SCENE XII.--_Another box at the Eldorado._ TIME--_About_ 9.30 P.M.

_Enter_ Mrs. MERRIDEW _and_ ALTHEA, _followed by_ Colonel MERRIDEW and Captain ALCHIN.

_Mrs. Merridew._ FRANK, the man _did_ say WALTER WILDFIRE hasn't sung yet, didn't he? Yes? then _that_'s all right! Oughtn't you and I to sit at the back, THEA? Well, you shall have this corner at any rate, and then the curtain will hide you. Captain ALCHIN, will you come between us, please, and then you can explain any of the jokes we don't understand.

[_They settle down._

_Captain Alchin._ Pleasure! (_To himself._) Think I see myself explainin' the jokes and that! (_Aloud._) Afraid I shan't be of much use, really. Rather out of my line this sort of thing, you know!

_Mrs. M._ I'm sure you must know more about it than Miss TOOVEY and I do. Tell me who is this rather good-looking girl in kneebreeches with the horrid voice and the blue eyelids, and why does she walk like that?

_Capt. Alch._ (_off his guard_). Oh, that's Miss LARDIE LUSHBOY; it's her usual business--drinkin' song, young man about town, and all that.

_Mrs. M._ There, you see, you know all about _her_!

[Capt. A. _hastens to explain that her name is on the programme_.

_Miss Lardie_ (_sings_)--

See us lurch along in line, with a straggle serpentine,

[_She suits the action to the word._

For we've done a heavy fuddle, and we never pass a "pub"! And if you want a proof how we chuck about our "oof"-- Why, come along and have a drink with the Rowdy Razzle Club!

_Mrs. M._ I suppose that's intended as a satire on noisy young men, isn't it, Captain ALCHIN?

_Captain Alch._ (_who hadn't thought of it in that light_). Well--ha--that depends on how you _take_ it, don't you know.

_Mrs. M._ That's the way _I_ shall take it, and then it's quite moral. (_A Low Comedian, in a broad-brimmed hat and a rough black wig, makes his appearance_.) This must be WALTER WILDFIRE, I suppose. THEA, do you see? he looks _quite_ nice, and not really vulgar. Now he's going to sing. Isn't he too delightfully funny! What, FRANK? Not WILDFIRE? Mr. ALF REDBEAK. Are you _sure_? I was wondering what there could possibly be in such a common little man as that to make such a fuss about. And _what_ language? Captain ALCHIN, what _does_ he mean by saying that he was "dotted on the crust by a copper," and "went off his onion"?

_Capt. Alch._ (_who foresees rocks ahead if he once undertakes to interpret_). Oh, well, they're always inventin' some new slang, you know, Mrs. MERRIDEW; no use tryin' to keep up with it.

[Miss CISSIE CINDERS _appears as a bedraggled maid of all work, and sings a doleful ditty to the effect that_--"Her missis will not let her wear no feathers in her 'at, so her sojer's gone and given 'er the chuck."

_Mrs. M._ (_delighted_). Isn't she refreshing--so _deliciously_ vulgar! I do hope she hasn't finished. THEA, you're sitting as quiet as a little mouse in that corner. I hope you're not too dreadfully shocked? _I'm_ not--at least of course I am, really; but it's not nearly so bad as I expected.

_Althea._ Oh, I'm not in the least shocked, CISSIE, thanks; only I don't quite understand it all.

_Mrs. M._ My dear, no more do I. I don't understand _any_ of it--but that makes no difference!

_Alth._ (_To herself_). I don't like to say so, but I _am_ disappointed. Mr. CURPHEW said it would be like a Penny Reading; but it's not a bit, it's ever so much stupider. But he never goes himself, so of course----

_Mrs. M._ It's quite a respectable audience; I thought we should be the only people in evening dress, but we're not. I do wish they wouldn't allow quite so much smoking, though; the atmosphere's getting something too awful. Oh, THEA, do look in that box just opposite. Can you see through that lace curtain? Ah, you can't see now!

_Alth._ (_looking round the edge of the curtain_). Where, CISSIE, who is it?

