishop only imagined it, and perhaps he was joking. Perhaps he was playing on the words "bishop" and "port." "Bishop" was a hot drink, I fancy, made with port wine. I have no hesitation in comforting his Archidiaconal offspring by assuring him that, to the best of my knowledge and belief, his father, the Bishop, did not drink a bottle of port every day since his boyhood. He was a very fine old clergyman—I forget whether he was exactly portly or not, or whether he resided in Portman Square,—and I should say that first-rate port, such as the elixir vitæ that made a hale centenarian of Sir Moses Montefiore, taken frequently, would have tended to make him the genial prelate he was. Had he only gone into port once, that would not have sufficed to have produced such a Bishop, for "One swallow does not make a Sumner." Yours ever,W(ithdraw) P(ort) Frith.

P.S.—The Archdeacon is satisfied, and if he will only come round to see me and bring a bottle of the port the Bishop didn't drink, why, on my word as an artist, I'll draw the cork.

"What shall he have who kills the Deer?" Why, something to eat, of course. At least this was, among others, the notion of the poor starving Cottars. And they have now given up venison-eating because the food is deer.

Two French Presidents Rolled Into One.—M. Grévy, on being told that he must resign, wept copiously. This showed a want of resignation. Curious sight, Grévy and Tears!

Sir Charles Warren has been presented with the freedom of the Leathersellers' Guild. Capital motto for Policemen in a mob, "Nothing like leather! Leather away!"

ROBERT AT KILBURN.

I had the cureosity one day to arsk a lerned gennelman on whom I was waiting, whether the poor fellers who lived in the world ever so many hundred years ago had got any Copperashuns. He pretended not to understand me at fust, and said, with a larf, as he dared say as they was made much as we was; that is to say, sum with large ones, and some with little ones; but when I xplained what I reely meant, he told me as they had, speshally amung the Romuns as lived in Ittaly. He was a werry amusing Gent, and when I arsked him what langwidge the Romuns torked, he tried to gammon me as they all spoke Latin, ewen the little children and all, but in coarse I wasn't quite such a hignoramus as to swaller that, as my son William, who isn't by no means a fool, learnt Latin at Skool for three year and tells me as he carn't speak it a bit. The lerned gent also told me as it was such a rum tung to speak that they hadn't not no word for "Yes!" So that if a Gent of those long days had bin a dining at the "Ship and Turtle" an bin a waited on by an Hed Waiter, like me, and had said to him "Woud you like arf-a-crown, Waiter?" the pore feller woodn't have been able to say, "Yessir!" I was jest a leetle shocked at his torking such rubbish to me, it was hardly respekful, speshally as he had ony drunk one pint of Bollinger and one of our 63 Port, but its astonishing how heasily sum peeple's heds is affected. I was in hopes as he woud have tried the experymint on me, but he didn't, but went smiling away.

I shood werry much have liked to have heard a good deal more about them werry old Copperashuns, and weather they was to be compared to that werry old 'un as I nose so well and respecs so ighly, for good deeds as well as good living. Take their werry last one as a sample. Earing of what was a going on down at Kilburn on Guy Fox day, and finding as the return train would bring me back in time for my perfeshnal dooties, I went there and found thowsands of peeple all met in a nice little new Park, that the old Lord Mare was a coming down to fust of all crissen, and then throw open to the publick. And down he came accordingly in his full state Carridge, and his full state Footmen, and his full state Sherryiffs, and their full state Carridges and Footmen, jest for all the world as if he was a going to make a call on a few Royal Princes and Dooks, insted of opening a new Park surrounded by numbers of the reel working-classes. But he always has bin a reel gennelman, and never makes no difference atween rich and poor when he can do some good. I wasn't quite near enuff to hear what he said when he made his speech, but a werry respectable reporter arterwards told me, that the Lord Mare had written a letter to Queen Wictoria to ask if he might call the Park after her. And she had wrote to him in reply, "Deer Handsum, as