[Illustration:  STANDING UPON CEREMONY.]

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A DAB FOR LAURIE.

SIR PETER LAURIE, on a recent visit to Billingsgate for the purpose of making what he calls a pisciatery tour, was much astonished at the vigorous performance of various of the real “live fish,” some of which, as he sagely remarked, appeared to be perfect “Dabs” at jumping, and no doubt legitimate descendants from some particularly

[Illustration:  MERRY OLD SOLE.]

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SIBTHORPS CORNER.

If old Nick were to lose his tail, where should he go to supply the deficiency?—­To a gin-palace, because there they re-tail bad spirits.

Mr. G., who has a very ugly wife, named Euphemia, was asked lately why his spouse was the image of himself—­and, to his great annoyance, discovered that it was because she was his Effie-G[2].

    [2] I could make better than the above myself.  E.G.—­In what way
        should Her Majesty stand upon a Bill in Parliament so as to
        quash it?—­By putting her V-toe (veto) on it.—­PRINTER’S
        DEVIL.

I floored Ben-beau D’Israeli the other day with the following:—­“Ben,” said I, “if I were going to buy a violin, what method should I take to get it cheap?” Benjie looked rather more foolish than usual, and gave it up.  “Why, you ninny,” I replied, “I should buy an ounce of castor-oil, and then I would get a phial in (violin).”  I think I had him there.

Why is a female of the canine species suckling her whelps like a philosophic principle?—­Because she is a dogma (dog-ma).

What part of a horse’s foot is like an irate governor?—­The pastern (pa-stern).

Why is the march of a funeral procession like a turnpike?—­Because it is a toll-gait (toll-gate).

Who is the greatest literary star?—­The poet-aster.

Why is an Israelite named William Solomons similar to a great public festival?—­Because he is a Jubilee (Jew-Billy).

Why are polished manners like a pea-jacket?—­Because they are address (a dress).

Why are swallows like a leap head-over-heels?—­Because they are a summer set (a somerset).

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CUTTING IT RATHER SHORT.

The unexpected adjournment of the Court of Queen’s Bench, by Lord Denman, on last Thursday, has filled the bar with consternation.—­“What is to become of our clients?” said Fitzroy Kelly.—­“And of our fees?” added the Solicitor General.—­“I feel deeply for my clients,” sighed Serjeant Bompas.—­“We all compassionate them, brother,” observed Wilde.—­In short, one and all declare it was a most arbitrary and unprecedented curtailment of their little term—­and, to say the least of it,