Endian, but simply, in the broadest sense of the time-honoured phrase, Fish, Flesh, Fowl, and good Red Herring.

Ah! if our well-Read Herring fellow-creatures only knew. Weary of what he will call (by the kind permission of Sir Inverted Alphabetical Lytton (G.E.L.B.E.L.B.L.) the Saloons of the Opulent and the Sofas of the Gay, FUN has lately been to two or three Working Men's Clubs. Yell, gents, if you like; gentlemen won't.

At the Mausoleum

At the Cock and Bishop
At the Sword and Toothpick.
At Toodles'

At the Yorick..

At the Recarltonform

Farewell. Oppressor. Broomielaw.

The horse was scratched. Here he drew Gladiateur; but owing to an informality there was a double draw, and he did not draw him twice. Quite forget the name, I assure you. What, after all, are clubs? "Trumps!" Not bad for you, FitzDummy! Why should not spades, with hearts behind 'em-but here, methinks, we grow too figurative. In England many a good cause may be killed by a bad illustration, as in France you shall find many a brutal falsehood accepted if it can but out-jest the truth by a startling epigram. Electoral reform would have been carried years ago, but for the metropolitan members. The ablest agent of the Conservatives is Cox, of Finsbury, though there is a good deal to be said, from the Tory point of view, for DOULTON, and BUTLER, and AYRTON, and LAWRENCE, and more especially for LORD FERMOY.

FUN, personally, is neither Tory, Whig, Radical, Liberal Conservative, Realist, Nominalist, Hanoverian, Jacobite, Big Endian, or Little

TOL. I.

L. is the hardy peer who tried to make the members of a West-end On these evenings there, was a good deal of LORD LYTTELTON about. club do their duty by the poor in their neighbourhood, and he failed, Spell the last word as you like. as dear, good ANDREW JOHNSON would say, "a considerable some.'

But LORD LYTTELTON, who is a celebrated chess-player, knows that the working man is often compelled to Pawn at Knight! He knows a good deal about the son of toil, being a hard-working man himself. And when LORD LYTTELTON talks about Strikes, you should go and see his son, the HON. C. G. LYTTELTON, who is generally on view at LORD's or the Oval. You should see him strike! Clean and clear from the bat, sir; goes right up against the reserved-willow-raw-material on the one ground, the tavern wall on the other, and all done without any appearance of effort-all done with grace and gentle, manly ease. Will you be good enough, subscribers, to pardon the enthusiasm of an ancient cricketer?

The Working Man-there is such a person, despite some of our serious contemporaries-is beginning to understand club-life, and to prefer it to the life of the bar-parlour. The institution of which LORD LYTTELTON is the foremost advocate can really do immense good; and its soirées have been thoroughly rational, with one exception. At the very last MR. LAWSON was allowed to parade his tedious fallacies in re the "Permissive Bill!" This error must not be repeated. Teetotalism and clubs cannot co-exist. LORD LYTTELTON, MR. THOMAS HUGHES, and other sensible persons will be good enough to bear this in mind." FUN.

HE French horse has won the Derby, and those who backed the Gladiateur can cry out "hey! bet!" in a very different sense from the old Romans. (For further particulars see MR. SIMEON SOLOMON'S picture of several ladies with sluggish livers at the Royal Academy.) How delighted our neighbours across the Channel will be! I have no doubt the news was at once telegraphed to Algiers, where his Imperial Highness of course swallowed it with all the avidity of the indigenous ostrich. is rumoured that a political amnesty will be proclaimed and a general gaol delivery (not in our legal sense); and that a pardon may possibly be extended to that Imperial cousin, towards whom of late the EMPEROR's feelings have been of an eminently cussin'-ly character. I believe I may contradict another rumour afloat in the clubs-that MR. DISRAELI is about to impeach MR. GLADSTONE for high treason, tracing Gladiateur's victory to the enervating effects of the French treaty.

