deal. The
other day a tender-hearted person read in a daily paper, that a stranger
"arriving in Paris, did not even know where to go and die." How sad! But
the compositor had only omitted the "n" from the last word of the sentence.
So it wasn't so bad after all, though for the stranger bad enough.

* * * * *

"Music's the Food."--At the Savoy Hotel the band of Herr WURMS is
advertised to perform during dinner. The name of the dinner might follow
suit, and be entitled "The Diet of Wurms, for Gentle and Simple." Of course
the band of Herr WURMS is an attraction; "Wurms for bait," eh?

* * * * *

[Illustration: A JUBILEE GREETING!

MR. PUNCH (_for self and everybody_). "HEARTY CONGRATULATIONS, SIR!--KNOWN
YOU FIFTY YEARS, AND LIKE YOU BETTER THAN EVER!!"]

* * * * *

[Illustration: A KINDLY VIEW OF IT.

_First Rustic_ (_to Second Ditto_). "OH, I SAY! AIN'T HE FOND OF HIS
HORSE!"]

* * * * *

IO TRIUMPHE!

OR, GREEK FOR HEIFER!

(_By an Old Boy._)

[Illustration]

Thee, Camus, reverend renown
Thy grateful votaries seek,
Foil'd are the Vandals who'd "send down"
The Genius of Greek.

For Culture's jewell'd master-key
They cupboard pick-locks tend,
And in the cult of Mammon see
Learning's true aim and end;

Pit shallow youth's impatient fuss
Against the grit of CATO,
Set IBSEN up for AESCHYLUS,
And OLLENDORFF for PLATO;

For songs august of heroes sung,
And epic hosts embattled,
Enforce some pidgin-Latin tongue
By every waiter prattled;

For nymphs, where o'er the fragrant pines
A sea-bright sun uprises,
Their fancy plays round primmest lines
Of prigs receiving prizes.

From Sir JOHN CHEKE to Dr. JEBB,
From CALVERLEY to MILTON,
Clear spirits burst the Sophist-web,
And rent the rook they built on.

WELLDON is falsely named in this,
For sure, in slighting Greek, he
Will Learning's final blessing miss,
Her [Greek: kalos pepoieke].

What though the urchin deem it "rot"
(Such hasty views we stoop'd to,
Not seeing how on earth they got
_Tetummenos_ from _Tupto_)

Still let us learn, not beastly facts,
The field of any booby,
But how thought acts and interacts,
And contraries can true be.

Though on oblivion's barren shores
He give it quick sepulture,