Behold the young playwright who hears his own piece,
At night, at night!
He thinks that (ironic) applause will ne'er cease,
At night, at night!
His "little one-act thing" is stodgy and slow,
But the Pit is good-natured, the youth's in a glow,
And he thinks--with some "cuts"--it will be "a great go,"
At night, at night!
But oh, what a difference
In the morning!
The critics call the thing "an awful warning,"
They "guy," and sneer, and scoff,
And his bantling's taken off,
"To make room for some old farce, Sir!"
In the morning!

* * * * *

TAKING THE OAT-CAKE.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I was very much interested in the statement I saw
in the papers the other day, that the best preservatives of a Lady's
complexion are--Oatmeal and Oranges! I at once began the diet, but
have not succeeded very well at present. Porridge, even with milk and
cream, and plenty of sugar, is such _commonplace_ stuff, and one can't
really be expected to eat oatmeal _raw_, though Scotch gamekeepers are
said to do so. But then they are out in the open air all day, and I am
not. Oranges are nice enough--but oh, _Mr. Punch_, what a lot of them
one has to take before one feels as if one had had a meal! As I have
stopped all other food, I am becoming rather weak. My complexion is,