_Mrs. M._ Why, quite the typical British Matron--_the_ most tremendously proper-looking person; so if _she_ doesn't see any harm in being here, I'm sure we needn't. I'll tell you when she pops her her head out again. There, quick! THEA, quick! Did you see her that time?

_Alth._ (_faintly_). Y--yes. I--I saw her _that_ time. (_To herself._) Is this a wicked conscience--or what? It was _so_ like Mamma! But how could it be?

_Mrs. M._ Did you _ever_ see such a grim old frump, THEA? I wonder what possessed her to come to a place like this? She doesn't look as if it was amusing her much.

_Alth._ (_distractedly_). Doesn't she? (_To herself._) If it _should_ be Mamma! If she has found out in some way that we were to be here to-night and followed us! But how _could_ she know? Suppose she were to see me, and--and come round and fetch me away; how awful it would be! But she can't see me through these curtains. I don't believe it _is_ Mamma. I--I wish I dared look again. Oh, why did I get CISSIE to bring me here?

_Capt. Alch._ May I borrow your opera glass for a moment, Mrs. MERRIDEW? Thanks, awf'ly. (_As he looks through it._) There's goin' to be a row in that opposite box. Your British Matron's gettin' her quills up--give you my word she is.

_Mrs. M._ Oh, do let me see! (_She holds out her hand for the glass, which_ Capt. A. _surrenders_.) Yes, I do believe you're right. Somebody's just come in and----Now there's another, a young man, and--oh, THEA!

_Alth._ (_in an agony_). What is it, CISSIE? _do_ tell me! (_To herself._) It must be CHARLES--I'm sure it's CHARLES. Then _that_'s why--and it _is_ Mamma! (_Aloud._) Mayn't I have the glass?

_Mrs. M._ I think you had better not, dear. The British Matron has boxed the poor young man's ears--she has really. I wonder what--but well, it doesn't matter. Now she's turned him out of the box. He's coming back--alone. Yes, the old lady has certainly gone--it's all over. I'm _so_ sorry; it was ever so much more interesting than that big fat man who's singing!

_Alth._ (_tremulously_). Mayn't I look now, CISSIE, if it's all over? (_She almost snatches the glass, and directs it at the young man in Box C--then to herself, with relief._) Why, it isn't CHARLES--it's not even like him. Then--oh, what a goose I've been! It wasn't Mamma either. It was all my fancy, and she had on rather the same kind of bonnet. As if Mamma would come to a music-hall and box the ears of somebody she didn't know! But _what_ a fright it gave me!

[_She begins to feel capable of enjoying the performance._

_Col. Merridew_ (_later_). Now we're going to see the great man, CECILIA. WILDFIRE'S down to sing next.

_Capt. Alch._ Don't you be too sure, FRANK. They haven't put the number up yet, you see. As likely as not they'll put in an "extra turn," and he won't come at all. I've known that happen lots of times when you come on purpose to see somethin', don't you know.

_Mrs. M._ Really, Captain ALCHIN, I shall begin to suspect that you are more of an authority about music-halls than your modesty would admit at first.

_Capt. Alch._ (_in some confusion_). No, really now, Mrs. MERRIDEW, all I mean is WILDFIRE'S bringin' out a play or somethin' to-night at the Hilarity, so he mayn't be able to turn up here, don't you see.

_Mrs. M._ I won't have you predicting evil like that; it's not at all nice of you, and you're quite wrong, too; for there's his number in the frame now!

[_The Scene on the Stage changes once more from an Oriental Palace to a London Street; a bell tingles; the Orchestra dashes into the air of_ "The Hansom Cabman," _which the bulk of the audience hail with delight; then a stream of limelight is thrown on the boards, and_ WALTER WILDFIRE _appears_.

