July.—­Note that on the 3rd the Dog Days commence, and that it is also the anniversary of the Battle of Sadowa.  If you pronounce the victory “sad-hour” you should get a jest calculated to cause merriment amongst persons who have spent the best years of their lives on desert islands, or as Chancery Division Chief Clerks.  On the 24th the Window Tax was abolished, of which you may say that although a priceless boon it was only a light relief.  If you can only introduce this really clever bon mot into a speech at a wedding breakfast, a railway indignation meeting or a debate in the House of Lords, it is sure to go with bowls not to say shrieks.  PENN died on the 30th, and in founding Pennsylvania was mightier than the sword.  This announcement is the nearest approach to levity that in common decency can be tolerated in a mourning coach.

August.—­On the 1st, in 1834, no less than 770,280 British slaves were freed.  You might ask satirically, how many slaves (be they husbands or be they wives) now exist?  You might offer this to a clergyman to be used in a sermon.  On the 26th, Anniversary of the Battle of Cressy.  Opportunity for saying (at the breaking-up of an infant school) that on account of the extremely warm reception to which the French were welcomed on that occasion, the victory might be appropriately called, “the Battle of Mustard-and-Cressy.”  This will be found pleasing by a Colonial Briton home on furlough, and an Honorary Royal Academician living in retirement.

September.—­On the 1st, Shooting at Partridges commences.  Opportunity for aiming old jokes about firing off guns without loading, killing dead birds, &c, &c.  On the 3rd, the present Lord Chancellor born in 1825—­the name of GIFFARD entombed in Hals-bury.  A little obscure this, but, if carefully worked out, will amply repay time and attention.  On the 9th THOMAS WATTS (who may be amusingly called “Watts-his-name"), died in 1869.  Not much in this, but may possibly fill up an awkward pause during the reading of a will, or the arrival of fresh hot water at a newly-married lady’s initial hospitality at five o’clock tea.

October.—­FIELDING, the novelist, bowled out on the 8th in 1754.  Battle of Agincourt on the 25th—­an awful example to habitual drunkards.  Pheasant-shooting commences.  Right time to tell that story about the Cockney who, dropping his “h’s,” shot peasants instead!  This well-worn jest will be still found attractive by Australians who have spent the better part of their lives in the Bush.

[Illustration:  ALWAYS ENTERTAINING;

OR, VERY MUCH TAKEN CUM (CORNEY) GRAIN O!]

November.—­Good joke still to be made in the quieter suburbs about having special appointments for the 5th, when one has to take the chair at a meeting which perambulates the streets.  Lord Mayor’s Day on the 9th—­opportunity for letting off “the Mayor the merrier,” “L10,000 a Mayor’s Nest-egg,” &c, &c.  Jests about the fog not now popular—­the infliction is too serious for jocularity!