No. 519. “Gorse.”  By DAVID MURRAY.  Good?  Why certainly, as a matter of gorse.

No. 697.  Rather mixed subject, being “Eventide” by KNIGHT.

No. 1161. “A Maiden Fair.”  By G.A.  STOREY, A. Never heard of such a thing as “a Maiden Fair,” except in Oriental countries.  She seems to be having all the fun of the Fair to herself.  This concludes a series of Storeys in four numbers, 356, 704, 1043 and 1161, making up his “Tale.”  “And now my STOREY’s done,” that is, for this Season.

SCULPTURE.

No. 1962. “Triumph” of ADRIAN JONES.  It is so.  Quite a triumph.  The
SMITHS, BROWNS and ROBINSONS nowhere compared with A. JONES.

No. 2001. “H.M.  Stanley—­bust.” Is he?  Poor STANLEY!  It is to be hoped that the EMIN-ent explorer will forgive the sculptor, who is C.B.  BIRCH, A. Fancy the indomitable STANLEY never yet beaten, but BIRCH’d at last!

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH’S PRIZE NOVELS.

NO.  XVIII.—­MARIAN MUFFET:  A ROMANCE OF BLACKMORE.

(BY R.D.  EXMOOR, AUTHOR OF “BORN A SPOON;” “PADDOCK ROWEL;” “WIT AND WITTY;” “TIPS FOR MARRIERS;” “SCARE A FAWN;” “’BRELLAS FOR RAIN,” &C., &C., &C.)

["This,” writes Mr. EXMOOR, “is another of my simple tales.  Yet I send it forth into the world thinking that haply there may be some, and they not of the baser sort, who reading therein as the humour takes them, may draw from it nurture for their minds.  For truly it is in the nature of fruit-trees, whereof, without undue vaunting, I may claim to know somewhat, that the birds of the air, the tits, the wrens, ay, even unto the saucy little sparrows, whose firm spirit in warfare hath ever been one of my chiefest marvels, should gather in the branches seeking for provender.  So in books, and herein too I have some small knowledge, those that are of the ripest sort are ever the first to be devoured.  And if the public be pleased, how shall he that made the book feel aught but gratitude.  Therefore I let it go, not being blind in truth to the faults thereof, but with humble confidence too in much compensating merit.”]

CHAPTER I.

[Illustration]

Fate, that makes sport alike of peasants and of kings, turning the one to honour and a high seat, and making the other to lie low in the estimation of men, though haply (as ’tis said in our parish) he think no small beer of himself, hath seemingly ordained that I, THOMAS TIDDLER, should set down in order some doings wherein I had a share.  And herein I make no show of learning, being but an undoctrined farmer and not skilled in the tricks of style, as the word is in these parts, but trusting simply to strength and honesty (whereof, God knows, there is but little beyond the limits of our farm), and to that breezy carriage of the pen which favoureth a plain man treading sturdily