The money market often puzzles me;
    I’ve no notion what the Funding Loan may be;
  In the sales of corn (Odessa), jute and sago, I confess a
      Sort of feeling that I’m very much at sea;
  But couldn’t the reporter keep this science rather shorter,
      Or at any rate provide us with a key?

* * * * *

QUEER QUERIES.

HOUSE DECORATION.—­What am I to do under the following circumstances?  I took a house a year ago, and painted the outside scarlet, with gold “facings,” to remind me—­and my neighbours—­of the fact that I am highly connected with the Army, my deceased wife’s half-brother having once held some post in the Commissariat.  I am leaving the house now, and my landlord actually insists on my scraping all the paint off!  He says that if any bulls happen to pass the house, they will be sure to run at it.  Am I obliged to yield to this ridiculous caprice?—­LOVER OF THE PICTURESQUE.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  ALL-ROUND POLITICIANS.—­SIR RICHARD.

Mr. Punch’s Parliamentary Artist reads in the Papers that Sir Richard T——­ does not intend to Stand for Parliament again!]

* * * * *

SEASIDE ASIDES.

(PATERFAMILIAS IN NORTH CORNWALL.)

[Illustration]

  Oh! how delightful now at last to come
    Away from town—­its dirt, its degradation,
  Its never-ending whirl, its ceaseless hum. 
    (A long chalks better, though, than sheer stagnation.)

  For what could mortal man or maid want more
    Than breezy downs to stroll on, rocks to climb up,
  Weird labyrinthine caverns to explore? 
    (There’s nothing else to do to fill the time up.)

  Your honest face here earns an honest brown,
    You ramble on for miles ’mid gorse and heather,
  Sheep hold athletic sports upon the down
    (Which makes the mutton taste as tough as leather).

  The place is guiltless, too, of horrid piers,
    And likewise is not Christy-Minstrel tooney;
  No soul-distressing strains disturb your ears. 
    (A German band has just played “Annie Rooney.”)

  The eggs as fresh as paint, the Cornish cream
    The boys from school all say is “simply ripping,”
  The butter, so the girls declare, “a dream.” 
    (The only baccy you can buy quite dripping.)

  A happiness of resting after strife,
    Where one forgets all worldly pain and sorrow,
  And one contentedly could pass one’s life. 
    (A telegram will take me home to-morrow.)

* * * * *

[Illustration]

CANINE SAGACITY.—­Numerous instances of this have been quoted in the Spectator and other papers.  Our Toby would like to be informed how one clever dog would communicate with another clever dog, if the former were in a great hurry?  The reply from a great authority in the K9 Division, signing himself “DOGBERRY,” is that “the clever dog would either tailegraph or tailephone; but that, anyhow, in the strictest confidence, he would tell his own tail.”