the smiles of everyone in Court, a reporter asked me for my Christian name. Before I could reply, one of my colleagues in wig and gown gave him what he supposed was the necessary information.

"But you are wrong," I whispered, and (with a view of crushing him) handed him my card.

"You don't say so," returned my learned friend; "why, we thought you were Panto,—the chap you know, who writes as 'Yorick' for the Serio-Comic Jester."

And it had come to this! I had been taken, or rather mistaken, for a humorous contributor! And this after about a quarter of a century's service at the Bar! And yet there are those who say that the profession is not going to the dogs!

However, I must express my surprise at the conduct of the judge. It is not ten years since that I had the pleasure of holding a consent brief before him. And yet he had forgotten me! When the Bench is so forgetful, how can Silk and Stuff be expected to have better memories!

Pump-Handle Court, (Signed) A. Briefless, Junior.
September 1, 1894.

"RHYMES."

Military Word of Command for those who have "Fallen in Love."—Fall out!

SUPPLY AND DEMAND.

Bill. "What are these Chaps, Jim?"

Jim. "Why, they're all Hearls and Markesses, they tell me, as is down on their Luck!"

Bill. "Well, then, wot's the good of their makin' New Peers, when all these poor Noblemen are out of a Job?"

SILLY SEASONING.

The era of newspaper controversy has once more begun, and the wail of the letter-writer is again heard in the land. The guileless reader may possibly imagine that the letters he reads so readily are so many brands plucked from the burning—in other words, so many contributions snatched out of the Waste-Paper Basket. But Mr. Punch knows better; the letters are written where the controversy begins and ends—in the Newspaper Office. Why should 85, Fleet Street lag behind its neighbours in journalistic controversy? If the largest circulations have their leader-writers, has not Mr. Punch his "young men"? The following letters, therefore, it is frankly admitted, were written in Fleet Street. Please notice the careless grace with which "Peckham Rye" and the "Borough Road" are thrown in to give an air of "verisimilitude to a bald and unconvincing narrative" as Pooh Bah said. The subject of the correspondence gave some small amount of trouble. "Is Sleeping healthy?" was one suggestion; "Ought Husbands to kiss their Wives?" another. Eventually "The Ethics of the Honeymoon" won by a narrow majority, after a close division. Of course it need hardly be said that the subject ought to be matrimonial. It's expected of you. The public look for it. They shall get it. Here are some of the letters:—

THE ETHICS OF THE HONEYMOON.

Dear Sir,—I desire in your valuable paper to draw attention to a question which I have been carefully considering for a great number of years: Are Honeymoons right? Man and boy I have been a bachelor these forty years, and as such have had peculiar and extensive opportunities for seeing that "most of the game" which is reserved for outsiders. As the result of my observation, I confidently assert that honeymoons are useless, dangerous, and ought to be abolished. They are useless in that the only people they profit are the hotel-keepers. They are dangerous to the happy pairs, who see enough of one another in a fortnight to imperil their happiness for a lifetime. Abolition is clearly the only remedy, and a Hyde Park Demonstration should settle the matter.

Yours faithfully,

Tom E. Rot.

Peckham Rye.

Dear Mr. Punch,—However can anyone ask such a foolish question as "Are Honeymoons right?" I shall never forget mine. It was one long dream. We spent the time in Switzerland and £300 in cash. We're still paying interest on the money Edwin borrowed to pay for it. But what of that? The time we spent was a poem, the recollection of it is a rapture. Though I should never be fortunate enough to spend another, I shall always rejoice in my first honeymoon.

Yours matrimonially,

Angelina Mandoline.

The Cosy Corner, Swiss Cottage.

Sir,—I object to honeymoons because those who take part in them are so unsociable. What greater disfigurement to a landscape than a lot of couples honeymooning about? The whole thing is such a farce, too—each would rather speak to some one else, both are afraid of offending one another. To prevent anyone thinking I say this because I've been bitten myself, I may add that my first honeymoon was such a success that next week I'm going to get married again, and take another.

Yours,

A Widower.

1097, Borough Road, S.E.

On a Heroine of our Day.

THE LAW OF THE (SOCIAL) JUNGLE.

Mr. Rudyard Kipling has given us in his