e to his head, and a
voice came from the gallery, 'Guess, I nearly had you then, old hoss!'
At the next performance a placard was displayed, and gentlemen were
begged to leave their rifles with the doorkeeper. Shirley enjoys this,
and says, 'Now, don't cry "_connu_" Ponny! You're always crying
"_connu_" when anyone says anything. And you're always cracking up your
chums. If a world was wanted anywhere, you'd say your brother had
discovered one and had better be consulted.'

[Illustration: ANSTEY GUTHRIE'S INITIALS.]

Ponny then breaks out again with his bilingual vehemence and Parisian
gestures. (Some people never can talk French without trying to shrug
shoulders.) Brandishing his dessert-knife, he shouts, 'Avancons, mes
amis! go ahead, my boys! En avant! Excusez-moi,' and scatters scraps of
French about, till Leech cries, 'There, don't talk like a lady's-maid,
Ponny; why can't you speak English?' And, to change the talk, he tells
of a French sport'man taking his first fences here, with rather a fresh
horse which has been lent him. After coming a couple of bad 'croppers,'
which he conceives to be the usual style of leaping here in England, he
says a little sadly, 'My friend, I t'ank you for your 'orse, bot I t'ink
dat I s'all jomp no more at present.'

[Illustration: E. T. REED'S INITIALS.]

Somebody caps this with tale of a 'Mossoo' who manifests deep sorrow at
the death of an old hare, slain by an English visitor. 'Helas! il est
mort enfin! Mon pauvre vieux! I have shot at him for years! He was all
the game I had!'

And Leech tells another story of a foreigner of distinction hunting in
the Midlands, and hearing the cry 'Stole away!' and shouting out
excitedly, 'Aha, stole a vay, has he, de old t'ief! Den I suppose we
s'all not find a vay to him, and so we must go home!' ... Which we do.

[Illustration: R. C. LEHMANN'S INITIALS.]

* * * * *

Thus, for half a century has Wednesday evening been passed in the
editorial office of _Punch_, just when its readers are discussing the
merits of the previous week's issue; and according to the verdict of
those readers was attuned the merriment of the Staff. It is on record
how Douglas Jerrold would go radiant to the Dinners as "Mrs. Caudle" was
sending up _Punch's_ circulation at a rapid rate; "and was one of the
happiest among them all." Thackeray, too, first tasted the delights of
wide popularity in the success of his "Snob Papers," and he