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FAULTS O’ BOTH SIDES.—­Ardent Radicals grumbled at the Government for not holding an Autumn Session.  That was a fault of omission.  Now touchy Tories are angry with it for showing too strong a tendency to what Mr. GLADSTONE once sarcastically called “a policy of examination and inquiry”—­into the case of Evicted Tenants, Poor-Law Relief, &c.  This is a fault of (Royal) Commission.  Luckless Government!  The verdict upon it seems to be that it

  “Does nothing in particular,
  And does it very—­ill.”

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NOTICE.—­The Twin Fountains of Trafalgar Square regret to inform the British Public that, although they have performed gratuitously and continuously for a number of years, they are compelled to retire from business, as they cannot compete with the State-aided spouting which takes place in their Square.

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A GREAT “TREAT.”—­Public-house Politics at Election time.

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[Illustration:  “LE GRAND FRANCAIS!”

JACQUES BONHOMME (regarding M. DE LESSEPS, apart).  “BAH!  I HAVE LOST MY MONEY! (Pause.) ALL THE SAME, I CANNOT DESIRE THAT HE, SO OLD AND SO DISTINGUISHED, SHOULD SUFFER!!”]

* * * * *

[Illustration:  GALLANTRY REWARDED.

Lady (having had a fall at a Brook, and come out the wrong side,—­to Stranger, who has caught her Horse).  “OH, I’M SO MUCH OBLIGED TO YOU!  NOW, DO YOU MIND JUST BRINGING HIM OVER?”]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

Books from the publishing house of FISHER UNWIN are always goodly to look upon, the public having to thank him for something new in form, binding, and colour, in other series than the Pseudonym Library.  In a new edition of The Sinner’s Comedy, just issued at the modest price of Eighteenpence, he has solved a problem that has long baffled the publisher, and bothered the public.  Few like the appearance of a book with the pages machine-cut; fewer still can spare the time to cut a book.  Mr. FISHER UNWIN compromises by presenting this dainty little volume with the top pages ready cut, the reader having nothing to do but to slice the side-pages, a labour which no book-lover would grudge, seeing that it leaves the volume with the uncut appearance dear to his heart.  The story, told in 146 pages, is, my Baronite says, worthy the distinction of its appearance.  The characters are clearly drawn, the plot is interesting, the conversation crisp, and the style throughout pleasantly cynical.  The author, JOHN OLIVER HOBBES, has a pretty turn of aphorism.  “A man’s way of loving is so different from a woman’s”; and again, “Genius is so rare, and ambition is so common.”  Here be truths, old enough perhaps, but cleverly re-set.