It

COMIC Songs in the present day are very pointless and vulgar things. But if they cannot amuse the wise they can employ the learned, for an action about the copyright of a so-called comic song has occupied the lawyers some time. I shall be very glad to hear that the musichalls have obtained permission to perform stage plays, if only because it may lead to the abolition of "comic" singing and the disappearance of "comic" singers, male and female, who are at present an insufferable infliction on those who would willingly patronise the better entertainments at the more respectable music-halls.

THE M.P. for Peterborough has distinguished himself by fierce wolleys of invective, and a most injudicious identification of himself with roughs. He does far more harm than good to the cause he would promote, and deprives it of the support of respectable people, who will not consent to march through Coventry with such a regiment as his. I wonder whether at the general election Peterborough will return to its WHALLEY-ing in the mire.

THE Islingtonians are petitioning and agitating to get rid of dog shows at the Agricultural Hall. I have no doubt it is very troublesome to be disturbed by the bays of hounds for which others win the laurels, and that bark-arolles prolonged night and day may sicken one of what a huntsman considers music. But I don't see how the Islingtonians will get out of it; for the Hall was established for this and similar purposes, and probably a pecuniary profit can be proved to compensate the neighbourhood for the un-" common cry of curs" as well as the tragic moos of cattle. At any rate the Dog Show is flourishing like a green bay-tree, with plenty of bark and boughWOWS. I hear, by the way, that there is one intelligent animal who sings, "My bark is on the SHAW," in delicate allusion to his owner, but as I have not heard him myself, I would warn compilers of "Anecdotes of Instinct" not to adopt this story too readily.

THE magazines this month fluttered out almost unheeded amid the excitement of the Derby. On the whole they are not very strong. The Cornhill is not quite so good as usual in its illustrations; its letter-press maintains its dead level. Temple Bar is always readable; and Macmillan's seldom fails to amply repay perusal, though this month it might well spare an article on "Women and Art," which is a kind of hen-RUSKINISM. London Society contains a good story at the beginning, but altogether is hardly up to the average, especially in the illustrations. The second number of the Shilling Magazine is a little improvement on the first, which it might have been without any superhuman effort. The improvement is mainly due to the artists. An illustration by SANDYS to a not very musical poem, "Amor Mundi," is a very gem of drawing, and there is a capital picture to the "Wild Flower of Ravensworth." In other respects the magazine would seem to prove that if it be (as the prospectus would have us believe) to supply a want, it must be a want of interest. What on earth could induce the editor to append the two injudicious letters into which he was betrayed by a little adverse criticism? His worst enemy could not have done him worse service. I must quote a really curious sentence occurring in one of these strange epistles :

"I will not dwell on the feeble details in which you fraudulently ascribe to me an arrogance which I have never assumed, impressions which I have never entertained,

and in which you make insinuations as futile as they are false, with respect to my literary style and literary position, with referenee to which, I wonder why the question did not occur to you, why have I held that position for so many years, with the respect of the chief literary men of my time, as my correspondence with them will sufficiently prove, and to which position I can now appeal, as dispensing with the necessity for my making any reply to your cavils and calumnies." The reader must have an entire immunity from disease of the lungs, if he wishes to get through that without pulling up. What a pity it is that people will jangle so over a little criticism. The general public cares very little about the quarrels and personalities of a journalist-except, of course, when they are as funny as the feud between MESSRS. SLURK and POTT of Eatanswill.

THOSE Who wish to second any reasonable effort to find employment for women, should pay a visit to the Exhibition of Illuminations at Mortimer House, Charles-street. The illuminations are as good as those on the QUEEN's birthday, and last much longer. But seriously, this is a sort of work specially fitted for women, and its application might be extended to various branches of ornamental art very advantageously. Every one who has an eye for beauty of form and colour must admire the noble old industry, to which the world is indebted for many splendid manuscripts. It was meritorious when exercised by the monk, and none the less praiseworthy when it now enlists the feminine specialities-taste and patience.

