* * *

ALL MY EYE AND BEATE MARTIN.

The humbug of the Holy Eye-water at Salette has been recently exposed
very efficiently; but we are told the BISHOP OF GRENOBLE has adopted it,
because, to use a legal expression, it "runs with the surplice." We can
but express our astonishment that such eye-water should be necessary to
make a Bishop ('s) see.

* * * * *

A PETRIFIED LUNCHEON.

"MR. PUNCH,--The periodical review of the uses and abuses of English
Hotels having commenced, I beg leave to state that there is a small,
unpretending hostelry at Matlock Baths, where the luncheon (price 2_s._)
supplied is invariably made up of bits of loins of mutton, and leavings
of ribs of beef, all--in honour of the locality--duly petrified. Last
week I managed to chip off and swallow a bit of a joint, and I verily
believe have been troubled with the stone ever since. (Price 2s.!)

"Yours, VIATOR."

* * * * *

A TRAP TO CATCH A MOONCALF.

[Illustration: T]

The _Times_, in a letter from Grenoble, states that the Trappists in the
neighbourhood of La Salette are busy in the manufacture of a beverage
which, from the writer's description, seems to be about identical with
that which is produced by MESSRS. SEAGER & EVANS. We congratulate the
worthy monks upon taking to honest gin-spinning, which is a much more
laudable occupation than weaving toils to entangle simpletons. We should
think this order must be rather numerous in the district in question, as
surely all those must have been regular Trappists, who were concerned in
getting up the enormous hoax which has given it celebrity.

It seems that they have entrapped some gulls of the LUCAS tribe, who
were not up to Trap: but we should have considered even that common
marine fowl, the Booby, too old a bird to be capable of being caught by
chaff so extremely palpable.

* * * * *

PEBBLES PICKED UP AT THE SEA-SHORE.

BY A SENTIMENTAL OLD YOUNG LADY.

One's existence down here is divided between donkey-riding and
novel-reading--pretty exercises for the mind and body! It would be
difficult to say which were the slowest--the donkeys or the novels. It's
very strange, but how extremely rare it is you come across a donkey or a
novel that's in the least moving!

Youth writes its hopes upon the sand, and Age advances, like the sea,
and washes them all out.

We raffle, and raffl