A RIDDLE.
I'm underneath your feet
In the streets of London Town,
From town take "t,"
Then give it to me,
And you'll sell me for a crown.
MRS. R. AND THE PREVAILING EPIDEMIC.—Our excellent friend is now convalescent. "Like CÆSAR or CÆSAR's wife, I forget which it was," she says, "I have passed the Barbican!" Some one having suggested that probably she meant "the Rubicon," Mrs. R. thanked him politely, but added, that she perfectly well knew what she was talking about, and that everyone who was acquainted with history would understand her classical delusion.
PUZZLER FOR A COSTUMIER.—A Gentleman going to a Fancy Dress Ball wants to know how he can make up for Lost Time?
NAMES for the next pair of Tailed Monkeys sent to the Zoo—"Mr. and Mrs. CAUDAL."
N.B.—"Confessions of a Duffer," No. IV., next week.
SHOWING THAT SOMETIMES IT IS GOOD FOR A COBBLER NOT TO STICK TO HIS LAST.
Fair Matron. "I REMEMBER YOUR ACTING 'SIR ANTHONY,' YEARS AGO, WHEN I WAS A GIRL, SIR CHARLES! YOU DID IT SPLENDIDLY!"
The Great Mathematician. "AH, WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT, THAT BIT OF ACTING BROUGHT ME MORE COMPLIMENTS THAN ANYTHING I EVER DID?"
Fair Matron. "I SHOULD THINK SO, INDEED!"