MR. ROEBUCK fully concurred in the preceding eulogies.  What had not PUNCH done for him?  Had not PUNCH extinguished the Times by the honest way in which he had advocated his (Roebuck’s) injured genealogy?  Had PUNCH not proved that he (Mr. Roebuck) had a father, which the “mendacious journal” had asserted was impossible?  Had not PUNCH traced the Roebuck family as far back as 1801?—­that was something!  But he (Mr. Roebuck) believed that he had been injured by an error of the press, and that PUNCH had written the numerals 1081.  Be that as it might, he (Mr. Roebuck) was anxious to discharge the overwhelming debt of gratitude which he owed to MR. PUNCH, and intended to subscribe very largely (cheers).

MR. PETER BORTHWICK had been in former years a Shaksperian actor.  He had for many seasons, at the “Royal Rugby Barn,” had the honour of bearing the principal banners in all the imposing processions, “got up at an immense expense” in that unique establishment. (Hear!) He was, therefore, better qualified than any gentleman present to form an opinion of the services which Punch had rendered to the British Drama (loud and continued cheers, during which Mr. Yates rushed on to the platform, and bowed several times to the assembled multitude).  Therefore, as a devoted admirer of that art which he (Peter) trusted HE and Shakspere had adorned (cheers), he fondly hoped that the meeting would at once take tickets, when he announced that the performance was for the benefit of Mr. PUNCH.

LORD MORPETH next presented himself; but our reporter, having promised to take tea with his grandmother, left before the Noble Lord opened his mouth.

We hope next week to furnish the remainder of the speeches, and a very long list of subscriptions.

* * * * *

THE RAPE OF THE LOCK-UP;

OR, SIR PETER LAURIE ON CRIME AND THE CROPS.

We believe no longing was ever more firmly planted in the human heart, than that of discovering some short cut to the high road of mental acquirement.  The toilsome learner’s “Progress” through the barren outset of the alphabet; the slough of despond of seven syllables, endangered as they both are by the frequent appearance of the compulsive birch of the Mr. Worldly-wisemen who teach the young idea how to shoot, must ever be looked upon as a probation, the power of avoiding which is “a consummation devoutly to be wished.”  Imbued with this feeling, the more speculative of past ages have frequently attempted to arrive, by external means, at the immediate possession of results otherwise requiring a long course of intense study and anxious inquiry.  From these defunct illuminati originated the suppositionary virtues of the magically-endowed divining wand.  The simple bending of a forked hazel twig, being the received sign of the deep-buried well, suited admirably with