_Mrs. M._ (_after the first verse_). I don't know what it is, but there's something about him very different from all the others. And they say he writes all his own songs and music--so clever of him! Quite a striking face he has, rather handsome, with that drooping moustache. Don't _you_ think he's handsome, THEA? (ALTHEA _does not answer_; WILDFIRE _sings the last verse; as he concludes, the house is hushed for an instant, and then breaks into a thunder of applause_.) It's quite beautiful that last verse; poor, poor fellow! it all seemed so real, somehow! Ah, he's not going to sing the last verse again. I'm rather glad, for I very nearly howled, and it would be too silly to cry at a music-hall. (_Interval._) Here he is again; how different he looks. I suppose it's the sandwich-boards. (WILDFIRE _goes through the second song with the small child; in the midst of the second stanza, he suddenly falters, and only recovers himself by a violent effort_; ALTHEA _has bent forward out of the shadow of the curtain_.) It's too frightfully pathetic; he's such a dear, isn't he? (_The applause is more rapturous than ever; an encore is clamoured for_; WILDFIRE _reappears, looking ghastly pale, and makes a mute plea for indulgence; after he has finally retired, the clamour still continues, until the scene and the number are shifted_.) He won't sing any more--how sad! Wasn't he charming with that child? (_In an undertone._) Why, ALTHEA, darling!

_Alth._ (_in a shaken voice_). D--don't speak to me just yet, CISSIE. I know it's very foolish of me; but I can't bear it.

_Capt. Alch._ (_to himself_). Gad, I'd give somethin' to sing like that Johnny, and make her eyes shine like that!

_Mrs. M._ FRANK, we may as well go now, there's nothing else worth staying for, and I'm sure this horrid tobacco is ruining my poor pearls; or would you rather stay a little longer, THEA?

_Alth._ Oh, no, no; I don't want to hear anybody else--after that. (_To herself, as_ Capt. A. _helps her on with her cloak_.) And that is the man Mr. CURPHEW said nothing would induce him to go and see. And I actually persuaded myself that---- But I am wiser now. He can never be anything to me!

[_She leaves the box with her party._

END OF SCENE XII.

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

COLONEL COLVILE chivalrously takes upon himself responsibility for the title of the volume in which his wife has recorded their joint experience of a trip round the coast of Africa. _Round the Black Man's Garden_ is about as bad a title as a book could have. Happily, Mrs. COLVILE'S clever travel notes triumphantly carry the weight. The travellers commenced their journey at Suez, visiting places in the Red Sea which voyagers by the P. and O. steamers pass by on the other side. They made their way down the west coast by all the most uncomfortable means of conveyance attainable, culminating in the filanzana, in which instrument of torture they were carried across the hills and through the swamps of Madagascar. Colonel COLVILE, just now enjoying himself amid the privations of the journey up country to Uganda, is well known as an indomitable traveller. In Mrs. COLVILE he found a worthy companion. On a merry page of the narrative of life in Madagascar, it is incidentally mentioned that the travellers arrive at Malatsy with their luggage soaking after a dip in the river. They dine in a whitewashed hut, with an army of big cockroaches overrunning the walls. Resuming their journey next morning they "entered a dense cloud of singularly malignant little black flies." The half-naked porters were soon streaming with blood, and the passengers' faces were in a similar condition. "Luckily," writes Mrs. COLVILE, in her cheery way, "we were soon clear of the infested belt, to move in the course of half-an-hour into a flight of locusts." Mrs. COLVILE takes as the motto of her book the proverb, _Qui suit son chemin arrive à la fin_. My Baronite arrived at the end of Mrs. COLVILE'S fascinating narrative full of admiration for her courage and good temper. But as long as Piccadilly and Pall Mall are not "up," he will be content with them, and would rather not follow her road.

BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & CO.

* * * * *

THE CABMAN'S GUIDE TO POLITENESS.--No. I.

(_In short, easy Lessons, arranged after the fashion of the Child's Handbook to Useful Knowledge._)

_Question._ I suppose your chief desire is to make as much out of the public as possible?

_Answer._ I suppose it is.

_Q._ And you will be as glad to attain your object by politeness as by any other method?

_A._ Well, of course it don't matter to me how I get the coin, so long as I do get it.

_Q._ Precisely. Well, have you ever tried to be polite?

_A._ Never. Don't know exactly what the word represents.

_Q._ So I thought. Well, I will attempt to teach you its meaning by example.

