xample of poor Lockwood. We shall read of the Bishop of Ripon
giving imitations of the Archbishop of Canterbury; Sir Alexander
Mackenzie is ready to make the musical world roar by his burlesque of
Paderewski; and Lord Kitchener, when he returns from the war and gives
the inevitable lecture, will delight military circles by his imitations
of his chairman, the Commander-in-Chief.

[Illustration: THE PUMPKIN--A CHESTNUT.]

But I personally have no objection to a chairman if I am announced as a
_lecturer_ and it is the habit of the particular society to pay the
lecturer the compliment of formally introducing him. But my appearances
as a lecturer are few and far between, and when I, as I generally do,
appeal direct to the public, I am most anxious to avoid giving my
platform work any appearance of a lecture; yet the Press insist upon any
entertainment given by men of my class being a lecture. I am a bit of an
amateur conjurer, and I thoroughly believe were I to appear on the
platform on a bicycle or on an acrobat's globe, and keep three balls in
the air with one hand and spin a plate on a stick with the other, and at
the same time retail some stories, the notice in the Press on the
following morning would begin: "Mr. Harry Furniss gave an instructive
_lecture_ last night on subjects with which we are familiar. Some of his
stories were good, some poor, and some we had heard before." And that is
the rub! We had heard some stories before! I repeat I honestly have no
objection to a chairman--the Ideal Chairman, who will inform the
audience that you are an acrobat, and not a lecturer; but I do object to
my friends and brother journalists who will tell the public you are a
lecturer when you are not, keeping many of their readers away, and who
will also publish your jokes. Of course, all stories are "chestnuts" an
hour after they are told. When I first went on the platform I retailed
new stories, but they were invariably served up in the next morning's
papers, and were therefore known to many of the audience who came to
hear me on the following evening. In fact, I once overheard a man at
breakfast in an hotel saying, "No, I don't think much of Furniss; I have
read that story of his about the pumpkin in the papers." Now this story
of the pumpkin was an impromptu of mine the evening before, and I was
naturally puzzled by over-hearing this remark. When the speaker left the
room I took up the paper he had been reading. It contained an