Not at all; on the contrary, thankyou,
His health's in the pink.

He'll be bashed to the semblance of suet,
So say the familiars of Fate;
But they don't tell us who is to do it
Or mention the actual date;
Though the lords of the Circus assure us
His voice will be presently mute,
Yet the victim, pronounced _moriturus_,
Declines to salute.

All colours, from purple to yellow,
The oracles kill him in print,
But he turns not a hair, for the fellow
Is hopeless at taking a hint;
Apparently free from suspicion
And mindless of what it all means,
He careers on the road to perdition,
Ebullient with beans.

O.S.

* * * * *

"OUR INVINCIBLE NAVY."

In the article which appeared under the above title in the issue of _Punch_
for January 14th, the setting of the nautical episode, in which the subject
of the story conducted himself with so much aplomb and resourcefulness, was