Mr. CHAPLIN has, we hear, entered with native enthusiasm into his mission to the Agricultural Labourer.  It was entirely his own idea.  “The Liberals have their Rural Conferences,” he said at a recent Cabinet Council, “and we should do something of the same kind; only we must go one better.  Of course the delegates liked their trip to London (expenses paid, their free breakfast, their shake of Mr. GLADSTONE’s hand, and the opportunity of gazing on the supple form of Mr. SCHNADHORST.) That’s all very well for them.  But think of the hundreds of thousands green with jealousy because they weren’t selected for the trip?  These are all ripe to vote for us at the General Election if only delicately handled.  What you want is a man of commanding presence, unfailing tact, a knowledge of horses, and some gift of oratory.  If no one else occurs to you, I’ll go.”  No one else did occur to the mind of the Cabinet.  So the Minister of Agriculture set forth on his missionary enterprise.

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We have been gratified by the receipt of many tokens of interest and appreciation elicited by our paragraph last week, reporting the state of the household markets.  One takes the form of a parcel of Russian tongues.  “These,” writes our esteemed Correspondent (we omit complimentary preface), “should before cooking be soaked for a week in cold water, and then boiled for a day.”  We are not disposed to spoil a ship for a ha’p’orth of tar, and shall improve upon these generous instructions.  Having spent a week and a day in personally directing the preliminary process, we intend to grill the tongues for thirty-six hours, fry them for an afternoon, stew them for two days, hang them out of the window for five hours, and then bray them in a mortar.  We fancy what is left will be worth eating.

* * * * *

RYMOND has been reading, with much interest, HENED’s account of how he got the Influenza, and what he did with it.  Apparently the first thing to do is, to “send for a thermometer,” (as others would send for a Doctor), and take it to bed with you.

“Evidently,” HENED writes last week in his journal, “when a person does not feel well, he should try his temperature, and, if it be abnormally high, he should go to bed, and stay there until it comes down.”—­“Of course,” RYMOND observes, with rare lapse into cynicism, “when the bed comes down, he is bound to go.”

* * * * *

MATRIMONY UP TO DATE.

    [The Defendant in a recent breach of promise case wrote to his
    intended, “When we are married you will have to sit with me
    when I am queer.”]

      Dear Ladies, who contemplate marriage,
      And imagine you’ll ride in a carriage,
  With a house of your own, and your servants to wait for you,
  I’m afraid there’s a totally different fate for you. 
  When the word has been said, and the honeymoon’s