_A._ Thank you; so long as it helps me, and don't hurt you, what's the odds?

_Q._ Certainly; I see that you have some rudimentary knowledge of the matter already. Well, to begin. Suppose a fare gave you less than what you considered your right charge, how would you behave?

_A._ If a policeman wasn't in the way, I should say "What's this?" and glare at him indignantly.

_Q._ Have you found this a successful method of obtaining an increase?

_A._ Well, no, not much. Of course if you get an old lady, or a mother with a heap of children, you can do almost anything with them.

_Q._ But let us take a smart cavalry officer, who knows his way about town, do you think the method you suggest would be successful with him?

_A._ No, I don't; but no cavalry officer who was really smart would offer me less than my fare.

_Q._ But we are assuming that there may be some question about the fare. For instance, what would you consider the right charge from Charing Cross railway-station to the St. James's Theatre?

_A._ Why, eighteen pence, to be sure, and a cheap eighteen pence in the bargain.

_Q._ Your computation of the charge will suit my purpose. Of course, you know that the police put the distance at something less than two miles, I may say considerably less?

_A._ I daresay they do, but the police are not everybody, and you said I was not to consider the constables if they weren't on the spot. If they were, of course that would make a difference.

_Q._ Assume you get a shilling. Now suppose you were to look at the coin, and to say, "I beg your pardon, Sir, but are you aware this shilling is a George the Fourth, or a well-preserved William the Fourth, or an early Victoria, would you not like to exchange it for one of less historical interest?" Do you not think that such a speech, with a civil touch of the hat, would immediately attract attention?

_A._ It might, but I can't say for certain, as I have never tried it.

_Q._ I did not suppose that you had. Do you not believe that were you to make such a remark your kind consideration would receive attention?

_A._ Quite as likely as not, but what then?

_Q._ Well, having established yourself on a friendly footing, could you not improve the occasion by adding, "I do not know whether you are aware of the fact, Sir, but I frequently receive eighteen pence for the very distance you have just travelled?"

_A._ Of course I could, but what good would it be?

_Q._ That you will probably find out if you act on my suggestion, and now, as I have taught you enough for to-day, I will adopt a driver's phrase and "pull up." Have you anything polite to say to me which will prove to me that you have been bettered by my instruction?

_A._ Nothing that I can think of, unless it be, "Thank you for nothing."

_Q._ That is scarcely the reply I had expected. However, do not be disheartened, to thank me at all is a move in the right direction. And now you will come again?

_A._ Well, yes, when I have nothing better to do.

_Q._ I am infinitely obliged to you. I will detain you no longer. Good-bye, and I hope you will adopt my method and find it successful.

_A._ I hope so, too. But there's no telling.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE BLACK SHADOW.

We're near to the gloomy GUY FAUX anniversary, Nigh to the gorging of Lord Mayor's Day, But though 'tis November, there's joy in the Nursery Ruled by Nurse GLADSTONE out Westminster way. The summer's long troubles are laid on the shelf And "Nana" looks quite like enjoying herself.

That bothersome bantling, the big Irish baby, Is tucked up in bed for a long forty winks. (Though its shrill Banshee howl will be heard again, maybe, From waking it, _yet_, even Nana G. shrinks.) So now for a nice quiet time, if you please, With the brace of most sweet-tempered bairns on her knees.

They're English--quite English, and easy to handle, Won't raise horrid noises and anger the House. They're pleasant to see and delightful to dandle, And Nana opines that, with nursery _nous_, They'll be got "nicely off"--if she makes no mistakes-- Before that Hibernian worry awakes.

"To market, to market, to buy a fat piggy! (But O, not a poor Irish pig--in a poke!)" So pipes Nana GLADSTONE so jocund and jiggy She ekes out her Nursery lilt with a joke. "We've done, for a season, with row-de-dow-dow, And there's no 'Bogey Man,' dears, to bother us now!"

Nurses, we know, find the "Black Man" most handy To frighten their charges to quiet at times; But now 'tis all "Hush-a-bye, Babes!" "Handy-pandy!" And such soothing carols and quieting rhymes, No need for a "black ugly thing in the garden" To quiet _these_ babes, thinks old Nana from Hawarden!

