Friday was a glorious day for the Eclipse, which was only visible from the Observatory at Esher—­the best account appears to have been given by Professor Orme, who recovered from his recent severe illness just in time to be present.

Just a word in conclusion on the big race of next week—­a paradox—­be “wide awake” and go “nap” on my tip, from information privately given to

Yours devotedly, LADY GAY.

LIVERPOOL CUP SELECTION.

  Some owners win, although their gee
  In temper be a “villen;”
  As that is not the sort for me,
  I favour “Enniskillen.”

* * * * *

[Illustration:  EN PASSANT.

He.  “THAT’S THAT ASS, BOUNDERSON, ISN’T IT?  HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN DROWNED AS A PUPPY!”

She.  “THERE’S TIME ENOUGH YET, ISN’T THERE?”]

* * * * *

THE POLITICAL JOHNNY GILPIN.

THE FINISH.

(Further-discovered Fragments of the Grand Old Ballad, giving the Sequel of the strange story begun in “Punch,” No. 2660, July 2, p. 318.)

* * * * *

So fair and softly!  JOHNNY cried,
But JOHNNY cried in vain;
That trot became a gallop soon,
In spite of curb and rein.

So, stooping down, as needs he must
Who cannot sit upright,
He grasped the mane with both his hands,
And eke with all his might.

* * * * *

Away went GILPIN neck or nought,
Away went hat and wig;
He little dreamt when he set out
Of running such a rig.

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly
Like streamer long and gay,
Till people thought, and JOHN half feared,
That it might fly away.

Then might all gazers well discern
The bottles he had slung;
A bottle swinging at each side,
As hath been said or sung.

Away went GILPIN—­who but he? 
His fame soon spread around;
“He carries weight!  He rides a race!”
“He’ll win it, we’ll be bound!”

* * * * *

Then all through merry London Town,
These gambols he did play;
Until he came to rural parts,
Where rustics lined the way.

There labourers shouted, women screamed,
Up flew the felt-hats all;
And every yokel yelled, “Well done!”
As loud as he could bawl.

* * * * *

Away went GILPIN, out of breath,
And fearing much a “spill;”
But knowing till his race was run
His horse would not stand still.

His hat was gone, his W(h)ig also,
His cloak he had to clutch. 
Could he hold on?  A mile or two
Would put it to the touch.