“THE PLAYERS ARE COME!”

First Player (who has had a run of ill-luck).  I’m regularly haunted by the recollection of my losses at Baccarat.

Second Player.  Quite Shakspearian!  “Banco’s” Ghost.

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[Illustration:  A PRIZE.

Little Spiffkins. “DON’T YOU THINK ONE MIGHT GET UP A DANCE HERE SOME EVENING?”

Young Brown. “NOT GIRLS ENOUGH, MY BOY!”

Little Spiffkins. “NOT GIRLS ENOUGH!  WHY, I’VE GOT TO KEEP ’EM OFF ME WITH A STICK!”]

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CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS.

LUNCH (continued).—­How delightful it is to awaken interest in the female breast, to make the heart of lovely woman go pit-pat, as her eyes read the words one’s pen has written.  Even in drawing-rooms and boudoirs, it seems, bright eyes have marked these attempts to teach a correct conversational manner to those who engage in game-shooting.  Here is one letter of the hundreds that Mr. Punch has one by one pressed to his gallant lips with an emotion that might, perhaps, not have been expected from one of his years and discretion.  But how shall time or caution prevail against universal love?  The flame burns on with an unquenchable ardour.  Beautiful beings, the Punch of your affections is true to you all.  He takes you in a lump and loves you.  He takes you singly and adores you, passionately but paternally.  Here, therefore, is the letter:—­

DEAREST MR. PUNCH,

We have all been so delighted to read your articles about shooting.  I read them to Papa after dinner in the drawing-room.  Mamma says she doesn’t understand such matters; but, of course, things have altered very much since her young days, as she is always telling us.  Now I want to ask your opinion about an important point. Do you think girls ought to go out and join the men at lunch?  We all think it so delightful, but FRED, my eldest brother, makes himself extremely disagreeable about it—­at least he did till last week, when EMILY RAYBURN, who is my very dearest friend, was staying with us.  Then he told me we might come for a change, but we were to go home again directly afterwards.  Generally he says that women are a bore out shooting. Please tell us, dear Mr. Punch, what you really think about it.

With much love, yours always,

ROSE LARKING.

P.S.—­I am so glad you write the word “lunch,” and not “luncheon.”  I told FRED that—­but he went to Johnson’s Dictionary, and read out something about “Lunch” being only a colloquial form of “luncheon.”  Still, I don’t care a little bit.  Dr. JOHNSON lived so long ago, and couldn’t possibly know everything—­could he?

R.L.