summoned by the new Editor, and he responded
nobly to the call. Since August 28th, 1880, he has contributed as
largely as any outsider to _Punch's_ pages. Innumerable picture-shows,
new books, articles of all kinds, and countless verses of every
description on every possible topic, with paragraphs long and short,
are, so to speak, the _hors d'oeuvres_ of his contribution. Many
series of poems and papers are his, of which the best-known is that of
the "Lays of a Lazy Minstrel" (begun August 28th, 1880), with their
riverside idylls and love-carols; but to his hand also are to be
credited "Simple Stories for Little Gentlefolk," "Holiday Haunts, by
Jingle Junior on the Jaunt," "Club Carols," "Uncle Bulger's Moral
Tales," "Songs of the Streets," "Rambling Rondeaux," and "Paper-knife
Poems." But it is his fluent, melodious, and unpretentious verse that
has made him popular in _Punch_.

Reginald Shirley Brooks, the son of Mr. Burnand's brilliant predecessor,
was working for _Punch_ in 1880, and the following year he was called to
the Table, and remained there without much distinction until 1884. He
wrote some smart papers, but his groove was not that of the sober and
respectable Fleet Street Sage. He preferred wilder spirits, and he
accordingly retired, taking with him the sympathy of his companions. He
died soon after.

After the escapade of Mr. George Augustus Sala in respect to Alfred
Bunn's quarrel with _Punch_ and the resultant "Word with Punch" of half
a century ago (which was illustrated by Mr. Sala's lively pencil, as is
explained in another chapter), none would ever have thought that his pen
would have been driven in _Punch's_ service. Lemon had declared him a
"graceless young whelp," and nothing that Mr. Sala ever cared to do had
tended to change that opinion. Shirley Brooks and Tom Taylor carried on
the sentiment as a sort of dynastic vendetta, and Mr. Sala's name was
kept on _Punch's_ Index Expurgatorius until the accession of Mr.
Burnand. _Punch_ was then no longer the close borough, and the new
Editor sought talent where he could find it. He invited Mr. Sala to
contribute, and the invitation has been responded to whenever anything
"Punchy" has occurred to the writer--as in the rhymed travesty of
Tennyson's opening verses of "The Princess." It is an amusing fact that
on one occasion Mr. Sala contributed a skit on himself--felicitously
entitled "_Egos_ of the Week"--with the startling and satisfactory
result tha