The two small, if aggressive, terriers seem unequally matched against the “clumsy” but strong-jawed and terribly-toothed Badger.  They have drawn him, indeed, out of his hole, and one of them, at least, seems rather sorry for it, if you may judge by the way in which he turns tail and makes for his protector, the big Bull-Terrier.  The ventripotent broken-haired tyke looks more valorous—­for the moment.  Yap! yap! yap! Meles-Taxus takes little notice of him, however.  His eyes are on that sturdy specimen of Canis familiaris there, whose bold eyes in turn are on him.  Both, perhaps, experience—­

  That stern joy which warriors feel
  In foemen worthy of their steel.”

“Drawn by those two tiny yelpers?  Not a bit of it!  But you, my complacent canine Colossus—­come on if you dare!” And he does dare, evidently.  Whether he’ll regret his daring remains to be seen.

* * * * *

The Memory of Milton.

  MILTON forgotten?  Nay, my BESANT, nay;
  Not wholly, even in this petty day,
  When learning snips, when criticism snaps,
  And the great bulk of readers feed on scraps. 
  Still, still he finds his “audience fit, though few,”
  The rest forget not since they never knew.

* * * * *

The Off-Portsmouth Phrase-Book.

Have you caught a fish?

No, but I have bagged a cannon-ball.

Is the sea too rough for your boat?

No, the sea is not too rough, but the Torpedoes are decidedly embarrassing.

Is that a pretty shell that you are going to carry home to your children?

No, it is a live one, that, if it bursts a yard nearer, will blow us into smithereens.

Do you propose returning to your lodging to-night?

That is a matter that will be decided by the Commander of the nearest practising gun-boat.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  THE RESULT OF TOO MUCH GREEK.

First Classic.  “BY THE WAY, HADN’T DANTE GOT ANOTHER NAME?”

Second Classic.  “YES; ALFIERI, I THINK—­OR ELSE ALIGHIERI.”

First Classic.  “AH, PERHAPS YOU’RE RIGHT.  I HAD A NOTION IT WAS GABRIEL ROSSETTI, OR SOMETHING!”]

* * * * *

CUTTING REMARKS.

[Illustration:  Tied to Time.]

Mr. HENRY AUTHOR JONES has taken a theatre wherein to play his own plays to his own taste.  On the first night of The Crusaders this taste was not exactly the taste of the audience.  Mr. HENRY AUTHOR JONES seemed to object to be tied to time, and the result was the prompt appearance of that terrible conqueror of things terrestrial, General Boredom.  Since the initial performance, it is reported that matters have gone on more smoothly.  According to the “usual sources of information” the