, as it might have been, in pre-historic times. The
artist was intensely amused with the idea, and finishing his three
drawings--the other two suggesting themselves--delivered them just in
time for the Almanac. The result was, in its way, electrical. Within a
week everybody was laughing at them and talking about them. In the
"Daily News" a leading-article was devoted to arguing, with admirable
mock-gravity, that the artist's object in these drawings--especially in
that of the Prehistoric Parliament, in which all our legislators are
clad in primeval fashion, while the Speaker keeps order with the aid of
an enormous tomahawk--was, of course, to prove the theory that
similarity of face and figure accompanies similarity of pursuit
throughout the generations. At Cambridge, in the May Week, the _tableaux
vivants_ of the "Footlights Society" included exact reproductions of the
"Primeval Billiards" and "No Bathing To-day!"--skins, expressions,
mastodons and all; while at Molesey Invitation Regatta (August, 1894)
the "Prehistoric Coaching for the Boat Race" was carried out to the life
in mid-river, with Gaul and Briton, woad-stained skins, raft, and fight,
with the fearsome palaeontological intruders, complete to the last
detail--and applications were quickly made to the _Punch_ Proprietors
for permission to reproduce the scenes on magic-lantern slides for the
use of schools! This, perhaps, is to be explained by the accuracy of
many of the pre-historic beasts. Even at the London Institution a
scientific lecturer has borne witness to the life-likeness of Mr. Reed's
_stegosaurus imglutis_, and especially of the _triceratops_ and the
sprightly _pterodactyle_. Little wonder Sir William Agnew broke through
the rule of "no speeches" at the Wednesday Dinner, and proposed the
health of the young artist who had made for the paper so striking a
success. When Mr. Harry Furniss retired, Mr. Reed was appointed his
successor as Parliamentary draughtsman, and soon showed his independence
of humour in his new post.

* * * * *

After Mr. Whistler had contributed his butterfly (p. 293, Vol.
XCVIII.)--the sign-manual in the use of which he has for some years
found so much harmless, if rather childish, pleasure--Mr. Maud, at that
time a Royal Academy student, began his sporting sketches. The first
drawing (published on p. 249, Vol. C., though it had been sent in six
months before) was called "A Check." A country lout