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"COLOUR"-able Swindle (A), 1
Cruise in Queer Latitudes (A), 11
Clumsy Servant (A), 22
Chang in London, 43
Cattle Market, 70

Cabinet Council (The), 79, 188
Coningsby Harangues, 94
Caught in the Toils, 101

Chrysanthemum Show (The), 110
Cattle Show (The), 130
Correspondence, 23, 139

Cockney's Evening Song (The), 154
Christmas Appeal, 163
Continuations of Dramatic Histories, 168,
Christmas Boxes, 169 [171, 193, 213, 238
Christmas Party (A), 170
Cabman's Child (The), 194
Coming Down, 201

Chaucer to his Child, 208

Castles in the Air, 228
Curates Beware, 229
Café (A), 240

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ECONOMICS, 9

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has a Dog brought Home,

167

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makes herself Agreeable,

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goes into the Country, 187 returns from the Country,

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FROM Our Stall, 3, 13, 23, 33, 53, 69, 73, 89, 99, 101, 119, 121, 141, 151, 164, 178, 181, 191, 201, 218, 221, 253, 214, 254 Foreign Suns and English Daughters, 8 Fishy Story (A), 18

Figure on the Pier (The), 27

For, oh, it is such a Norrible Tale, 68
Fun and Fact, 103, 124
Family Doctor (The), 129
Fenian Government (The), 158
Field for Amusement (A), 174
Front of the House (The), 180
Fragment of a Scene from "The Tem-
pest," as performed in the Casual Ward
of Lambeth Workhouse, 213
Fourteenth of February (The), 222
Ferdinando and Elvira, 229
Fragmen (A), 249

GAM-Gee-Wo, 62
Gentle Life (A), 63
Grumbler's Grizzle (A), 88
Great Butter-slide Trick, 114
Galway go Bragh, 133
Good Match (A), 172
Going and Coming, 178
Grog, 254

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Make your Hay while the Sun Shines, 118

Muscular Christianity, 120

My Balcony, 142

Motley's Kingdom, 198

Money Market (The), 211
Mary Anna, 227

My Lost Old Age, 231

Meating the Difficulty, 234

Man in the Mysterious Muffler (The), 218 Monsieur le Blond on London, 249

NEWSPAPER "of the Period" (A), 21
Ninth of November (The), 91
Next Olympic Burlesque (The), 103
Nellie's Trials, 183

Night in a Workhouse (A), 203, 214

OZONE, 2

Out-of-Town Talk, 18, 29, 31, 49, 59, 61

Il n'est Jamais Trop Tard pour Raecom- One Arm v. One Leg, 20

moder, 72

In the Matter of Old Age, 79

In Re the Reade-er, 88

In the Name of the Profit-Figs, 99
In the Matter of Fair Play, 138
In the Matter of Public Service, 149
Islington Tournament (The), 160
It is the Cows! It is the Cows! 179
In the Matter of the Glowworm, 198
In the Matter of Promotion, 208
Importunate Creditor (An), 239

JILTED Lover to a Forsaken Lady (A), John Bull in " Little France," 100

LITTLE Gay Deceiver (A), 38
London Bridge Railway (The), 50
Love Song, 64

Lesson in Heraldry (A), 67
Letter of Advice (A), 141
Last Resource (A), 144
Life's Day a Ride's Romance (A), 151
Lines to Truth, 168
Local Examinations, 174
Laureate Loquitur (The), 189
Louvre (The), 200
Love Song (A), 238

Lay of the Lost Umbrella, 2

My Jubilee, 10

Mems. for Michaelmas, 24 Monkey in Trouble (The), 31 Modern Drama (The), 33, 41 Mr. Hazlitt's Novel, 62 Musings in a Music Hall, 69 Maiden's Plaint (The), 71

Out of "Luxe" way, 21

Our Patron Saint, 51

Our Library Table, 69, 78, 81, 109, 113,
139, 158, 161, 178, 193, 211, 228, 243
Opera on the Cheap, 71
Only Seven, 81

Over the Way, 191
Our Future Criticisms, 203
Odd Memories, 204, 218, 231

PEOPLE'S Pleasures (The), 30
Palmerston, 63

12 Patroclus, 74

Miss Goggle's Common Place Book, 101
Men one would Much Rather Not Meet,

111

Pantomimic Presentiments, 111 Parting Wish (A), 112

Plot of a Romance (The), 114

Paradise in the Waters (A), 125

Points of View, 129

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SONGS for Music, 3, 61

Social Glasses and Social Asses, 9
Sporting Intelligence, 14, 23, 39, 43, 53,

8, 98, 118, 133, 163, 199, 239, 241, 253
Second Row of the Pit (The), 18
Stanzas to an Intoxicated Fly, 19
Sea-Side Sentiment, 41
Spots in the Sun, 44

