time or hears a note of music, being entirely
occupied with philately and teaching a boys' club boxing in the
East-end. The band are absolutely independent of his control, while
acquiescing in his presence as a valuable spectacular asset, owing to
the extreme whiteness of his hands, the exquisite cut of his frock-coat,
and the capillary attraction exerted on the audience by his glossy and
luxuriant chevelure.

We understand that Mr. Larry Cawdor is deeply incensed by the widespread
prevalence of the erroneous impression that he still appears in the
music-halls. For many years he has been replaced by an imitator who
bears the same name and has modelled himself, both vocally and
histrionically, on his illustrious namesake. But the real Larry Cawdor
never sets foot inside a music-hall nowadays, being mainly engaged on
an exhaustive commentary on the _Talmud_ and devoting his scanty leisure
to the collection of entomological specimens for his private museum.

It is strange that so many people believe that the finances of the
country are still controlled by Mr. LLOYD GEORGE. Nominally of course he
is still Chancellor of the Exchequer, but he never goes near the
Treasury, never reads a State Paper or troubles his head with facts or
figures. When he is not inspiring our Foreign Policy--for which Sir
EDWARD GREY so unfairly gains the credit--he is generally to be found
playing piquet with Mr. T. P. O'CONNOR, or four-ball foursomes with Mr.
MASTERMAN, Mr. DEVLIN and the Baron DE FOREST.

Some misguided people have formed the odd habit of thinking of Sir
Treebohm Herr as an actor. But how far from the truth this is will be
ascertained in a moment when we say that he devotes himself almost
wholly to studying his brother's facetious drawings and attempting to
improve on them. Any histrionic reputation that he may have made has
been the work of understudies while the principal was busy with his
_quasi_-comic pencil.

Mr. Seldom Gorfridge, the great American shopkeeper whose advertisements
are so highly esteemed by the London Press, is popularly believed to be
interested in his business. This is, of course, a foolish misconception.
Mr. Gorfridge has but one consuming passion and that is pigeon flying.
Week in and week out he is absorbed by this pursuit at his magnificent
home in Cornwall, and all that he knows of Oxford Street and millinery
he learns from the evening papers.

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FOOD--NOT