“WHERE SHALL WE GO?” is of course an important subject in the holiday-time, and one to which Sala’s Journal devotes a column or two weekly; but a still more important one is “How shall we go it?” and having totted up the items there comes the final question, “Where shall we stay?” And the wise, but seldom-given answer is—­“At Home.”  In any case, the traveller’s motto should always be, “Wherever you go, make yourself quite at Home”—­and stay there, may be added by the London Club Cynic, who wants everything all to himself.

* * * * *

THE LOST JOKE.

(A SONG OF A SAD BUT COMMON EXPERIENCE.)

Air:—­“The Lost Chord.”

[Illustration]

  Seated one day in my study
    I was listless and ill at ease,
  And my fingers twiddled idly
    With the novel upon my knees. 
  I know not where I was straying
    On the poppy-clustered shore,
  But I suddenly struck on a Sparkler
    Which fairly made me roar.

  I have joked some jokes in my time, Sir,
    But this was a Champion Joke,
  And it fairly cut all record
    As a humoristic stroke. 
  It was good for a dozen of dinners,
    It was fit to crown my fame
  As a shaper of sheer Side-splitters,
    For which I have such a name.

  It flooded my spirit’s twilight
    Like the dawn on a dim dark lake,
  For I knew that against all rivals
    It would fairly “take the cake.” 
  I said I will try it to-morrow,—­
    I won’t even tell my wife,—­
  It will certainly fetch Lord FUMFUDGE,
    And then—­I am made for life!

It links two most distant meanings
Into one perfect chime—­
* * * * *
Here my servant broke the silence,
And said it was dinner-time!
* * * * *
I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
That great Lost Joke of mine,
Which had slipped from my mind entirely
When I sat me down to dine.

It may be that something some day
May bring it me back again;
But I only wish—­confound it!—­
I had fixed it with pencil or pen. 
It may be that luck—­bright Angel!—­
May inspire me once more with that stroke,
But I fear me ’tis only in Limbo
I shall light on my great Lost Joke!

* * * * *

MRS. R., who has been busy with her juniors, tells us that she has been horrified to learn from her Nephew, who has been fighting the Slave-hunters on the Congo, that in that country they “preserve” the bodies of their enemies.  He writes to her—­“I have ‘potted’ several Arabs.”

* * * * *

[Illustration:  “AU REVOIR!”

SCENE—­NO. 10, DOWNING STREET.  EXTERIOR.

S-L-SB-RY AND B-LF-R.  “TA!  TA!  TAKE CARE OF THE HOUSE, OLD MAN!  BACK
AGAIN SOON!”