Lady GAY’S ghost.

Mount Street, Berkeley Square.

Dear Mr. Punch,

More than a fortnight ago I fled from the London fog, with the result that it got thicker than ever about me in the minds of your readers and yourself!  I determined during my absence to do what many people in the world of Art and Letters have done before me, employ a “Ghost”—­(my first dealings with the supernatural, and probably my last!).  I wired to one of the leading Sporting Journals for their most reliable Racing Ghost—­he was busy watching Nunthorpe—­(who is only the Ghost of what he was!)—­and the Bogie understudy sent to me was a Parliamentary Reporter!—­(hence the stilted style of the letter signed “POMPERSON.”  Heavens! what a name!)—­I had five minutes to explain the situation to him before catching the train de luxe—­(Lord ARTHUR had gone on with the luggage)—­and I don’t think he had the ghostliest idea of what I wanted!—­the one point he grasped, was, that he was to use anonymous names—­which he did with a vengeance!—­My horror on reading his letter was such that I dropped all the money I had in my hand on the “red” instead of the “black”—­and it won!—­(I think I shall bring out a system based on “fright.”)

Of course all my friends thought Lord ARTHUR and I had quarrelled, and I was “off” with someone else!—­What a fog.  This idea being confirmed by the following week’s letter, which was the well-meant but misdirected effort of my friend Lady HARRIETT ENTOUCAS, to whom I wired to “do something for me”—­(she pretty nearly did for me altogether!)—­there was nothing for it but to come home—­where I am—­Lord ARTHUR wanted to write you this week, but I thought one explanation at a time quite enough—­so his shall follow—­“if you want a thing done, do it yourself!”—­so in future I will either be my own Ghost or have nothing to do with them!  Yours apparitionally,

LADY GAY.

* * * * *

ALL ROUND THE FAIR.

NO.  II.

    INSIDE THE “QUEEN’S GRAND COLLECTION OF MOVING WAXWORKS
    AND LIONS, AND MUSEUM DEPARTMENT OF FOREIGN WONDERS AND
    NOVELTIES.”

The majority of the Public is still outside, listening open-mouthed to a comic dialogue between the Showman and a juvenile and irreverent Nigger.  Those who have come in find that, with the exception of some particularly tame-looking murderers’ heads in glazed pigeon-holes, a few limp effigies stuck up on rickety ledges, and an elderly Cart-horse in low spirits, there is little to see at present.

Melia (to JOE, as they inspect the Cart-horse.) This ’ere can’t never be the live ’orse with five legs, as they said was to be seen inside!

Joe. Theer ain’t no other ’orse in ’ere, and why shouldn’t it be ’im, if that’s all?

Melia. Well, I don’t make out no more’n four legs to’un, nohow, myself.