d man's ear." As
far as we can ascertain the other end of ours is still there.

* * *

Seventy is suggested by the London County Council as the age limit at
which coroners should retire. Complete justice cannot be done as long
as there is anything in the shape of identity of interest between the
coroner and the corpse.

* * *

"The natural position of the eyeballs in sleep," says a correspondent
of _The Daily Mail_, "is turned upwards." The practice of leaving
them standing in a tumbler of water all night should be particularly
avoided by light sleepers.

* * *

We are asked to deny the rumour that the POET LAUREATE is entitled to
draw the unemployment donation.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE POKER-PLAYER'S SECRET MAKE-UP OUTFIT.

_Disguises your elation when you hold a fat hand_.

Only five-and-sixpence post free in plain wrapper.

Will pay for itself many times over.]

* * * * *

Theatre-Fashions in Malta.

"The House was full to its utmost capacity, the elegant
night dresses and toilettes of the ladies presenting a fine
aspect."--_Malta Paper_.

* * * * *

"Ye Olde ---- Hotel. Hot and Cold Sheets." _Daily Paper_.

Produced, we assume, by a water-bottle (h. and c.).

* * * * *

"THE DRY CHAMPAIGN IN SCOTLAND.
POLLING IN EDINBURGH."

_Provincial Paper_.

Judging by the results, the Scots seem still to prefer the local
vintage.

* * * * *

There was a young high-brow of Sutton
Who lived on hot air and cold mutton;
He knew not of GROCK,
But he idolized BROCK
(I don't mean the sculptor, but CLUTTON).

* * * * *

TO THE LION OF LUCERNE.

TINO, before you went away
To crouch behind a sheltering Alp,
How strong the limelight used to play
About your bald, but kingly, scalp!
And now, emerging from the shelf
(A site where Kings are seldom happy),
You must be pleased to find yourself
Once more resilient on the _tapis_.

Over your past (Out, damned spots!)
With lavish bucketfuls you paint
The whitewash on to clean its blots
And camouflage the Teuton taint;
From WILLIAM and the family tie
Protesting your unbridled freedom,
"I know you not, old man," you cry,
"Fall to your prayers--you badly