Social Science Congress (The), 58

Sham Fight (A), 60

Sensible Idea (A), 102

Selections from the Howl, 109

Science of Fairy Tales, 123

Society, 128

Scotland in her Cups, 134

Vestigia Nulla Retrorsum, 182
Vision of the Alderman (The), 188

WEATHER and the Parks (The), 4
Word with Walter Montgomery (A), 13
Woman's Thoughts about Woman, 103
Water on the Brain, 150

Why will Men be such Fools? 151
What ails my Love? 198

Word with Shakespeare (A), 218
What they Say, 219

Wanted, a Railway Poet, 233

Separation of Emily and Brown Jones, 140 YOUNG Esculapius, 32

Serenade of the Present Day, 209

Spooney Philosophy, 179

St. Valentine's Day, 221

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Yarn of the Nancy Bell (The), 242

LARGE ENGRAVINGS.

A LITTLE behind the Times, 95
Assault and Buttery, 115
"Bogey!" 25

Brothers after all, 35
Back Question (The), 105
Bull and Beef, 145

Britannia's Pets, 175

Belle of the Session (The), 195
Britannia's Valentine, 225
Domestic Difficulty (The), 15
Gone from the Helm, 65
Government Conveyance (A), 185
low to take a Hint, 235
Irish Rip Van Winkle (The), 5
Judgment of Paris(h) (The), 125
Modern St. Patrick (The), 245
No Notice to be Taken, 255
Our Cousin German, 135
Political Patroclus (The), 75
Pharaoh's Serpent, 85

Right" Christmas Number" (The), 155

Sunday Drains v. Sunday Trains, 55
Sons of Harmony, 165.
Slavery in Black and White, 215.
What it must Come to, 45
Watching for an Opening, 205

SMALL ENGRAVINGS.

ARRIVAL of Chang, 1

Ars Longa, 64

Artistic Conversazione (An), 190
Cool Notion (A), 4

Child is Father to the Man (The), 11
Cool, Rather, 58

Cattle Market (The), 70,

Chrysanthemum Show (The), 110

Consolations of the Hunting Field, 114
Cattle Show (The), 130
Christmas Party (A), 170
Dreadful Misbehaviour, 54
Difficult Commission (A), 81
Domestic Intelligence, 138
Divorce Court (The), 140
Do You See any Green? 150
Delights of Literature (The), 218
Enough to Annoy a Fella, 34
Economy in Little Things, 144
Ex(bus)horstive Argument (An), 184
"E(a)rin the Smile," 254

Foreign Suns and English Daughters, 8
Front of the House (The), 180
Faim-ous Mistake (A), 214
Great Ryde Tragedy (The), 44

High Art of Getting Good Servants (The),

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People's Pleasures (The), 30

Pretty Cyar-acter (A), 171
Par-tickler Unpleasant, 181

Physical Education Question (The), 194

Practising at the Bar, 244

Royal Exchange (The), 40
Real Basket Trick (The), 61
Sacrilege, 31

Sham Fight (A), 60

Something Like a Celebrity, 71;
St. Valentine's Day, 221
Spirited Challenge (A), 234
Too Late for the Post, 48

Tomkins Abroad, 74

Troubles of Livery, 108
Trussed, but no Credit, 154
Thistle Whipping, 164

24

There's a Medium in Everything, 163

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From the commencement of the Third Volume will be published, in addition to the usual issue at One Penny, a Special Edition of each
Terms of Subscription :-Stamped, Thirteen Skillings; Unstamped, Eight Shillings and Eight Pence per annum.

Number at Twopence, carefully printed on superfine ash-grey toned paper.

LONDON: JUDD AND GLASS, PRINTERS, ST. ANDREW'S HILL, DOCTOR, COMMONS.

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4

TO

LUCY.

ENDER tiny dove,

Such a girl as tew see
And keep out of love,
Little cousin Lucy.
Though I know my fate,
Still I in tones unmusi-
Cal elucidate

My love for little Lucy.
Deep and cunning she,
Sly, coquettish, ruse-y,
Espieglerie-

'S natural to Lucy.
Turks would turn Chinese,
Maronites turn Druses,
Doctors drop their fees,

For one smile of Lucy's.
Lord High Chancellor

Would become a Q. C.,
As he was before,

A VERY TRUE STORY.

