aid against_ her own tips! This _may_ be
humorous, but as i said, I don't approve of humour when exercised on
myself!

I laughed most consumedly at some of her articles, but on looking them
over again--(she has kept the lot, pasted in a book--a monument to my
fatuity!)--I don't think so much of them now I know she wrote them,
and see that I could have made numberless valuable suggestions had
she only seen fit to consult me! Of course I could stop any further
contribution on her part, but consideration for your readers (?)
prevents that--to say nothing of _her_ determination to continue--so
I have therefore consented to her odd whim, on the condition that in
future I "edit" her contributions;--I need hardly assure you that I
shall confine my "editing" strictly to these limits, and that your
own Editor need be under no apprehension as to my usurping his
place,--ably as I should, no doubt, fill it!

My Wife begs me to follow her example, and conclude with a verse--(I
don't know where she picked up such a bad habit)--but--while bowing
to her wishes--(I am always polite)--to a certain extent, I absolutely
decline to make the verse other than _blank_!

Believe me, Yours obediently,
CHARLES POMPERSON (Bart.).

JOURNALISTIC SELECTION.

I must confess that if compelled
To write for any Journal,
I should prefer as a matter of choice
To write for _Punch_!

[On a slip of paper found in Sir CHARLES's envelope, we have the
following from our valued contributress--[ED.]:--"_DEAR_ MR. PUNCH,--I
am too upset to write--you shall hear from me next week. Tours as
devotedly as ever,--LADY GAY."]

* * * * *

ANECDOTAGE.--_Mr. Punch_ one day was reading aloud from a book of
anecdotes when Mr. WEEDON GROSSMITH was present. "What rot!" observed
the representative of _Lord Arthur Pomeroy_. And _Mr. Punch_ agreed
with him.

* * * * *

PHANTASMA-GORE-IA.

_PICTURING THE VARIOUS MODES OF MELODRAMATIC MURDER. (BY OUR
"OFF-HIS"-HEAD POET.)_

NO. II.--THE POISON MURDER.

[Illustration]

Sit close to your friend, for a frightful end
Is at hand for the miser Jew!
Sit tight to your seat while the pulses beat--
Nestle close to your neighbour, do!
For he'll perish, alas!
From a property glass
Filled with nothing whatever--neat!

He's there by himself, counting piles of pelf
Of a counterfeit gamboge hue.
He's wizene