p you laughing all the time._
Humph! humph! the humour o't!

* * * * *

Why doesn't some Musical Photographic Artist of Scotch Nationality
compose a March for his fellow Professors and Practisers, and call it
"_The March of the Camera Men_"? Sure to be popular.

* * * * *

AN UN-"COMMON" GOOD HORSE.--The Winner of this Year's Two Thousand.

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN.

(_Condensed and Revised Version by Mr. P.'s Own Harmless Ibsenite._)

No. III.--HEDDA GABLER.

ACT. III.

SCENE.--_The same Room, but--it being evening--darker than ever--The
crape curtains are drawn. A Servant, with black ribbons in her cap,
and red eyes, comes in and lights the gas quietly and carefully.
Chords are heard on the piano in the back Drawing-room. Presently_
HEDDA _comes in and looks out into the darkness. A short pause. Enter_
GEORGE TESMAN.

_George_. I am _so_ uneasy about poor LOeVBORG. Fancy! he is not at
home. Mrs. ELVSTED told me he had been here early this morning, so I
suppose you gave him back his manuscript, eh?

_Hedda_ (_cold and immovable, supported by arm-chair_). No, I put it
on the fire instead.

_George_. On the fire! LOeVBORG'S wonderful new book that he read to
me at BRACK'S party, when we had that wild revelry last night! Fancy
_that!_ But, I say, HEDDA--isn't that _rather_--eh? _Too_ bad, you
know--really. A great work like that. How on earth did you come to
think of it?

_Hedda_ (_suppressing an almost imperceptible smile_). Well, dear
GEORGE, you gave me a tolerably strong hint.

_George_. Me? Well, to be sure--that _is_ a joke! Why, I only said
that I envied him for writing such a book, and it would put me
entirely in the shade if it came out, and if anything was to happen to
it, I should never forgive myself, as poor LOeVBORG couldn't write it
all over again, and so we must take the greatest care of it! And then
I left it on a chair and went away--that was all! And you went and
burnt the book all up! Bless me, who _would_ have expected it?

_Hedda_. Nobody, you dear simple old soul! But I did it for your
sake--it was _love_, GEORGE!

_George_ (_in an outburst between doubt and joy_). HEDDA, you don't
mean that! Your love takes such queer forms sometimes, Yes, but
yes--(_laughing in excess of joy_), why, you _must_ be fond of me!
Just think of that now! Well, you _are_ fun, HEDDA! Look here