Alas, and alas! Bogey Men are such rum 'uns, And some Ugly Things are "too previous," or worse. How oft the Black Shadow appears without summons, And terrifies not the poor babes, but their Nurse! Nana's not disturbed--yet--by the Irish babe's squall, But--what means that black-boding shade on the wall?

The African Bogey! Inopportune, very! It's really a nuisance, it does seem a shame That just as Nurse G. is prepared to make merry With two such sweet bantlings _this_ Spook spoils the game! Uganda! Mashonaland!! Nurse, I'm afraid The Dark Continent casts o'er your babes a Black Shade!

* * * * *

THE THREE V'S.

(_Voice, Vote, and Veto._)

[What the brewers want is a Reform Bill by which "every adult resident with a throat should have a vote."--_Westminster Gazette._]

"When wine is in the wit is out" Was once held wisdom past all doubt; But now 'twould seem that every throttle That hath capacity for the bottle, Must have it also for the suffrage. No more need rowdy Rad or rough rage. Throat-suffrage should please everybody Who lets out noise or takes in toddy, By way of a capacious throat Can drink and shout--One Throat, one Vote!

* * * * *

FROM MR. CORMORANT, ST. JAMES'S PARK.--"Thank you, Sir. Mother and child, Master CORMORANT and Mrs. CORMORANT, are doing uncommonly well. Hope for the best. But permit me, accidents will happen, and I should like to make provision--you understand. How? In my newspaper I see advertised 'Eagle Insurance Co.,' 'Pelican Life Insurance Co.' Why are the Eagle and the Pelican to be benefited, and not the Cormorant--and others? But never mind the others. I speak for myself, and am yours Devouringly, Captain CORMORANT."

* * * * *

SOMETHING IN A NAME.--Most appropriate official to make a "Budget Statement"--Sir GEORGE "DIBBS."

* * * * *

A STRIKE MOTTO.--"'Tis true, 'tis pitty; and pitty 'tis, 'tis true."

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE ADVENTURES OF PICKLOCK HOLES.

(_By Cunnin Toil_.)

No. VI.--THE UMBROSA BURGLARY.

During one of my short summer holidays I happened to be spending a few days at the delightful riverside residence of my friend JAMES SILVER, the extent of whose hospitality is only to be measured by the excellence of the fare that he sets before his guests, or by the varied amusements that he provides for them. The beauties of Umbrosa (for that is the attractive name of his house) are known to all those who during the summer months pass up (or down) the winding reaches of the Upper Thames. It was there that I witnessed a series of startling events which threw the whole county into a temporary turmoil. Had it not been for the unparalleled coolness and sagacity of PICKLOCK HOLES the results might have been fraught with disaster to many distinguished families, but the acumen of HOLES saved the situation and the family-plate, and restored the peace of mind of one of the best fellows in the world.

The party at Umbrosa consisted of the various members of the SILVER family, including, besides Mr. and Mrs. SILVER, three high-spirited and unmarried youths and two charming girls. PICKLOCK HOLES was of course one of the guests. In fact, it had long since come to be an understood thing that wherever I went HOLES should accompany me in the character of a professional detective on the lookout for business; and JAMES SILVER though he may have at first resented the calm unmuscularity of my marvellous friend's immovable face would have been the last man in the world to spoil any chance of sport or excitement by refraining from offering a cordial invitation to HOLES. The party was completed by PETER BOWMAN, a lad of eighteen, who to an extraordinary capacity for mischief, added an imperturbable cheerfulness of manner. He was generally known as Shock-headed PETER, in allusion to the brush-like appearance of his delicate auburn hair, but his intimate friends sometimes addressed him as VENUS, a nickname which he thoroughly deserved by the almost classic irregularity of his Saxon features.

We were all sitting, I remember, on the riverbank, watching the countless craft go past, and enjoying that pleasant industrious indolence which is one of the chief charms of life on the Thames. A punt had just skimmed by, propelled by an athletic young fellow in boating costume. Suddenly HOLES spoke.

