5.  A prize of one shilling will be awarded to all competitors who fail; the winners will be able to make their way in life without prizes.

6.  Human beings and others are not eligible for this competition.

Subject to the above conditions, it is requested that puzzles or questions may be forwarded to the following solutions:—­

First Solution.—­Twenty-eight, if before March 17th; one hundred and forty-six, if after that date.

Second Solution.—­Put six pigs in the first stye; then go back and fetch the fox from the other side of the river, returning with the remaining cockatrice.  Then put yourself in the second stye, never come put any more, and subtract.

Third Solution.—­Positive, Regret; Comparative, Regatta; Superlative, Requiescat in pace.

Fourth Solution.—­Countesses; because the sun (son) never sets there.

Fifth Solution.—­Cut along dotted line to point A. Then fold back, and cross to point C, keeping mark B on the left.  Stop, if you can, before getting to remark D. Bad language never does any good.

Sixth Solution.—­This is a mere catch, and only suitable for quite young children.  Of course, it is obvious that the elephant could not have been on the outside, because there never are two Mondays in the week.  Hush! the Bogie Man. Exit.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  RATHER LATE IN THE DAY, PERHAPS!

“OH, GRANDPAPA DEAR, SUCH FUN!  THE FORTUNE-TELLER’S COME! DO COME AND HAVE YOUR FORTUNE TOLD!”]

* * * * *

JEAMES’S SUMMARY.

OR, LE MONDE OÙ L’ON S’ENNUIE.

["Now that the pageantry and the social stir evoked by the presence of the Imperial guests are over, there are few who will care to prolong the dreary and disappointing existence either of the Season or of the Session.”—­The Times.]

Jeames loquitur:—­

  Ya-a-a-w! Yes, young man, you’ve ’it it there, penny-a-liner as
      you may be,
  And knowing, probably, no more about hus than a coster’s baby;
  But dull it ’as been, and no kid, and dreary, too, and disappinting;
  Is it this Sosherlistic rot Society is so disjinting,
  The Hinfluenza, or Hard Times, them Hirish, or wotever is it?
  I couldn’t ’ave ’eld on at all, I’m sure, but for the HEMP’ROR’s visit.
  Ya-a-a-w! ’Ang it, ’ow I’ve got the gapes!  Bring us a quencher, you
      young Buttons! 
  And mind it’s cool, and with a ’ed! Hour family is reg’lar gluttons
  For “Soshal Stir.”  The guv’nor, he’s a rising Tory M.P., he is. 
  And Missis all the Season through as busy as a bloomin’ bee is,
  A gathering Fashion’s honey up from every hopening flower. That’s
      natty. 
  I ’ave a turn for poetry;