* * * * *

The boy the father of the man.—­The Chairman of the Infant Insurance Committee, asked a skilled witness, “Is a man his own child, or another person’s child?” This led to an altercation, and the room had to be cleared while the question was debated.  On the return of the Public, the query was repeated without a satisfactory result.  And yet the evident answer is, that he is another person’s child, except when he is “a self-made man.”

* * * * *

Punch to Primrose.

  “A good one to follow, a bad one to beat!”
  Don’t envy the man who succeeds to your seat,
    My clever ex-L.C.C.  Chairman. 
  Fanatics and faddists will mar the best schemes,
  Unless they’re restrained from unholy extremes
    By the hand of a strong and a fair man.

  Your lubber, when first he adventures on wheels,
  Has little control of his head or his heels. 
    With knees on the shake, and arms shrinking,
  He scrambles about on the slippery floor,
  Like a toper at large, or a mad semaphore,
    Half wishing he hadn’t gone rinking.

  But, guided discreetly, supported at need,
  The clumsiest novice at last may succeed,
    His knees and his elbows controlling;
  And you, my dear PRIMOSE, have played such a part. 
  You have given your promising pupil a start,
    And—­so to speak—­set the wheels rolling.

  He ought to do now; let us hope that he will. 
  The thanks mainly due to your judgment and skill
    Mr. Punch, for the Public, here offers,
  The boy’s a bit clumsy,—­most novices are;
  But, give him fair play, and he may prove a “star,”
    In spite of the sneerers and scoffers.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Off duty.

Punch (to Primrose).  “You’ve Shown him the right way to do it.  He ought to be able to get along now.”]

* * * * *

On with the new love.

(MR. PUNCH TO HIS BOYS AT BISLEY.)

  Well, here you are, my bonny boys! 
    No doubt you felt regret at parting
  With well-known Wimbledonian joys. 
    But here you look all right, at starting. 
  You’ve not been quite deranged by RANGER;
  Of that there never was much danger.

  Small thanks to him!  Well, well, perhaps;
    But never mind.  Anger’s too grisly
  To be long held by such smart chaps;
    And you can make Bulls’-eyes at Bisley;
  And “sheep’s’-eyes” seem to show you’re “on
  With that New Love”—­New Wimbledon!