* * * * *

[Illustration:  A FAIR EXCHANGE.

UNCLE SAM.  “SEE HERE, UMBERTO!—­GIVE US BACK YOUR ‘MINISTER,’ AND
TAKE AWAY THAT DARN’D ‘MAFIA,’ AND WE’LL CALL IT A SQUARE DEAL!”]

* * * * *

A COMPLAINT OF THE CENSUS.

(BY A DISAPPOINTED DUKE.)

    [For the first time the sixth column in the Census Schedule is
    simply headed “Profession or Occupation.”]

  Oh!  I’m a reg’lar rightdown Duke: 
  The trying part I act and look
    Right nobly, so they tell me. 
  Yet I would have you understand
  Why I am thoroughly unmanned
    At what of late befell me.

  A week or something less ago,
  A schedule came to let me know
    The Census Day was Sunday. 
  The many details, one and all,
  Must he filled in, and then they’d call
    To fetch it on the Monday.

  I found it easy to contrive
  To answer columns one to five—­
    I filled them up discreetly;
  But when I came to column six
  I got into an awful fix,
    And lost my head completely.

  For “Rank” alas! had disappeared. 
  I’d never for an instant feared
    It wouldn’t really be there. 
  Your “Occupation” you could state,
  “Profession,” too, you might relate,
    But I—­a Duke—­had neither!

  His Grace the Duke of PLAZA-TOR’
  Would call himself, I’m pretty sure,
    A “public entertainer.” 
  But I and my blue-blooded wife,
  We lead a simple blameless life,
    No life could well be plainer.

  In such a plight what could I do? 
  I searched the paper through and through,
    Each paragraph I read.  You’ll
  Scarce credit it but those who “live
  On their own means” had got to give
    This statement in the schedule!

  I put it, but my ducal pen
  I saw distinctly sputtered when
    I did so.  All of which he
  Will please remember when I say
  I thought it in a minor way
    Unkind of Mr. RITCHIE!

* * * * *

MICKY FREE IN PARIS.

As to the incident which recently appeared in the papers under the head-line “Insulting an Ambassador,” our old friend MICKY writes us as follows:—­“Be jabers then, ye must know the truth.  Me and Count MUNSTER was drivin’ together.  The Count’s every bit a true-born son of Ould Ireland for ever, and descended from the Kings of Munster by both sides, and more betoken wasn’t he wearin’ an Ulster at the very moment, and isn’t he the best of chums with the Dukes of CONNAUGHT and LEINSTER?  Any way we were in our baroosh passin’ the time o’ day to one another as we were drivin’ in the Bore, when whack comes a loaf o’ bread, shied at our heads by an unknown military blaygaird.  It missed me noble friend, the Count, and, as if to give him a lesson in politeness, it just took off