was talking in a excited manner to a fashnibly dressed young man.

"No, Earnest Montresser," the old gentleman said, "it is idle to
pursoo this subjeck no further. You can never marry my daughter.
You were seen last Monday in Piccadilly without a umbreller! I
said then, as I say now, any young man as venturs out in a
uncertain climit like this without a umbreller, lacks foresight,
caution, strength of mind and stability; and he is not a proper
person to intrust a daughter's happiness to."

I slapt the old gentleman on the shoulder, and I said: "You're
right! You're one of those kind of men, you are--"

He wheeled suddenly round, and in a indignant voice, said, "Go
way--go way! This is a privit intervoo."

I didn't stop to enrich the old gentleman's mind with my
conversation. I sort of inferred that he wasn't inclined to
listen to me, and so I went on. But he was right about the
umbreller. I'm really delighted with this grand old country,
"Mr. Punch," but you must admit that it does rain rayther
numerously here. Whether this is owing to a monerkal form of
gov'ment or not I leave all candid and onprejudiced persons to
say.

William Shakspeare was born in Stratford in 1564. All the
commentaters, Shaksperian scholars, etsetry, are agreed on this,
which is about the only thing they are agreed on in regard to
him, except that his mantle hasn't fallen onto any poet or
dramatist hard enough to hurt said poet or dramatist MUCH. And