WINE!

A SCIENTIFIC DRINKING SONG.

Go, bring me the goblet that maddens my soul;
Where the sulphate of copper lurks deep in the bowl;
Where the saccharine matter tastes richly intense,
And the brain-turning alcohol threatens the sense.
Deleterious acids, I laugh ye to scorn,

For one alkali cures me, when taken at morn;
And I know that a towel tied wet round my brow,
May demolish the headache that hangs o'er me now.

No matter what vintage-no matter what name-
To the brave Bacchanalian all wines are the same:
For the best of Champagne and the mildest of Cape
Are alike manufactured from juice of the grape.
What matters it whether the North or the South
May have yielded its store for the epicure's mouth?
What matters it whether the East or the West
May have sent the rich liquid that gladdens this breast?
Amidst Burgundy's hills or the plains of Bordeaux
May the national grape long continue to grow.
May the art of fermenting improve day by day,
And the vatting take place in its usual way.
And, oh! may our GLADSTONE till death persevere
In his efforts to crush that rude stimulant, Beer,
By providing Great Britain the means to import
A superior claret at ninepence per quart!

ANY AUTHOR MAN.

We have received the subjoined paragraph, which looks rather like a hoax:

"LITERARY NOTICE.-A mounted battery of volunteer artillery is in course of formation, to bear the distinctive title of the Authors,' and to be composed of gentlemen mo e or less directly connected with literature. Bright anticipations are formed of this union of the pen and sword."

Why gentlemen who are merely connected "more or less directly" with literature should call themselves "authors," we are at a loss to see; though, perhaps, they have as much right to that distinctive title as a paragraph about a volunteer corps has to describe itself as a literary notice. We are under the impression that almost all the literary men of note who were ever likely to become volunteers have already joined corps. But possibly one or two great guns may still be found for this battery, to form the one halfpenny-worth of bread to an intolerable deal of sack.

Our reason for supposing this paragraph a hoax is, that we have neither seen nor heard anything of the proposed battery. If it be not a hoax, it is a pity that one of the gentlemen "more"-instead of "less"-directly connected with literature was not intrusted with the wording of the notice.

The Latest from the Dog Show.

THE Islington people who object to canine exhibitions admit that what can't be cured must be endured. But they allege, with reference to the Show, that no one can be so deaf to reason as to say there isn't any yelp for that.

DERBY NOTES.

TRIUMPHANT SUCCESS OF NICHOLAS. GLADIATEUR! GLADIATEUR!! GLADIATEUR !!!

BELGRAVIA.

WELL, my noble sportsmen, and how do we find ourselves to-day? Tolerably brisk, I fancy, sanguineous and placid! The astounding success with which it have pleased the will of Fate to reward for the hundredth occasion the sagacity and intelligence of your own prophet is by this time-to quote the gifted bard of Avon-familiar in men's mouths as all the year round; and my reputation, always a good one, whatever detractors may now say, to whom in former years many is the glass of warm gin and water I have generously stood, is now brighter than ever. Self-praise butters no parsnips; and it is far from the wish of NICHOLAS to be vanity-glorious or boastful. Still, modesty is one thing, and will back himself to possess as much of that virtue as any man of my age and weight, Irish only excepted; but it is quite another guess sort of matter to deliberately go putting your light underneath of a bushel of hay, whether insured or otherwise. Why was talents given us if not that we might use them for the benefit of our fellow-men and squaring up our own books? Answer

that!

My Derby victory of this year is certainly amongst my most brilliant triumphs, and the name of NICHOLAS will henceforth be inseparably linked on the historical page with them of Gladiateur and GRIMSHAW, than whom a cleverer couple never drew the breath of life at Epsom, Surrey. Yet I look upon my prophecy simply as one of many upon which your readers may rely, the old man being spared, which, though a little rusty in the joints, and now and then a hacking cough, is worth fifty dead 'uns still!