T has often been said, and truly, that if
any man would write his life as it really
happened, it would be sure to make an
interesting story. What the world now
lacks is truth, the raw fact as it hap-
pened, without sauce, flavour, or garnish-
ing. In the following story, which is
autobiographical, I propose to relate the
history of my life as it really happened.

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I am a shorthand writer. Ye ge itle-
folks of England who write long hand
at ease, little do you think of the suffer-
ings of the reporter, when-in a state of
obfuscation from late hours, overwork,
and-well, let us say the refreshment
which the arduous nature of the task
imposed upon him requires-he sinks
to rest to sleep, perchance to dream-
aye, there's the rub. But this is mad-
Let us return to our subject. I
ness.
have said before. Have I said it before?
I think I have said it before; but I
have lost my notes, and, therefore, the
reader will kindly excuse any little
omission or repetition. I have said that I am a shorthand reporter. From my
earliest youth I loved stenography as a NEWTON may have loved science.
Like science stenography is a wonderful invention. Let me here say, in paren-
thesis, that I hate my brother-in-law. He is an infernal sobersided hum-
Would desert his new See, bug-and during my illness, I pledge my word, that has never yet
been liable to erasure-he has made remarks which I consider invidious and
And go into trade
untrue. I have been ill from overwork. Let that be understood: over-
work, and not as evil-disposed persons may have reported-when I say
reported, I do not mean in shorthand, but as evil-disposed persons-[Will
the reader kindly excuse me from terminating this sentence, in consideration
of my notes having been lost somewhere. It is my brother-in-law, I know;
but he shall leave my house to-morrow.]

For a look from Lucy.
Aldermen would quit

Calipash so juicy,

By her side to sit,

Tempting little Lucy.

The last Bishop made

At the wish of Lucy.

Rather than a scene

By BEVERLY or BREW see,
Would the world, I ween,
Enjoy a glimpse of Lucy.

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GATHERED

HENRY J. BYRON.

TREASURES.

GATHERED roses. I gathered gold.
(I am aweary-but still I sing.)

I gathered them all in the times of old,
When every day was Spring.

I treasure the roses, but where is the gold?
(I have known sorrow-but I can sing.)
Out, and for shame on my wealth untold!
For my riches all took wing.

Oh, treasured roses! Oh, vanished gold!
(I am stout-hearted still-and sing.)
For the roses-the roses still I hold,
And their perfume brings back Spring.

I gathered roses! I gathered gold!
(I am poor and needy-but I can sing.)
And your little hand that my hands enfold
Is the sole remaining thing!

T. H.

As a youth, my heart and mind were devoted to stenography and woman
At the early age of sixteen I fell in love, and whatever
-lovely woman.
my brother-in-law may say of my treatment of my wife
matter, let that pass.

untrue. No

Compelled by a sordid uncle to earn my living at the early age of twentytwo, I was forced to leave my home and the neighbourhood in which resided she on whom I had fixed my affections.

It was one winter night that I stood on the frozen lid of the waterbutt, and whispered to EMMELINE that I was about to be severed from her, it might be for years and it might be for ever; but in the meantime there was a penny post, and I could write to her constantly. As the moon shone upon her, and was reflected on the water flowing in the waterbutt beneath, for it was only half the lid that was on, I thought to myself and I said to EMMELINE, "Why should souls like ours confine themselves to the trammels of long hand? Let us be above the ordinary modes of correspondence. As none have loved as we love, as nobody can love, might loye, shall love, or will love like ourselves, why not correspond in shorthand ?"

