s to walk about in? In
wet weather they can take shelter under trees. In winter they ought
to stay at home in the evenings, and enjoy reading aloud to their
families. I would even go so far as to allow an occasional game at
draughts. Chess is too exciting, and of course backgammon is out of
the question, because of the deadly dice-box. For the frivolously
inclined, "Puss in the Corner" is a harmless indoor game. I throw out
these observations for what they may be worth, and trusting that they
will not be regarded as dangerously subversive of morality, I remain,

Yours grimly, HOME, SWEET HOME!

Sir,--The movement for turning our Town Halls into places of amusement
is an excellent one. What I would like to suggest is, that the
Vestrymen should themselves take part in the entertainments. Why not
have weekly theatrical performances, with parts found for all local
Authorities? I feel convinced that _Hamlet_, played by our Vestry,
would be worth going miles to see. The Dust Contractor could play
the _Ghost_, while minor characters could be sustained by the Medical
Officer of Health, the Chaplain of the Workhouse, and others; the
Chairman, of course, would figure in the title _role_. A topical comic
song, by the Board of Guardians, with breakdown, might serve as a
pleasing interlude; breakdowns in local matters are, I believe, not
unknown already. The idea is worth considering. I think the Vestrymen
owe something to the ratepayers in return for the votes we give them.

Yours, MERRY ANDREW.

* * * * *

BRUISERS AND BOLUSES.--A "Champion" pugilist is even more presumptuous
than a popular Pill. He claims to be "Worth a Thousand Guineas a
'Box.'"

* * * * *

AFTER THE SEASON.

_A PROPOSAL FIN DE SIECLE._

[Illustration]

Farewell! since the Season is over,
Ah me, but its moments were sweet!
You are oft', _via_ Folkestone or Dover,
To some Continental retreat.
On Frenchman and German you'll lavish
The smiles that can madden me still;
While I, with the gillie McTavish,
Am breasting the heather-clad hill.

Oh, do you remember the dances,
The dearest were those we sat out,
How I frowned when detecting your glances
On others, which caused you to pout?
You are changeful and coy and capricious,
A weathercock easily blown;
But when shall I hear the delicious
One word that proclaims you my own?

They s