Likely as not, there may be found some detractorial whippersnappers, whom I wouldn't touch with my hunting-gloves on, nor demean myself by calling of them all the most awful names as I can lay my tongue to, who will point out to you, Mr. Editor, in anonymous letters, that in Number Three of the New Serious I didn't absolutely name Gladiateur to win; but then your French correspondent, Mossoo GODIN, did, and do you think that I, as your trusted, and deservedly trusted, head of the Sportive Department, would have allowed such a statement to appear in the light of print had NICHOLAS not been of the same opinion? Sir, I would not have done it-not for untold coin. And did I not in my own communication speak warmly in favour of the winner, although some part of the paragraph having been wrote in the French language, perhaps accounts for the ignorant and low-bred young buffoons not understanding what NICHOLAS meant?

But, Mr. Editor, is this all? No, Mr. Editor, this is very far indeed from being all.

Look back, sir, to your own file in the back office, and tarn to page 19 in Number Two of the New Serious, published on May 27, 1865. Do you find the name of Gladiateur there, or is the old man a-trying to conoodle you, as he may say?

You do find the name of Gladiateur given as a winner; and if your printer, as is a deal too fond of altering my contributions on account of alleged errors in stile and authorgraphy, hadn't taken it upon himself to reverse the order in which I sent my tip, and put a "2" to Gladiateur's name instead of a "1," which such it was in the original manuscript, why' even the voice of slander would now be hushed on land and sea, and the poisoned fangs of a carroty calumniator, since I can give no higher term to young DICK JONES, as called me a muff in the paddock itself, would long since have subsided into their native element-contempt! And if he didn't know I was getting old, like a foul-mouthed social nuisance which he is, and his father kep a beershop in the New Cut, would have thought twice before he hurled the arrows of Invective against the honourable head of Age!

But no one-not even yourself, Mr. Editor, nor any of your staff, than whom, I am sure, a more amiable and affable body of young gentlemen, although perhaps a little extravagant and gay, but youth will be served-can make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, and a sow's ear is only too eulogious a patteringmimic for such as JONES.

Want of space-the room given to sportive matter in your otherwise well-conducted journal not being adequate to the importance of the subject-forbids your prophet from giving you this present week

ANY PROPHECY AT ALL.

NICHOLAS.

P.S.-I had almost forgotten to say that although as a tipster I exult, as a patriotic British statesman I deplore. O England, O my country!

"FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH.”

A LIBERAL elector, who had been run over, declined to be attended by MR. FERGUSON, on account of that gentleman's eminence in the practice of conservative surgery.

ODE TO MY CLOTHES.

(OWED TO MY TAILOR.)

OH! isn't it hot!

Oh! isn't it hot!

And all is soft and clammy and damp,
No need to moisten your postage stamp!
The very stones

Have lost their tones
And don't re-echo the p'liceman's tramp!
And, oh! isn't it hot!

I puff and blow and tetter and trickle,
I feel like nothing so much as a pickle→→
A strong, hot India-pickle!

It's a hot acetic vinegar pickles me,
Everything that touches me tickles mo;
And, oh! if you knew how I hate my clothes,
Fathers and mothers of half my oaths!
But in broiling June

I'm out of tune,

And I swear too readily then, I fear,
If you gave me a thousand pounds a year,
I'd glare at you,
Stare at you,

Heartily swear at you,

For making a wealthy man of me,
With the thermometer ninety-three!

And, oh! how I hate my hat!
That box of roasted air!
With the hard hot brim that presses its rim
With all its main right into my brain,

And it leaves its red trail there!

And how I hate my blessed boots,
Of pedal agonies the roots!

Sources of throes and pangs and shoots!
And sooks with aggravating holes
Socks that ruck all under the soles!

SAM Hands (Several good) wanted; only those accustomed to card work need apply. 16, street, Strand.