Three months were to elapse before I left my native village. I proposed to EMMELINE to teach her stenography. She consented, and when I left the village we corresponded every day, and our love-letters were the shortest on record in point of character, and the longest in point of matter. Let me here say that my EMMELINE had a father; and, by the way, her name was JENNY and not EMMELINE, but I called her EMMELINE because it sounded more poetical. My EMMELINE had a father whom I hate; the remarks he has made upon my illness, which, as I have said, is entirely attributable to overwork, and not as he and my brother-in-law state-but these are family matters which had better be passed over. After serving a short sort of apprenticeship on a newspaper in the country, and corresponding with dearest EMMELINE, I came to London. I reported, reported, and reported. At first I wrote to EMMELINE daily, then every other day; then once a week, then once a month, then not at all. She wrote to me daily complaining of my silence, but the fact is I had no time to write. I had got among a lot of jolly fellows, and when one understands life in Londen and stenography, it is easily perceived that we have no control over circumstances, and that the ladies in the country, to whom one is engaged when one is young and foolish, must not be too particular or exacting. By this I do not mean to put any imputation on my wife, whose affection and attention to me during my illness-an illness entirely attributable to overworkwere a theme of admiration for many miles in the surrounding neighbourhood. Let me see, where was I? oh, yes, I came up to London and got among a set of jolly fellows. I reported in the House of Lords, and was a great favourite with the Lord Chancellors past and present. I had a row one night with the policeman who acted as doorkeeper, and who had the audacity to say that I looked overworked, and he would not permit me to go up into the gallery. This man afterwards had a severe attack of small-pox, which was doubtless attributable to his conduct to me. I forgave him freely; and, if this should meet his eye, he will know that I look over his conduct. I had not written to my EMMELINE for a year, when I fell very ill. The doctor pronounced it fever. My head was shaved, and I was told that in moments of unconsciousness I sang comic songs, addressed my nurse as the noble lord, and wished to waltz with the friendly skeletons who

1

crowded nightly round my bedside with enthusiastic acclamations. I grew worse and worse. At last I became unconscious; then I grew conscious; the skeletons dropped off in their attendance, and finally fused themselves into one skeleton. I remember sitting up in my bed with my head shaved, and seeing a skeleton sitting by my bedside. It was attired in a black stuff frock. It was a kaleidoscopic sort of skeleton, and changed frequently. First it changed into MRS. GRAMBOROUGH, my nurse, than whom a more wicked old woman, or one more denying of a drop of comfort to a poor fellow who wanted it never walked this earth in an unpleasant looking cap. From MRS. GRAMBOROUGH the skeleton changed to-yes-surely I was not dreaming-to EMMELINE!

II.

Let me explain. For two long weary years my EMMELINE had waited without receiving an amatory epistle from me; she had formed a resolution romantic, but feminine, of following me to London. Her father had fallen into trouble. Ah, woman in our hours of ease, uncertain, coy, and hard to please. In the midst of the old gentleman's troubles she took his best suit of clothes, and altering them so as to adapt them to the exigencies of her own figure, which was fine, she walked up to London in them. She had no money, but she earned an honourable, though precarious livelihood by teaching stenography to the cottagers by the way-side. The blessings of education had never before or since been so speedily conferred upon an agricultural and slightly brutal population. She found me out by the simplest means in the world. She discovered the address of the Lord Chancellor in the Court Guide. She called upon him, and stating her business asked him for my address. The Lord Chancellor, who always keeps an eye upon me, immediately gave it her. She informed Mrs. GRAM BOROUGH, and the skeletons-who so kindly assisted her in promoting my cure of an illness brought on, as I assure the reader, entirely by overwork-that she was my sister, which, her being attired in male habiliments only rendered more probable. For nights and days she watched by my bedside. She cooled my fever, and when money was short for grapes and oranges, of which I ate two barrels per diem-she, my EMMELINE, who was beautiful and fair, and understood stenography, and had really the finest head of hair ever seen in the shop of MR. TRUEFITT-and I trust that MR. TRUEFITT will not think it necessary to send me any balm of Columbia or other unguent for this mention of his name-cut off her hair and sold it, and the skeletons brought the oranges as before on payment of ready money.

