Madam, "Perfidious Albion" proffers
The best birthday wishes good feeling can shape!
A snap of the fingers for cynical scoffers!
A fig for the framers of venomous jape.
May Peace and Goodwill be your lasting possession,
Your proud "Valour" tempered by "years of discretion!"

* * * * *

HYGEIA OFF THE SCENT.--It is stated that even the charms of a
champagne luncheon failed to attract more than one out of twenty-four
members of the Hygienic Congress invited to test the merits of
sewage-farms by ocular--or should we say _nasal_?--demonstration.
Perhaps the missing three-and-twenty thought that in this case, at
least, Mrs. MALAPROP would be both correct and pertinent in saying
that "Comparisons are _odorous_!"

* * * * *

[Illustration: "NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH."

INSPECTOR. "NOW SWEAR! ALL TOGETHER!" CONSTABLES. "WE SWEAR!!"

MR. PUNCH (_aside_). "DEAR ME, SIR EDWARD; WHEN THEY _DO_ AGREE, THEIR
UNANIMITY IS WONDERFUL!."--"_The Critic_," _freely adapted._]

* * * * *

ROBERT'S ROMANCE.

I have been so bothered for coppys of my Romanse, as I read at the
Cook's Swarry some time back, that I have detummined to publish it,
and here it is. In coarse, all rites is reserved.

ROBERT.

[Illustration]

THE MYSTERY OF MAY FARE.

(BY ONE BEHIND THE SEENS.)

CHAPTER I.--_DESPARE!_

It was Midnite! The bewtifool Countess of BELGRAVIER sat at the hopen
winder of her Boodwar gazing on the full moon witch was jest a rising
up above the hopposite chimbleys. Why was that evenly face, that
princes had loved and Poets sillybrated, bathed in tears? How offen
had she, wile setting at that hopen winder, washed it with Oder
Colone, to remove the stanes of them tell tail tears? But all in wane,
they wood keep running down that bewtifool face as if enamelled with
its buty; and quite heedless of how they was a spiling of her new
ivory cullered sattin dress that Maddam ELISE's yung ladies had been a
workin on up to five a clock that werry arternoon.

She had bin to the great ball of the Season, to be washupped as usual
by the world of Fashun, but wot had driven her home at the hunerthly
hour of harf-parst Eleven? Ah, that cruel blo, that deadly pang, that
despairin shok, must be kep for the nex chapter.

CHAPTER II.--_THE HELOPEMEANT!_

Seated in the House-keeper's own Room at the Dook of SURREY's lovely
Manshun, playfo