THE PROFESSION OF—JOURNALISM.
(An Entirely Imaginary Letter.)
Dear Mr. B-ch-n-n,—Our famous Third Page rather dull lately. Couldn't you enliven it up by one of your characteristic letters—say on "The Profession of Literature"? Say all the old things about its degrading effect on those who follow it, including yourself—the public loves to see a vivisection in public—and be sure to spice it well with distinguished names, such as Sw-nb-rn-, R-ss-tt-, etc. Any depreciatory anecdotes would be very telling, and serve to evoke indignant free replies from those who wouldn't guess they were jumping to a prepared bait. I shall count on you for a column.
Yours faithfully, The Editor of the ——.
P.S.—Of course you will be insulted at the usual rate.—Ed.
[Result—the usual one on the famous Third Page.
Mot by a Member.
(During the Debate on the Second Reading of the Parish Councils Bill.)
Fowler was longish, Long was even longer,
More was much less so, Stanhope little stronger;
But Heneage even when brief's sublime
He's not for Hene-age, but for all (our) time!
What a relief after such thrice-skimmed milk
To get truth's cream from Rollit and from Dilke!
The Latest "Glass of Fashion."—The dress fashioned of spun-glass, as a royal robe for the Princess Eulalia of Spain, and exhibited at the Chicago World's Fair.