"It is strange," he said, "that the man should be still at large."

"What man? Where? How?" we all exclaimed breathlessly.

"The young puntsman," said HOLES, with an almost aggravating coolness. "He is a bigamist, and has murdered his great aunt."

"It cannot be," said Mr. SILVER, with evident distress. "I know the lad well, and a better fellow never breathed."

"I speak the truth," said HOLES, unemotionally. "The induction is perfect. He is wearing a red tie. That tie was not always red. It was, therefore, stained by something. Blood is red. It was, therefore, stained by blood. Now it is well known that the blood of great aunts is of a lighter shade, and the colour of that tie has a lighter shade. The blood that stained it was, therefore, the blood of his great aunt. As for the bigamy, you will have noticed that as he passed he blew two rings of cigarette-smoke, and they both floated in the air _at the same time_. A ring is a symbol of matrimony. Two rings together mean bigamy. He is, therefore, a bigamist."

For a moment we were silent, struck with horror at this dreadful, this convincing revelation of criminal infamy. Then I broke out:

"HOLES," I said, "you deserve the thanks of the whole community. You will of course communicate with the police."

"No," said HOLES, "they are fools, and I do not care to mix myself up with them. Besides, I have other fish to fry."

Saying this, he led me to a secluded part of the grounds, and whispered in my ear.

"Not a word of what I am about to tell you. There will be a burglary here to-night."

"But, HOLES," I said, startled in spite of myself at the calm omniscience of my friend, "had we not better do something; arm the servants, warn the police, bolt the doors and bar the windows, and sit up with blunderbusses--anything would be better than this state of dreadful expectancy. May I not tell Mr. SILVER?"

"POTSON, you are amiable, but you will never learn my methods." And with that enigmatic reply I had to be content in the meantime.

The evening had passed as pleasantly as evenings at Umbrosa always pass. There had been music; the Umbrosa choir, composed of members of the family and guests, had performed in the drawing-room, and PETER had drawn tears from the eyes of every one by his touching rendering of the well-known songs of "_The Dutiful Son_" and "_The Cartridge-bearer_." Shortly afterwards, the ladies retired to bed, and the gentlemen, after the customary interval in the smoking-room, followed. We were in high good-humour, and had made many plans for the morrow. Only HOLES seemed pre-occupied. Once I heard him muttering to himself, "It's bound to come off properly; never failed yet. They wired to say they'd be here by the late train. Well, let them come. I shall be ready for them." I did not venture at the time to ask him the meaning of these mysterious words.

I had been sleeping for about an hour, when I was suddenly awakened with a start. In the passage outside I heard the voices of the youngest SILVER boy and of PETER.

"PETER, old chap," said JOHNNY SILVER, "I believe there's burglars in the house. Isn't it a lark?"

"Ripping," said PETER. "Have you told your people?"

"Oh, it's no use waking the governor and the mater; we'll do the job ourselves. I told the girls, and they've all locked themselves in and got under their beds, so they're safe. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Come on then."

With that they went along the passage and down the stairs. My mind was made up, and my trousers and boots were on in less time than it takes to tell it. I went to HOLES'S room and entered. He was lying on his bed, fully awake, dressed in his best detective suit, with his fingers meditatively extended, and touching one another.

"They're here," I said.

"Who?"

"The burglars."

"As I thought," said HOLES, selecting his best basket-hilted life-preserver from a heap in the middle of the room. "Follow me silently."

I did so. No sooner had we reached the landing, however, than the silence was broken by a series of blood-curdling screams.

"Good Heavens!" was all I could say.

"Hush," said HOLES. I obeyed him. The screams subsided, and I heard the voices of my two young friends, evidently in great triumph.

"Lie still, you brute," said PETER, "or I'll punch your blooming head. Give the rope another twist, JOHNNY. That's it. Now you cut and tell your governor and old HOLES that we've nabbed the beggar."

By this time the household was thoroughly roused. Agitated females and inquisitive males streamed downstairs. Lights were lit, and a remarkable sight met our eyes. In the middle of the drawing-room lay an undersized burglar, securely bound, with PETER sitting on his head.

