The Com. Well, certainly, it seems that an Officer of Volunteers has many responsibilities—­what are his privileges?

Off. Only one is officially recognised—­the right to be snubbed!

The Com. And the result?

Off. That there is scarcely a corps in the kingdom without vacancies.  Men nowadays, fail to see the fun of all work and no pay, play, or anything else.  This very week a meeting is being held at the Royal United Service Institution, to consider what can be done to advance the interests of the officers—­another word for the interests of the whole force.

The Com. You have my sympathy, and if I can help you—­

Off. Not another word, Sir.  The good services of Mr. Punch for the last thirty years are appreciated by all of us, and we know we can rely upon him as confidently in the future as we have done with good reason in the past. [The Witness then retired.

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[Illustration:  “SAME OLD GAME!”

OLD LADY OF THREADNEEDLE STREET.  “YOU’VE GOT YOURSELVES INTO A NICE MESS WITH YOUR PRECIOUS ‘SPECULATION!’ WELL—­I’LL HELP YOU OUT OF IT,—­FOR THIS ONCE!!”

* * * * *

[Illustration:  FANCY SKETCH FOR NOVEMBER 5.

MAGISTRATE LETTING OFF A CRACKER WITH A LITTLE CAUTION.]

* * * * *

HOW IT’S DONE.

(A HANDBOOK TO HONESTY.)

NO.  IV.—­THE GRAND OLD (JOBBING) GARDENER.

SCENE—­the Garden of a modest Suburban Villa.  Present, Simple Citizen, with budding horticultural ambitions, and Jobbing Gardener, “highly recommended” for skill and low charges.  The latter is a grizzled personage, very bowed as to back, and baggy as to breeches, but in his manner combining oracular “knowingness” and deferential plausibility in a remarkable degree.

Simple Citizen.  You see SMUGGINS, things are a little bit in the rough here, at present.

Grand Old Gardener.  Ah, you may well say that, Sir!  Bin allowed to run to rack and ruin, this here pooty bit o’ garding has.  Want a lot o’ clearing, scurryfunging, and topping and lopping, afore it’ll look anythink like.  But it’s got the making of a puffeck parrydise in it, a puffeck parrydise it has—­with my adwice.

S.C. Glad to hear you say so, SMUGGINS.  Now what I propose is—­

G.O.G. (laying a horny hand on S.C.’s coat-sleeve).  If you’ll ascuse me, Sir, I’ll jest give yer my ideas.  It’ll save time. (Lays down artfully the lines of a plan involving radical alteration of paths, and lawns, and beds, shifting of shrubs, cutting down of trees, rooting up of trailers, and what he calls “toppin’ an’ loppin’” to a tremendous extent.) Then, Sir, you’ll ‘ave a bit o’ garding as’ll be the pride o’ yer eye, and a tidy bit o’ profit into the bargain, or I don’t know my bizness.  An’ I oughter too, seeing as I wos ’ed gardener to the Dook of FITZ-FUZZ for close on twenty year, afore the rheumaticks took me like wot you see.  Hu-a-a-h!!!