“’Tis the voice of the Premier; I heard him complain On the Ninth of November all prophecy’s vain.  I must make some sort of a speech, I suppose.  Dear DIZZY (who led the whole world by the nose) Said the world heard, for once, on this day, ‘Truth and Sense’ (I.e. neatly phrased Make-believe and Pretence), But when GLADDY’s ‘tide’ rises, and lost seats abound, One’s voice has a cautious and timorous sound.”

“I’ve heard this sort of thing so often before,” said the Real Turtle; “but it sounds uncommon nonsense.  Go on with the next verse.”

ALICE did not dare disobey, though she felt sure it would all come wrong, and she went on in a trembling voice:—­

  “I passed by the Session, and marked, by the way,
  How the Lion and Eagles would share Af-ri-ca. 
  How the peoples, at peace, were not shooting with lead,
  But bethumping each other with Tariffs instead,
  How the Eight Hours’ Bill, on which BURNS was so sweet,
  Was (like bye-elections) a snare and a cheat;
  How the Lobster, the Pig, and the Seal, I would say
  At my sixth Lord Mayor’s Banquet—­”

“What is the use of repeating all that stuff,” the Real Turtle interrupted, “if you don’t explain it as you go on?  It’s by far the most confusing thing I ever heard!”

“Yes, I think you’d better leave off,” said the Griffin; and ALICE was only too glad to do so.

* * * * *

GAMES.—­It being the season of burglaries, E. WOLF AND SON—­("WOLF,” most appropriate name,—­but Wolf and Moon would have been still better than WOLF AND SON)—­take the auspicious time to bring out their new game of “Burglar and Bobbies.”  On a sort of draught-board, so that both Burglar and Bobby play “on the square,” which is in itself a novelty.  The thief may be caught in thirteen moves.  This won’t do.  We want him to be caught before he moves at all.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  NEW EDITION OF “ROBA DI ‘ROMER.’”

With Mr. Punch’s sincere congratulations to his Old Friend the New Judge.]

* * * * *

VOCES POPULI.

AT A SALE OF HIGH-CLASS SCULPTURE.

SCENE—­An upper floor in a City Warehouse; a low, whitewashed room, dimly lighted by dusty windows and two gas-burners in wire cages.  Around the walls are ranged several statues of meek aspect, but securely confined in wooden cases, like a sort of marble menagerie.  In the centre, a labyrinthine grove of pedestals, surmounted by busts, groups, and statuettes by modern Italian masters.  About these pedestals a small crowd—­consisting of Elderly Merchants on the look out for a “neat thing in statuary” for the conservatory at Croydon or Muswell Hill, Young City Men who have dropped in after lunch, Disinterested Dealers, Upholsterers’ Buyers, Obliging Brokers, and Grubby and Mysterious