CUTTING AT THE ROOT OF THE EVIL.

"Good heavens, Sir Peter," said Hobler, confidentially, to our dearly
beloved Alderman, "How could you have passed such a ridiculous sentence
upon Jones, as to direct his hair to be cut off?" "All right, my dear
Hobby," replied the sapient justice; "the fellow was found fighting in the
streets, and I wanted to hinder him, at least for some time, from again

[Illustration: COMING TO THE SCRATCH."]

* * * * *


TO PUNCH.

We have received the following choice bit of poetic pathology from our old
friend and jolly dog Toby, who, it seems, has taken to medicine. The dog,
however, always had a great propensity to _bark_, owing doubtlessly to the
strong _tincture_ of _canine_ there was in his constitution:--


MY DEAR PUNCH,

Nothing convinces me more of my treacherous memory than my not
recollecting you at the memorable "New-boot Supper;" for I certainly must
have been as long in that society as yourself. Be that as it may, you have
induced me to scrape together a few reminiscences in an imperfect way,
leaving to you, from your better recollection, to correct and flavour the
specimen to the palate of your readers, who have, most deservedly, every
reliance upon your good taste and moral tendency. I have in vain tried to