Head of the Family!  That makes me quail. 
  I am the Head—­and thereby hangs a tale! 
  This big blue paper, ruled in many a column,
  Gives rise to some misgivings sad and solemn. 
  Relation to that Head?  That Head’s buzz-brained,
  And its “relations” are—­just now—­“much strained.” 
  Citizen-duty I’ve no wish to shirk,
  But would the State do its own dirty work—­
  (My daughters swear ’tis dirty).  I’d be grateful. 
  Instructions?  Yes!  Imperative and fateful! 
  But, oh!  I wish they would “instruct” me how
  To tell the truth without a family row. 
  “Best of my knowledge and belief”!  Ah well
  If Aunt MEHITABEL her age won’t tell;
  If Cook will swear she’s only thirty-three,
  And rather fancies she was born at sea
  (Where I am now) my “knowledge and belief”
  Are not worth much to the official chief,
  BRIDGES P. HENNIKER, if he only knew it. 
  A True Return?  Well, if it is not true, it
  Is not my fault.  Inquisitorial band,
  I’ve done my level best—­Witness my Hand! 
  The bothering business makes me feel quite bilious,
  Peace now—­for ten years more!

PATERFAMILIAS.

* * * * *

“FACTA NON VERBA”; OR, PIERROT IN LONDON.

“Of the best! of the very best!” as ZERO or CIRO is perpetually affirming of everything eatable and drinkable that is for his own benefit and his customers’ refreshment at the little bar, not a hundred miles from the Monte Carlo tables, where he himself and his barristers practise day and night; and, as this famous cutter of sandwiches and confectioner of drinks says of his stock in trade, so say we of L’Enfant Prodigue, which, having been translated by HORATIUS COCLES SEDGER from Paris to London, has gone straight to the heart and intelligence of our Theatre-loving public.

[Illustration:  A BLACK AND WHITE EXHIBITION.]

It is a subject for curious reflection that, just when the comic scenes of our English Pantomime have been crushed out by overpowering weight of gorgeous spectacle, there should re-appear in our midst a revival of the ancient Pierrot who pantomimed himself into public favour with the Parisians towards the close of the seventeenth century.  Red-hot poker, sausages, and filching Clown have had their day, and lo! when everyone said we were tired of the “comic business” of Pantomime, here in our midst re-appear almost in their habits as they lived, certainly with their white faces and black skull-caps “as they appeared,” a pair of marvellously clever Pierrots.  Mlle. JANE MAY as Pierrot Junior, “the Prodigy son,” and M. COURTES as Pierrot Senior, are already drawing the town to Matinees at the Prince of Wales’s, causing us to laugh at them and with them in their joys, and to weep with them in their mimic sorrows.  Yes! Pierrot redivivus!