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QUITE THE TREBLE GLOUCESTER CHEESE!—­The Three Quires’ Festival this week.  Do the Three Quires appear in the Cathedral?  If so, as each quire means twenty-four sheets, there’ll he quite a “Surplice Stock.”

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CONTRIBUTION BY OUR OWN “MULEY HASSAN.”—­Puzzle—­To find “three Single Gentlemen rolled into one?” Answer—­Sir EUAN SMITH. Explanation—­Sir, You, an’ SMITH. [Exit MULEY HASSAN going to Bray.

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Why ought a Quack’s attendance on a patient to be gratis?—­Because he is No-Fee-sician.

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[Illustration:  “LA-BOUCHE-RE(-NARD) ET LES RAISINS.”]

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[Illustration:  A MERE PREJUDICE.

Tourist. “I SEE YOU EMPLOY A GOOD MANY WOMEN ABOUT HERE, FARMER.”

Farmer. “HAVE TO DO, HARVEST-TIME, SIR; BUT FOR MYSELF I MUCH PREFER MANUAL LABOUR!”]

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MORE REASONS FOR STOPPING IN TOWN.

Commodore Buncombe. Because I know those infernal Tentonners, and ——­ Chartreuse jaune only makes me worse.

William Sikes. Because of the gross incompetence of my Counsel, and the ridiculous adverse prepossessions of the Jury at my recent appearance in public at the C.C.C.

McStinger. Because there’s bonny braw air on the braes of Hampstead, and it costs but a bawbee to get intil it.

Fitz-Fluke. Because, since that awkward affair at the Roulette Club, my country invitations haven’t come in.

Capel Courtney. Because those beastly bucket-shops have collared all our business.

Bumpshus, M.P. Because the Lords of the Treasury (shabby crew of place-hunters) declined to adopt my suggestion, and to place a trooper, thoroughly well found, victualled, and overhauled, at the disposal of any Members of the Lower House whose profound sense of duty, and of the importance of the Imperial Federation idea, impelled them to take a six-months’ trip round the world at the nation’s expense.

Theodore John Hook Straight. Because of the old trouble—­“got a complaint in the chest.”

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[Illustration:  PHILLIPOPOLIS.

Toper Major (over their third bottle of a Grand Vin).  I shay, ol’ f’ler, neksh year thinksh’ll go see ex’bishun at Ph-Phipp—­at Philup-popple—­

Toper Minor. I know, ol’f’ler.  You mean Philipoppoppo—­poppo—­

Toper Major. Thatsh it—­shame place.  Have ’nother bo’l!

[They drink.]

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“THE SPEECH OF MONKEYS.”—­Professor R.L.  GARNER, who is a great hand at “getting his Monkey up” (he was naturally a bit annoyed at being, quite recently, accidentally prevented from giving his Monkey lecture), is about to commence operations by adapting the old song of “Let us be Happy Together” to Monkey Language, when it will re-appear as “Let us be Apey Together.”  It will be first given at Monkey Island on Thames.