* * * * *

A QUESTION OF TASTE.

Mr. Punch.  Well, Madam, what can I do for you?

Female (of Uncertain Age, gushingly).  A very great favour, my dear Sir; it is a matter of sanitation.

Mr. P. (coldly).  I am at your service, Madam, but I would remind you that I have no time to listen to frivolous complaints.

Fem. I would ask you—­do you think that a building open to the public should be crowded with double as many persons as it can conveniently hold?

Mr. P. Depends upon circumstances, Madam.  It might possibly be excusable in a Church, assuming that the means of egress were sufficient.  Of what building do you wish to complain?

Fem. Of the Old Bailey—­you know, the Central Criminal Court.

Mr. P. Have you to object to the accommodation afforded you in the Dock?

Fem. I was not in the Dock!

Mr. P. (dryly).  That is the only place (when not in the Witness-Box) suitable for women at the Old Bailey.  I cannot imagine that they would go to that unhappy spot of their own free will.

Fem. (astonished).  Not to see a Murder trial?  Then you are evidently unaccustomed to ladies’ society.

Mr. P. (severely).  I do not meet ladies at the Old Bailey.

Fem. (bridling up).  Indeed!  But that is nothing to do with the matter of the overcrowding.  Fancy, with our boasted civilisation—­I was half stifled!

Mr. P. It is a pity, with our boasted civilisation, that you were not stifled—­quite! (Severely.) You can go!

    [The Female retires, with an expression worthy of her proper
    place—­the Chamber of Horrors!

* * * * *

[Illustration:  IN DIFFICULTIES!

Distressed Hibernia.  “If your tandem leader turns vicious, and kicks over the traces,—­where are you?”]

* * * * *

[Illustration:  TAKING IT COOLLY.

Old Gent (out for a quiet ride with the Devon and Somerset).  “CONFOUND THESE HARD-RIDING YOUNG RASCALS, THEY’LL BE SMASHING MY HAT ONE OF THESE DAYS!”]

* * * * *

NONOGENARIAN NONSENSE.

(COMPILED A LA MODE.)

[Illustration]

I have so often been urged by my friends to write my autobiography, that at length I have taken up my pen to comply with their wishes.  My memory, although I may occasionally become slightly mixed, is still excellent, and having been born in the first year of the present century I consequently can remember both the Plague and Fire of London.  The latter is memorable to me as having been the cause of my introduction to Sir CHRISTOPHER WREN, an architect of some note, and an intimate friend of Sir JOSHUA REYNOLDS, and the late Mr. TURNER, R.A.  Sir CHRISTOPHER had but one failing—­he was never sober.  To the day of his death he was under the impression that St. Paul’s was St. Peter’s!