SCRAPS FROM CHAPS.
Mount the Butter-tub!—Irish butter is on its trial, it seems. It has managed to get a bad name, because some of the makers or dealers become so attached to it they won't part with it for a month or so after it is churned—and when they do part with it they pretend it's new. So the trustees of the Cork butter market suggest a "date-brand" as a means of restoring the damaged reputation of the Hibernian cow. It is quite obvious that if butter is to keep, it mustn't be kept—which sounds like a bull, but it's true. Now is the time for Irish patriots to come to the rescue of their firkins—to form a "Brand League" if necessary—and prevent the produce of Irish dairies being evicted from the markets of England.
Why should Glasgow Wait?—The average time taken by a telegram to get from Glasgow to London, or vice versâ, is twenty-nine minutes, and the cry of the Glasgow Chamber of Commerce, in consequence, is "More wires!" The Chamber does not mind if they are overhead wires; all it objects to is, overdue wires. There has been a railway race to the north; but a telegraph race seems still more wanted just now. And the worst of it is that the lordly Stock-Exchange folk are specially provided with a wire that sends their telegrams in five minutes. Punch's advice to the Chamber of Commerce is—"wire in!"
