THE HARD FROST.
(Communications Intercepted in Transit.)
From a School Boy to his Younger Brother.—My dear Bobbie,—How are you getting on at home? We are having a high old time at Swishers'. All the pipes frozen, and no water to be got anywhere! And it is so comfortable!
Yours, &c.,
Jackie.
From a Firm of Coachbuilders to one of their Customers.—Dear Sir,—As there is every reason to believe that the present severe weather will last for a considerable time, may we have the honour of building for you a sleigh? We shall be pleased to have the vehicle ready for you in the course of a month, or at the latest six weeks. Should the weather break in the meanwhile, it will be available under similar conditions next year or the year after. It will also be quite possible to carry the sleigh to Siberia, where it will at all times be found, not only a luxury, but a necessity. We are, dear Sir, awaiting your esteemed order,
Brown, Jones, and Robinson.
From a Dramatist to an Intimate Friend.—My dear Bill,—Thank you for the marked paper you have forwarded to me. But the statistics are misleading. Talk about this being the greatest frost on record! You would not say so if you had been present at the first night of my play, The Force of Circumstances.—Yours gloomily,
Shakspeare Tomkins.
From a Celestial Official to the Public.—Poor creatures,—You think you have seen the worst of the winter! Just like your presumption! When I can manage a sky salad of rain, fog, snow, thunderbolts and sunshine all mixed together in the course of ten minutes and set it before a London audience in the midst of a modern January, don't you be too sure of anything! Wait, my melancholy maniacs, and you shall see what you may possibly live to witness.—Yours disrespectfully,
The Clerk of the Weather.