Late in the morn I awoke,—­I
    Puzzled with all my might
  In vain to recall the joke I
    Made in the silent night. 
  What was it about?  No dreamer
    Am I!  No—­I think—­I frown—­
  When next I make a screamer
    In bed—­I will write it down.

By the side of the bed a taper
Shall ever with matches be,
A pencil and piece of paper,
To note what occurs to me.
* * * * *
Since then I have tried, but the late joke,
As seen in my bedside scrawl,
Is always so poor,—­that the great joke,
I’m sure, was no joke at all!

* * * * *

YES OR NO?

["The hand-writing of well-educated Ladies is often
disgracefully illegible.”—­A Ladies’ Journal.]

  Oh, never did lover in fable
    In such a predicament stand,
  A letter I wrote to my MABEL,
    To ask for her heart and her hand,
  With compliments worded so nicely,
    A lifelong devotion I swore;
  She’s answered—­and left me precisely
          As wise as before!

  It is true that I begged, when inditing
    My note, a reply with all speed,
  And MABEL, to judge from the writing,
    Fulfilled my petition indeed! 
  The drift of this scrawl, so erratic,
    I am wholly unable to guess—­
  It may be refusal emphatic,
          Or can it be “Yes”?

  “Affection” she’ll feel for me “ever,”
    But stay—­if that blot is an “n”
  It turns it at once into “never,”
    Or is it a slip of the pen? 
  Her heart will a “truant (or true?) be,”
    And what is the word just above? 
  It looks like—­it cannot be—­“booby”! 
          Perhaps it is “love.”

  A meeting must needs be awaited
    To render these mysteries plain;
  Perhaps in this letter she’s stated
    She never will see me again;
  On one thing at least I’ve decided;—­
    Should she be my partner for life,
  A type-writer shall be provided
          For the use of my wife!

* * * * *

THE GERMAN AND HORSE-TRYING RIDE.

    ["Most of the horses were standing, but propping themselves
    up against a wall or a post.”—­Standard, Wednesday, October
    12th.]

  Pity the sorrows of a worn-out horse,
    Whose trembling limbs support him ’gainst a wall;
  Who asks you,—­fearing future trials worse—­
    To kill him with a sudden shot,—­that’s all.

* * * * *

A CORRESPONDENT signing “INNOCENTIA DOCET,” wants to know if “the Hub of the Universe” is an official appointment that can only be held by a Mahommedan or a Mormon?

* * * * *

CONVERSATIONAL HINTS TO YOUNG SHOOTERS.

(BY MR. PUNCH’S OWN GROUSE IN THE GUN-ROOM.)