have given the news already; and it is also superfluous to describe the fun of those excellent comedians, Mr. HARRY NICHOLLS and Miss FANNY BROUGH.  All I can say is, if you want to see a good piece, well mounted, and capitally acted all round, why go to Old Drury, and you will agree with me (and the old wag with a taste for ancient jests) that Sir AUGUST-US might add September, October, November, and December to his signature, as A Sailor’s Knot seems likely to remain tied to the Knightly Boards until it is time to produce the Christmas Pantomime.  So heave away, my hearties, and good luck to you!

* * * * *

SONGS FOR THE PRO.  AND CON.  THEOSOPHICAL CONTROVERSIALISTS.—­“All round Mahatmas,” “He’s a jolly good Chela!” “Row, Brothers, Row!” and “Why did my ‘Masters’ sell me?”

* * * * *

[Illustration:  CRICKETANA.  YOUNG LADIES V. BOYS.

Fair Batter (aetat. 18).  “NOW, JUST LOOK HERE, ALGY JONES—­NONE OF YOUR PATRONAGE!  YOU DARE TO BOWL TO ME WITH YOUR LEFT HAND AGAIN, AND I’LL BOX YOUR EARS!”]

* * * * *

“NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH.”

A SCENE VERY FREELY ADAPTED FROM “THE CRITIC."

    Enter Mr. PUNCH, First Commissioner of Police, Inspector,
    and Constables.

Commissioner.  Oh! very valiant Constables:  one is the Inspector himself, the others are ordinary P.C.’s.  And now I hope you shall hear some better language.  I was obliged to be plain and intelligible in my manifesto, because there was so much matter-of-fact ground for remonstrance, and even chiding; but still, ’i faith, I am proud of my men, who, in point of fact, are fine fellows.

Mr. P. Unquestionably!  But let us listen—­unobserved, if so it may be.

Inspector.  How’s this, my lads!  What cools your usual zeal,
  And makes your helmed valour down i’ the mouth? 
  Why dimly glimmers that heroic flame
  Whose reddening blaze, by civic spirit fed,
  Should be the beacon of a happy Town? 
  Can the smart patter of a Bobby’s tongue
  Thus stagnate in a cold and prosy converse,
  Or freeze in oathless inarticulateness? 
  No!  Let not the full fountain of your valour
  Be choked by mere official wiggings, or
  Your prompt consensus of prodigious swearing
  Be checked by the philanthropists’ foaming wrath,
  Or high officialdom’s hostility!

Mr. P. There it is, Mr. Commissioner; they admit your by no means soft impeachment.

Commissioner.  Nay, listen yet awhile!

1st P.C. No more!—­the freshening breeze of your rebuke
  Hath filled the napping canvas of our souls! 
  And thus, though magistrates expostulate,

    [All take hands and raise their truncheons.

  And hint that ANANIAS dressed in blue,
  We’ll grapple with the thing called Evidence,
  And if we fall, by Heaven! we’ll fall together!