My b-bwother TH-THAM ith thuch an ath! What can he w-want with m-more handth-he'th g-g-got four already, including his f-feet? Prapth he w-wanth me to l-lend him a hand. N-not a bit of it.

P.S. (by his lordship). I th-thpoke about it to the editor, or thome other fellow, and he thaid it was MR. TH-THOTHERN'TH B-bwother Tham, and it was from the Claque-enwell Newth. But you thee if TH-THOTHERN TH got a b-bwother THAM too, why TH-THOTHERN must be my f-father, or aunt, or thome other fellow.

P.P.S. (strictly in confidence, by his lordship). Th-that editor or thome other fellow'th a 1-1-lunatic.

IMPORTANT FROM FRANCE.

DEVELOPMENT OF LIBERTY! THE "CROWNING OF THE EDIFICE' AT LAST!

"THE Paris correspondent of the Globe says: "The latest boon conferred upon Parisians by the Government of the Emperor is the liberty to sell tripe! Previously it could only be carried on under very stringent regulations." "

This is, doubtless, the grand "Crowning of the Edifice," so long promised by the Imperial Government. We knew it would come-we always said so; but even now, we can hardly realize the immensity of

the concession!

Vivent l'Empereur! la Liberté !! et les Tripes!!!

LADY ARABELLINA.

A THRILLER IN THIRTY-SEVEN CHAPTERS.
CHAPTER THE FIRST.

THE clock struck one. One very naturally resented it. The hours formed a ring, each of the combatants being supplied with sixty seconds in a minute, and a very pleasant set-to commenced. Time was called, but having been rather late overnight didn't get up. The clock being good with both hands, one came off second-best. At the end of fifteen minutes, however, quarter was given.

The LADY ARABELLINA DE COURSEY was issuing from the castlegate, with her greyhounds, when the hour struck. Luckily LORD LICHFIELD was on the spot, and arranged a meeting with its master, and the difficulty was eventually got over. Her ladyship cantered off over the purple moorland like a page from HEATH's Book of Beauty, though of course a lady cannot be a page, except on the stage.

It had been a portentous morning. The clock had given warning at five minutes to the hour, and several guns had been discharged, but were subsequently let off. The reason of the disturbance was LADY ARABELLINA's temper. Her father, by keeping her at home, had put her out, for she was anxious to keep an appointment she had made with SIR 'ARRY O'FANE to take the hare with him. Her father was a staunch old nobleman, greatly beloved by all who didn't know him, of the New Crusading Company (Limited), of which RICHARD CŒUR and much respected (at a distance) by those who did. He was director DE LEON and PETER THE HERMIT were the promoters, with power to add to their number. In consequence of SIR 'ARRY O'FANE's declining to take several shares and a deep interest in the venture, LORD DE COURSEY refused him his daughter's hand. But she let out so furiously that the old gentleman, at the time when our story commences, was obliged to let her out."

But, alas, for the uncertainties of love and life! As the fair ARABELLINA rode out of the courtyard, she encountered SIR JOHN D'ENTYSTE, to whom her father would fain (not O'FANE) have united her in spite of her teeth. He approached her with a tear on his lip and a smile in his eye, but instantly perceiving the anachronism, removed the tear, dried it carefully with his pocket-handkerchief, and placed it in his waistcoat pocket, where he also deposited the smile, after carefully wrapping it up in a double meaning. Deceived by these artifices, the lovely ARABELLINA allowed herself to be persuaded to taste a liqueur cordially presented to her by the suitor who did not suit her. When she had completely emptied and flung away the flask, she de-cantered down the winding road, in all the guileless innocence of youth and a chimney-pot hat with a green veil.

The wily SIR JOHN smiled a terrible smile as he gazed after her. He was observed by an old but faithful servant of the house, who, immediately suspecting mischief, picked up the empty flask his mistress had flung away, and sent it with its contents to a crafty leech.

The LADY ARABELLINA, as we have already mentioned, rode away