It means the rehabilitation of Mr. BIRRELL and his return to public life as English Ambassador to the Court of King Valeroso I.

It foreshadows the wholesale gratuitous distribution of cigarettes, marmalade and gramophones.

It means the prohibition of the use of the French horn in orchestras and all places where they play, the reinstatement of the German flute and the restoration of the German Fleet.

Lastly, it means the compulsory prohibition of all Greek except “Alpha of the Plough.”

* * * * *

TO A SEVEN-YEAR-OLD

(WITH HIS FIRST CRICKET SET).

  Here’s a gift to take and treasure,
    England’s gift as well as mine,
  Symbol of her clean-spent leisure,
    Of her youth and strength a sign;
  Gleams of sunlight on old meadows
    O’er these varnished toys are cast,
  And within that box’s shadows
    Stir the triumphs of the Past.

  Still the ancient tale entrances,
    Giving us in golden dower
  ULYETT’S drives and IVO’s glances,
    JACKSON’S dash and THORNTON’S power;
  Skill of LYTTELTONS and LACEYS,
    Grit of SHREWSBURYS and GUNNS;
  Pride of STUDDS and STEELS and GRACES
    Piling up their English runs.

  Take these simple toys as token
    Of the champions that have been,
  Stalwart in defence unbroken,
    Hefty hitters, hitting clean;
  And, when capped in Life’s eleven,
    May you stand as firm as they;
  May you, little son of seven,
    Play the game the English way.

  W.H.O.

* * * * *

“It seems to be a ruling passion amongst certain writers to portray anybody connected with commerce as being an ungrammatical ignoramus.  Even Kipling panders to this notion in his conception of a drapery assistant in the person of ‘Kipps.’”—­Draper’s Organiser.

But did not Mr. WELLS do something to redress the balance in Kim?

* * * * *

[Illustration:  “WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO, NO. 4?”

“IT’S NO GOOD, INSTRUCTOR; I AIN’T GOT NO HEAD FOR HEIGHTS.”]

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(BY MR. PUNCH’S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS.)

The latest of the now so fashionable short-story volumes to come my way is one called Our Casualty, Etc. (SKEFFINGTON).  Much virtue in that “Etc.,” which covers other fifteen little tales in the best, or nearly the best, “Birmingham” manner.  I say “nearly,” because for its happiest expression the art of “Mr. GEORGE BIRMINGHAM” demands space to tangle events into more complicated confusion than can be contrived in the dozen pages of these episodes.  But within their limitations they are all excellent fun, partly concerned with the