Friday.—Augustus at his worst. In the morning he alarmed his mother by a passionate burst of weeping. He seems to think that, if he goes back to school to-morrow, he will die immediately. Feeling that this was an unhealthy state of mind, I took him to the Zoological Gardens in the afternoon, and must confess that, while there, he appeared to experience a keen delight in feeding the bears with fragments of newspaper, concealed in stale buns. But at night his melancholia returned, and he was scarcely able to eat his dinner.
Saturday.—Received a letter from my eminent and reverend friend, Dr. Swishtale, informing me that, in consequence of the prevalence of influenza, it had been thought advisable to extend the Christmas vacation for a fortnight or three weeks. On conveying this intelligence to my eldest son, he seemed to rapidly recover, and has (I am happy to say) been well ever since.
Trusting that the history of this singular case may afford some hints and comfort to parents with children afflicted (as was my dear Augustus) with a disease so eccentric in its ramifications as influenza,
I remain, dear Mr. Punch,
Yours most truly, Simon Simple Wideawake.
Malinger Villa, Blarney Road, S. W.
VOCES POPULI.
THE CADI OF THE CURBSTONE.
Scene—A thoroughfare near Hyde Park. Shortly before Scene opens, an Elderly Gentleman has suddenly stopped the cab in which he has been driving, and, without offering to pay the fare, has got out and shuffled off with a handbag. The Cabman has descended from his seat and overtaken the old gentleman, who is now perceived to be lamentably intoxicated. The usual crowd springs up from nowhere, and follows the dispute with keen and delighted interest.
Cabman. Look 'ere, you ain't goin' not without payin' me, you know—where's my two shillings?