Miss Hypatia P. (in a clear soprano).  “Nor yet know girls in Canonbury Square!”

    [CULCHARD passes on, crushed.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  THE STERNER SEX!

“HULLO, GERTY!  YOU’VE GOT FRED’S HAT ON, AND HIS COVER COAT?”

“YES.  DON’T YOU LIKE IT?”

“WELL—­IT MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE A YOUNG MAN, YOU KNOW, AND THAT’S SO EFFEMINATE!”]

* * * * *

DOGGEREL BY A “DISHER.”

    [On September 1 the Free Education Act came into force
    throughout England and Wales.]

      Remember, remember
      The first of September
  And Free Education’s sly plot;
      I know no reasons
      Why cancelling fees on
  The poor should not silence Rad rot!

* * * * *

A NOTE AND QUERY.—­At the enthronement of Dr. MACLAGAN as Archbishop of York “the band of the First Royal Dragoons,” says the Daily Graphic, “played an appropriate march.”  That the band of the Royal Dragoons should symbolically and cymballically represent the Church Militant is right enough; but what is “a march appropriate” to an Archbishop?  One of BISHOP’s glees would have been more suitable to the occasion.  Henceforth Dr. MACLAGAN can say, if he likes, “I’m Arch-bishop of Canterbury!”

* * * * *

“THE GREAT LOAN LAND.”—­Russia.

* * * * *

THE GROUSE THAT JACK SHOT.

(A SOLEMN TRAGEDY OF THE SHOOTING SEASON.)

This is the Grouse that Jack shot.

This is the friend who expected the Grouse that Jack shot.

This is the label addressed to the friend who expected the Grouse that Jack shot.

This is the Babel where lost was the label addressed to the friend, &c.

This is the porter who “found” the “birds” in the Babel where lost was the label, &c.

This is the dame with the crumpled hat, wife of the porter who “found” the “birds,” &c.

This is the cooking-wench florid and fat of the dame with the crumpled hat, &c.

This is the table where diners sat, served by the cooking-maid florid and fat of the dame with the crumpled hat, &c.

This is the gourmand all forlorn, who dreamed of the table where diners sat, served by the cooking-wench florid and fat, &c.

This is the postman who knocked in the morn awaking the gourmand all forlorn from his dream of the table, &c.

And this is Jack (with a face of scorn), thinking in wrath of “directions” torn from the parcel by Railway borne, announced by the postman who knocked in the morn, awaking the gourmand all forlorn, who dreamed of the table where diners sat, served by the cooking-wench florid and fat of the dame with the crumpled hat, wife of the porter who “found” the “birds” in the Babel where lost was the label addressed to the friend who expected the Grouse that Jack shot!