"JOHNNY and I collared the beggar," said PETER, "and bowled him over. Thanks, I think I could do a ginger-beer."

The man was of course tried and convicted, and HOLES, who had explained how he had been certain that the burglary was contemplated and had taken his measures accordingly, received the thanks of the County Council.

"That fellow," said the great detective to me, "was the best and cleverest of my tame team of country-house burglars. Through him and his associates I have fostered and foiled more thefts than I care to count. Those infernal boys nearly spoilt everything. POTSON, take my advice, never attempt a master-stroke in a house full of boys. They can't understand scientific induction. Had they not interfered I should have caught the fellow myself. He had wired to tell me where I should find him."

* * * * *

PRECEPT AND PRACTICE.--It's not sufficiently recognised that a Bishop is bound to side with the masters, as by the terms of his contract he engages to be "no striker."

* * * * *

"HOW TO MAKE ENGLAND SOBER."--"It can't be done," says the Bishop of CHESTER, "_sans Jayne_."

* * * * *

A STRIKING HEADLINE (_all rights reserved_).--Loch Out in Matabeleland!

* * * * *

A JINGO PARADOX.--We pot the natives to preserve ourselves.

* * * * *

A MISTY CRYSTAL.

DARLINGS, I am growing old, Silver threads among the gold. Cannot see beyond my nose, Must have glasses I suppose. At the fair I bought a pair, Golden rimmed, of pebbles rare, Paid the money then and there, Glad my spectacles to wear. But, how strange! I could not see What was just in front of me! Took them off and rubbed them well; Cleaned they seemed; but, strange to tell, When I put them on again Everything was plain as plain, But reflected from behind! Then I found that tho' so blind, Many little things I saw Which I had not seen before. First, my page, of doubtful age, Put me in a dreadful rage; Dipped his fingers in the cream; (Turned and faced him--made him scream!) Dropped the pot, upset a lot-- Caught it from me pretty hot. Next the footman kicked my cat Sleeping on its lamb's-wool mat. Loosed my dicky from its cage (Shall deduct this from his wage). When the housemaid scrubbed the floor, Watched her through the open door At my eldest making eyes. Packed her off to her surprise, Heeding not her tears and cries. Truly blindness makes one wise! Then I caught my little son Putting mustard in a bun; Going to give it to the pug. Seized him by the nearest lug, Boxed it hard. He howled with pain; Never teased the dog again. Saw my girl of twenty-three Kiss the curate, after tea. Sent the pair to right about. (Wondered how I found them out!) So, you see, I really find Much amusement of a kind. Eyes before and eyes behind, Is there anyone would mind Being just a little blind?

* * * * *

* * * * *

N.B. !

[In the "Report of the Royal Commission on Labour" it is said that "domestic economy is not now practised among the Scotch peasants with such closeness as formerly; wives have ceased to use oatmeal and other simple fare, and buy from the passing cart inferior goods which they could very well prepare at home." The married labourer's clothing is "finer, but less durable," and he himself is "less unknown in places of amusement."]

SCOTS, wha hae on parritch fed! Scots, in thrifty habits bred! Air ye leavin' barley bread, And frugality?

Now's the day, much more the night, For stickin' to your bawbees tight! See approach proud Fashion's might, Chains o' luxury!

Wha will to the flesher's wend, Buy thin breeks that will na mend, Wha sae base as saxpence spend On an evenin' spree?

Wha for Scotland's knitted hose, Oaten cakes and homespun clo'es, Now will deal some auld-warld blows? He will live, _not_ dee!

By each braw and kilted laddie, Gudeman douce, and gude-boy caddie, Ye may weel at once eradi- -cate frivolity!

Strike, and break amusement's yoke, Or your ainsells may be broke! Siller's saved in every stroke Of economy!

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FIRST-RATE FOREIGN ADVERTISEMENT FOR A MEDICAL FRIEND OF OURS.--Every dinner in France is now served "_à la Roose_."

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A WALK IN DEVON.