MORAL.

  If in the Shooting Season you some brace of birds would send
  (As per letter duly posted) to a fond expectant friend,
  Pray remember that a railway is the genuine modern Babel,
  And be very very careful how you fasten on the label!

* * * * *

A MUSICAL SUGGESTION.

(CERTAINLY NEW AND ORIGINAL.)

Why doesn’t one of our talented composers—­Sir ARTHUR, or Mr. MACKENZIE, or Mr. STANFORD, or Mr. EDWARD SOLOMON—­write a Cantata, entitled The Weather? The subject is thoroughly English, and lends itself so evidently to much variety in treatment.  The title should be, The Weather:  a Meteorological Cantata.

It should commence with a hopeful movement, indicative of the views of various people interested in the weather as to future probabilities.  The sportsman, the agriculturist, the holiday-maker, likewise the livery-stable keeper, and the umbrella manufacturer would, cum multis aliis, be all represented; Songs without Words; the Sailor’s Hope; then wind instruments; solo violin; the Maiden’s Prayer for her Sailor-love’s Safety, &c.  Then “as the arrows” (on the Times chart) “fly with the wind,” so would the piccolo, followed by the trombone, and thus the approach of the storm would be indicated.  Roll on drum, distant thunder; the storm passes off, and we have a beautiful air (the composer’s best), which delights and reassures us.

All at once, “disturbances advance from the Atlantic;” grand effect, this!

Sudden Fall of Barometer! (This would be something startling on drum and cymbals, with, on ’cello, a broken chord.) Momentary relief of a “light and fresh breeze” (hornpipe), interrupted by showers from the West and winds from the North; then strong wind from East (something Turkish here); light breeze from Scotland (Highland Fling); Anticyclonic movement; “Depression” on the hautbois; increase of wind; then thunder, lightning, rain—­all the elements at it!  Grand effect!!  Crash!!! and ... for finale, calm sea, sun shining, joyful chorus, Harvest Home, weddings, &c., &c., &c.

I’ve nothing more to say.  Surely this outline is sufficient.  Only if any Composer does make use of this idea, and become famous thereby, let him not be ungrateful to the suggester of this brilliant notion (copyright), whose name and address may be had for the asking at the Fleet Street Office.

* * * * *

SOME CIRCULAR NOTES.

CHAPTER VI.

RECOVERY—­WAITER—­VICOMTE—&s
hy;CHATEAU—­RECEPTION—­NIGHT—­MORNING—­ WORKERS—­HEADSTONES—­MEMORIES—­
;STONES—­EXPLANATIONS—­BREAKFAST—­ OFF—­BACK AGAIN.

[Illustration:  “Karascho!” exclaims Daubinet.]

DAUBINET, quite recovered from his fatigue, sings “Blass the Prince of WAILES” enthusiastically, and at intervals ejaculates queer, uncouth words in the Russian tongue.  Breakfast with Russian tongue.  He asks the waiter for “minuoschhah karosh caviar.”  To which the waiter adroitly replies, “parfaitement M’sieu” and disappears.  Returning ten minutes afterwards, the wily attendant makes no further allusion to the supposed errand that has taken him out of the room.