THE STATE OF THE GAME.
Lady Customer. "How much are Grouse to-day, Mr. Jiblets?"
Poulterer. "Twelve Shillings a Brace, Ma'am. Shall I send them——"
Lady Customer. "No, you need not send them. My Husband's out Grouse-shooting, and he'll call for them as he comes Home!!"
Aphorism.
(By a Snubbed Poet.)
"A Thing of Beauty is a joy for ever;"
Except a pretty girl, who thinks she's clever.
Nomenclature.—Somebody calls the "Thunderer's" daily fulmination against Mr. Gladstone an ignis fatuus, or foolish fire of Party journalism. Would not "Whip poor Will" be a more suitable title?
Mem. from Derbyshire.—The real "Lovers' Leap"—Marriage.