Punch, or the London Charivari

patted he would fare, Lacking colour; and the next Spatless, in chromatic wear. No dilemma reads him now, Bidding this or that to go. See, his side-cleft bags allow Spat and sock an equal show.

* * * * *

TACT.

[Illustration: Mr. Anchor always wears a moustache for the soup course whenever his uncle, the general (from whom he has expectations), dines with him.]

* * * * *

"DASH."

"There's no book like it," said A. "Get it at once."

"You must read Dash," said B.

"If you take my advice," said C., "and you know I'm not easily pleased by modern fiction, you'll get Dash and simply peg away till you've finished it. It's marvellous."

"I suppose you've read Darnock's Dash?" said D. "It's by far his best thing."

At dinner my partner on each side gurglingly wished to know how I liked Dash, taking it for granted that I knew it more or less by heart.

So having read some of Darnock's earlier work and thought it g