This bereaved, honest, lonely
Deferential dame!

"_Ta-ra-ra Boom de Ay!_"
In my desolate hall;
I, though prone to be gay,
Didn't like it at all.

"Which," she said, "it was Fits--
The Sint Biteus"--her fling!--
Yes! The Caretaker, it's
A mysterious thing.

* * * * *

CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS.

(_BY MR. PUNCH'S OWN GROUSE IN THE GUN-ROOM._)

LUNCH (CONTINUED).

How well I remember a certain day in the by-gone years, when for the
first time a great truth suddenly burst upon me in all its glory. The
morning's sport had been unsuccessful. We were all fairly tired, and
some of us, in spite of the moderate temperature, were perspiring
freely. For we had been walking up late partridges most of the
morning, with just an occasional shot here and there at pheasants in
covert. Now, late partridges are perhaps the least amenable of created
things. They cherish a perfectly ridiculous conviction that nature,
in endowing them with life, intended that they should preserve it,