“It’s the Snark!” was the sound that first fell on our ears,
    It seemed almost too good to be true. 
  Then followed a torrent of laughter and jeers,
    Then the words, “It is all a Yah-Boo—­”

  Then silence.  Some fancied they heard in the air
    A sigh (from the lips of J.D.?)
  That sounded like “——­jum!” But some others declare
    It was more like a half-choked big D.!

  We hunted ten days and ten nights, but we found
    Not so much as poor collier-barque. 
  By which we might tell that we steamed o’er the ground
    Where CULM-SEYMOUR had handled the—­Snark!

  In the depths of that two thousand square miles, they say,
    ’Midst the world’s mocking laughter and glee,
  SEYMOUR softly and silently vanished away—­
    This Snark was a Yah-Booh-Jum, you see!

* * * * *

“A VERY SHORT HOLIDAY.”

[Illustration:  “Is this a dagger that I see before me?”

No, c’est un souvenir d’Aubourg, une petite truelle a poisson de l’Hostellerie des Vieux Plats, Gonneville.]

For the benefit of all tourists in Normandy, and visitors to Le Havre, Etretat, and all round and about that quarter, I gave an account, two weeks ago, of the excellent fare provided for us by La famille Aubourg at Gonneville.  But on that occasion I made the great mistake of calling their curious old house—­a perfect little museum of curiosities and works of Art—­“a hotel.”  By my halidom!  “Hotel,” save the mark—­and spend the shilling.  “Hotel,” quotha!  “Hotel” is far too modern.  Old English “Inn” more like.  The kind of inn, good gossip, which was kept in SHAKSPEARE’s time by “mine host,” where everyone, with coin of the realm in his purse, could take his ease and be happy.  So, to put me right on this matter, M. AUBOURG sends me a truelle of burnished metal, on which is inscribed, “Hostellerie des Vieux Plats, Souvenir d’Aubourg,” which truelle, if not large, “yet will serve” to help fish, or pommes soufflees, or pommes Anna, and, mark ye, my masters, will also serve to recall to my memory a right merrie, even tho’ ’twere an all too short, holiday.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  MR. PUNCH’S PARLIAMENTARY ARTIST FAILS TO ESCAPE FROM HIS MODELS.]

* * * * *

PICTURESQUE LONDON; OR, SKY-SIGNS OF THE TIMES.

(AN EXTRACT FROM THE “TRIVIA” OF THE FUTURE.)

“But when the swinging signs your ears offend,
With creaking noise.” 
GAY’s Trivia; or, The Art of Walking the Streets of London.