Only if he would off it to Stamboul or Cairo,
    Look up EMIN PASHA, survey Zanzibar,
  Or try butterfly hunting at Kilimi Njaro,
    The Crowned Heads of Europe were easier far. 
  But Africa’s “fauna and flora” would pall—­
  He wants armies and fleets, or he can’t rest at all.

  Silesian manoeuvres!  I know what they mean;
    Long hours in the saddle, much dust, many hails! 
  An elderly Emperor’s fancy might lean
    To idling, or hunting the chamois with WALES. 
  Now, he would not worry—­but grumbling’s no use,
  So here’s for Schloss Ronnstock, and endless Reviews!

* * * * *

OUR FAILURES.—­“One man in his time plays many parts,” and JOHN L. SULLIVAN, the great American “Slogger,” having lately rather failed, perhaps, as a pugilistic “Champion,” has done what Mr. HARRY NICHOLLS’s lyric hero so yearned to do, viz., “gone on the Stage.”  Decline of the Drama, indeed!  Recruited from the ranks of the Amateurs, on one side from the “Swells,” on the other from the “Sports,” the Stage ought to flourish.  “Critics,” said Dizzy, “are those who have failed in Literature.”  Will it by-and-by be said that Actors are those who have failed in “Sassiety” and the Prize Ring, as Mashers or as Bashers?

* * * * *

[Illustration:  ANOTHER VICTIM.

WILLIAM THE IRREPRESSIBLE.  “NOW THEN, COUSIN AUSTRIA, PUT ON A
UNIFORM, AND COME AND PLAY AT SOLDIERS!”]

* * * * *

[Illustration:  RATHER SEVERE.

Regular (manouevering with Yeomanry).  “GOT TO GIVE UP MY ARMS, HAVE I?  UMPH!  THIS COMES OF GOING OUT WITH A LOT OF DARNED VOLUNTEERS!”]

* * * * *

THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK.

MODERN NAUTICAL VERSION.

(BY A CORRESPONDENT WITH ADMIRAL TRYITON’S FLEET.)

FIT THE LAST.—­THE VANISHING.

  We sought it with search-lights, we sought it with care,
    We pursued it with ships and hope;
  But it seemed to have suddenly vanished in air
    From under the heaven’s blue cope.

  We shuddered to think that the chace might fail,
    And TRYON, excited at last,
  Went ramping like redskin in search of a trail,
    For the ten days were nearly past.

  “There is Thingumbob shouting!” the Admiral said. 
    “He is shouting like mad, only hark! 
  He is waving his hands, he is wagging his head,
    He has certainly found the—­Snark!”

  We gazed in delight, whilst a Bo’sun exclaimed—­
    (Your Bo’sun is always a wag!)—­
  “In the East there’s a wision, a mirage it’s named!
    That the Snark?  Put yer head in a bag!”

  Then Admiral TRYON he ramped like a lion,
    In prospect of splendid success. 
  But the Snark, with a spasm, plunged in a sea chasm;
    Of SEYMOUR one couldn’t see less.