One night, when I lay senseless and unconscious, in a state of comaentirely attributable to overwork-a message came down from a journal newly started that my stenographic services were required at the House of Lords. No other stenographer was to be found. The addresses of the villagers, to whom my EMMELINE had taught the art of short-hand, were not available. The price offered for one night's services-it was a most important debate, and EMMELINE had no money left-was £50. Dareful and dauntless my EMMELINE walked to the office of the journal and boldly passed herself off as a stenographic reporter, which her habiliments, which I have said were the modification of her father's clothes adapted to the exigencies of her own fine figure-and such a figure!-rendered probable. She was shown by torchlight to the gallery of the House of Lords, and took her place among that brave band of stenographers, to whom the members of both Houses and the country at large, to say nothing of the newsvendors, are so much indebted. The debate was a furious one: the Ministry fought hard to keep their places; the Opposition fought hard to get them out-and victory hovered-I don't know where, but so it was. As my EMMELINE turned to her left, whom should she behold but her aged father, who, having failed in business as a furrier, had in his old age taught himself stenography in six weeks, and been engaged as a reporter on one of the principal daily papers. Unmindful of Parliamentary privilege, the old gentleman, who recognised his clothes, which I have before stated my EMMELINE had adapted to the exigencies of her own fine figureand such a figure! the old gentleman exclaimed, "My child!" "Silence!" said the Lord Chancellor, "I will commit the first man who speaks-nay, worse, I will make him a member of the lower house." 'My Jord," said my EMMELINE'S father, "I should be sorry to interrupt this honourable house, sorry to interrupt your lordship, whom I venerate and esteem." Here the Lord Chancellor burst into tears. "But the reporter," continued my EMMELINE'S father, "sitting by my side, is my own daughter." The commotion in the house is more easily imagined than described. "Privilege, privilege," cried the members, and my EMMELINE rose and addressed the house for three-quarters of an hour, at the same time taking down her own speech stenographically as she spoke. explained who she was, and what she was-that she was my plighted bride, and that I required oranges and grapes every five minutes. The house rose as one man, or, as I should say, one nobleman. The Lord Chancellor requested of my EMMELINE's father that he would permit him to adopt her, which he did on the spot close to the woolsack. Every nobleman then and there present immediately subscribed £1,000 as a wedding portion for myself and EMMELINE. My EMMELINE's father, melted by the entreaties of the Lord Chancellor, who went upon his knees to him, consented to our marriage. Stimulants of various descriptions-calves' foot jelly, Revalenta Arabica, soon brought me to a state of corporeal health. I recovered. I married my EMMELINE. We have lived happy ever since. Her father accepted the Chiltern Hundredsa post which was kindly given to him by the Lord Chancellor, to whom may the tribute of esteem here given be some balm when he is compelled to retire. Three months after EMMELINE and I were married at St. George's, Hanover-square, the Speaker of the House of Commons, through the indisposition of the Lord Chancellor, being kindly allowed to give the bride

She

away. We have been happy ever since, although at times the illness with which I am so often afflicted, and which has been remarked upon by my brother-in-law and my father-in-law in such invidious terms, has frequently revisited me. This is the story of my life.

III.

At the commencement of this paper I think that I remarked, but I have lost some of my notes, and the reader will kindly excuse errors entirely attributable to illness and overwork. I remarked that if any man wrote his life as it really happened it would make an interesting paper. I have done so. This is a plain unvarnished statement, and not the offspring of delirium tremens, as that brute my brother-in-law, if he will allow me to call him so, I will not mention my father-in-law, as being unworthy of notice, affirms. I have merely stated facts as they really happened, and for which my wife, who is now in the interior of Africa, can at any moment vouch. I have the Yours, honour to be, Mr. Editor, STENOGRAPH.

[P.S.-Mrs. presents her compliments to the Editor of FUN, and encloses her husband's manuscript. She has not read it, but she trusts should the Editor see any objections to its publication, that he will whose health, mental and physical, has been so long impaired as to unfit him at times for the task of literary composition.] T. W. ROBERTSON.

send it back to Mr.

A

GHOSTS.

H, me, Time's foot goes far too fast,
And leaves us grey-beards far behind it;
My bugle hath as loud a blast,

But other lips than mine must wind it. I raise my glass and idly see

Strange visions in the bright Madeira, Old faces that were young with meThe phantoms of a bygone era.

They come! they come! a changing host, Through memory's "practicable" panels, A stream of varied life, long-lost

Amid a thousand winding channels. And if the well-known face looks cold,

I wonder where the sod, smooth-shaven,
Upon his faithful breast was rolled,

And where "Hic Jacet" is engraven.
She comes! and once again my heart
Is throbbing with its youthful blisses,
When well she played CALYPSO's part-
And I was sillier than ULYSSES.
The glamour has its olden power,

Again I love with ardent rapture;
And yet I know that dainty flower
Was not worth keeping after capture.
Another comes! a face is this,
As beauteous as a saint in glory;
Or that DIANA stooped to kiss
On Latmos, in the olden story.
I wonder where he rests him now?
If still he plays in Life's dull drama;
I lost him where the Hindoos bow
In homage to the mighty Brahma.

Another yet!-I know the air,

Mysterious, moody, and Byronic. A poet this-'ere worldly care,

And debts and duns came like a tonic. The Bill of Life at last came due,

He might have paid the interest longer; But, with the Beautiful and True,

He loved-a something rather stronger.

They come! they go! The Christmas chimes
Ring out a welcome from the steeple;
They mingle with my wayward rhymes,
And chase away my phantom people.
An old hand ill beseems a pen,

For noisy youngsters hardly thank us
For stories of the mighty men
Who graced the Consulship of Plancus!

HENRY CLARKE.

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