Prisoner. You are wrong, Sir. You see my curls are of raven black. (Removes his wig.) Am I not right? Am I not entitled to release?
Magistrate. Certainly. Officers, do your duty. Release your prisoner!
[The accused is liberated, and, in the company of some trusted pals, leaves the Court without a stain upon his character, and with the intention of doing a little more burgling before he is many hours older. Curtain.
On reading a "Smart" Novel.
Heavy moralities, à la Sarah Grand, Are tedious oft, and trivial to boot; But some who write of Vice with a "a light hand," Merit the impact of a heavy foot.
A SEPARATE IRISH CHAMBER!
(After a rough Sketch by the Right Hon. J. Ch-mb-rl-n!)