They would think themselves lucky; _that's_ how the world jogs!
But three weeks in the country! Why, that would mean joy,
And new life for the girl, and fresh strength for the boy.
The meadow would heal them, the mountain might save,
_Won't_ you give them a chance on the moor, by the wave?
Why, of course! _You_ have only to know, _Punch_ to ask,
And you'll jump at the job as a joy, not a task!
Come, delicate dame, City CROESUS rotund,
And assist Mrs. JEUNE'S "Country Holiday Fund!"
_Mr. Punch_ asks, _for her_, your spare cash, and will trouble you
_To send it to Thirty-seven, Wimpole Street, W.!_

* * * * *

THE EMPIRE IS PIECE, OR, RATHER, BALLET.

Now that the weather is so uncertain, that one day it may be as sultry
as the tropics, and the next suggestive of Siberia, it is as well
to know where to go, especially when _al fresco_ entertainments are
impossible. To those who are fond of glitter tempered with good
taste, something suitable to their requirements is sure to be found
at the Empire. At this moment (or, rather, every evening at 10:30
and 9) there are two excellent ballets being played there, called
respectively _Cecile_ and the _Dream of Wealth_. The first is dramatic
in the extreme, and the last, with its precious metals and harmonious
setting, is worth its weight in notes--musical notes. There is plenty
of poetry in both spectacles--the poetry of motion. Further, as
containing an excellent moral, it may be said that this pair of
spectacles is suitable to the sight of everyone, from Materfamilias
up from the country to Master JACKY home for his Midsummer holidays.