Ha!  I thought so!  There go the whole of the water-fowl under that luggage-train.

It is true, the Gardens are ruined, but one must not forget the inestimable advantage to the shareholders of the public being able to get from Paddington to Chelsea in a tunnel for twopence.

* * * * *

QUERY FOR NEXT ELECTION.—­No man has a vote until he has attained his majority.  How about some districts where they are nearly all Miners?

* * * * *

MEN WHO HAVE TAKEN ME IN—­TO DINNER.

(BY A DINNER-BELLE.)

NO.  II.—­DON JUAN SENIOR.

  To share with men the prandial gloom
    Of union forced that fatal custom
  Decrees to wither “youth and bloom,”
    (The phrase is from Sohrab and Rustum)
  I’ve suffered boredom to the full;
    Professors dull—­of Hindostani! 
  Dull wits, dull statesmen, dandies dull—­
    He wasn’t dull—­was Don GIOVANNI.

  A widower feted far and wide,
    The jauntiest Rake who drinks the waters,
  Smartest of “smart” vulgarians, pride
    And terror of his decent daughters;
  Old Don GIOVANNI, fraught with warm
    Flirtations, free to fling his cash on
  The dining Duchess, “mould of form!”
    Antique, good-looking “glass of fashion.”

  [Illustration]

  He gossiped how the Viscount bets
    (Some heiress he must really “pick up"),
  How noble dames smoke cigarettes
    And noble heels in ballets kick up. 
  How “H.R.H.”—­n’importe! my friend
    Experience shows me that the laches
  Of such as air these letters tend
    In the direction of their “H"’s.

  He chatted next of German Spas,
    Of Continental, English “P.B.’s,”
  And how our matchmaking Mammas
    Are scared by Transatlantic Hebes,
  How he with Royalties had graced
    The latest function—­genial patrons—­
  While Beauty, perched on barrows, raced
    Before the virtuous British matrons.

  And then his compliments began
    To rain like drops of Frangipanni,
  A most insinuating man
    He was, this ancient DON GIOVANNI. 
  You felt, if you could half believe,
    You’d but to word a whim to find it,
  You quite forgot he owned a sleeve,
    And several teeth to laugh behind it.

  There may be kindness, lofty souls,
    Great Brains, and whatso ne’er grows older,
  Him the Material controls: 
    He shrugs a sleek, good-natured shoulder. 
  Time scatters dalliance, joy, and joke;
    Your choicest vintage passes; e’en your
  Supreme tobacco ends in smoke—­
    And so will poor DON JUAN, Senior.

* * * * *

MRS. MALAPROP is much puzzled at the announcement that it is proposed to construct a new Tubercular Railway between England and France.