Chapter I: ONLY hopes as most of my thowsands of readers took my strait tip last

Wensday morning, and got their 9 to 4 against the winner, if not it most suttenly wasn't my fault. My directions was as clear as daylight. "Dark morning, dark blew carnt lose." And wosent it a dark morning? and wosent it luvly arterwuds? Any of my winners may send my 5 per sent commishun to the hoffice as ushal, and they will all receve a copy of my emortle Book by post.

It was a puffeckly lovely race! fust Cambridge got fust, then Hoxford got fust and Cambridge second, and so on all through, but in course Hoxford wun as I proffysized.

I seed all the River Tems Conserwatives, with the Right Honnerabel the LORD MARE at the hed of 'em all, a laying carmly at rest in their bootifool Steam Bote, a trying for to look as if they wasn't responsibel for all the hundreds of thousands of peeple as lined all the banks of the River a gitting ome safely. Many on 'em I remarked kept on a disappearing down below ewery now and then, probberbly to seek that strengthening of the system so werry nessessery under such trying suckemstances. Upon the hole, I wentures werry humbly to pronounce it to be one of the werry sucksessfullest races of moddun times, which I bleeves means about 6 years. ROBERT.

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_Captain Pullem (having just effected a "Swop" with his Friend)._ "NOW, I'LL BE STRAIGHT WITH YOU, OLD MAN. THAT HORSE YOU'VE GOT FROM ME IS A BIT OF A CRIB-BITER!"

_Friend._ "_Oh, don't mention it, Old Chap. You'll find mine to be a confirmed Runaway_!"]

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SONG SENTIMENTIANA.

(_A Delightful "All-the-Year-Round" Resort for the Fashionable Composer._)

EXAMPLE II.--SHOWING HOW CURIOUSLY RETENTIVE IS THE LOVER'S MEMORY.

'Tis ninety years ago, love!
It seems but yestermorn
We sat upon the snow, love,
And watch'd the golden corn!
I mind the bitter wind, love--
I mind it well, although
The wind I say I mind, love,
Blew ninety years ago!

The plough stood on the hill, love--
The horse stood in the plough!
And both were standing still, love--
I seem to see them now!
The lamb frisk'd in the glen, love--
A stranger _he_ to _whoa_!
And so was I--but then, love,
'Twas ninety years ago!

The roses by the way, love,
Were large and, oh, so fair!
And so they are to-day, love,
For all I know--or care!
And softly unto thou, love,
While yet among the snow,
I breathed that fatal vow, love,
Of ninety years ago!

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A "FISHING INTERROGATORY."--"What's this new French book on angling?" asked Mrs. R., who is not very well up in the French language and literature. "I believe," she went on, "it is called _The Bait Humane_. I do hope it is against the cruel practice of putting live worms on a hook, which is so cruel."--[It is supposed that our dear Mrs. R. has heard some mention of _La Bête Humaine_.--ED.]

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OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

ADVICE to those who are about to give Easter presents--send to MACMILLAN'S for "The Nursery 'Alice,'" who re-appears "as fresh as paint," that is, with twenty-four of "Our Mr. TENNIEL'S" illustrations, coloured by Miss GERTRUDE THOMSON, under his direction.

The _Universal Review_ is specially noteworthy for a short play by Mr. W. L. COURTNEY, entitled, _Kit Marlowe's Death_. Mr. BOURCHIER of the St. James's, so it is stated, is going to add this "Kit" to his theatrical wardrobe. Some of the stage-directions,--such, for instance, as "_They pour out wine in his cup, which he swallows_," and "_The others laugh at_ NASH'S _expense_,"--are well worth all the money that the spirited purchaser may have paid for this almost priceless work. In the same Magazine, the coloured frontispiece of "_Count Tolstoy at Home_," showing the Count, not labouring in the fields of literature, but simply guiding the plough, is as good as the article on the _Kreutzer Sonata_ is interesting; and interesting also is the paper entitled, "Musings in an English Cathedral," by the Dean of GLOUCESTER,--henceforth to be known as "A Musing Dean."

Mr. ANDREW LANG in _Longman's_--or rather _Lang-man's--Magazine_, is still stopping at "The Sign of The Ship"--[The Baron moves "that the words 'and Turtle' be inserted after 'Ship'"]--and as he has recently been delighting us with wanders in the land of Ham, it will gratify his readers to learn that he is now ceasing to be "All for 'Hur,'" in order to join the author of She in a plot for a new romance. They are undeterred by the eye of Detective RUNCIMAN. I wish success to Merry Andrew Languid in this collaboration. In this same _Lang-man's Mag._, Mr. VAL PRINSEP, A.R.A., having temporarily dissociated himself from the paint-brush and canvas, by which he has made his name and fame, continues his novel _Virginie_. In the present chapter he incidentally gives a description of the service of Mass in the good _Abbé Leroux's_ parish church, which is a triumph of imagination and subtle humour. No wonder "the _Abbé Leroux_ was scandalised," when the service had been turned topsy-turvy, the _credo_ put before the _gloria_, and a young person among his congregation, topping all other voices, was singing a solo! Where was the Beadle? or a Churchwarden? or an Aggrieved Parishioner? Three cheers for Facile PRINSEP'S novel!

In _Plain Tales from the Hills_, by Mr. RUDYARD KIPLING, the jaded palate of the "General Reader" will recognise a new and piquant flavour. In places the manner suggests an Anglo-Indian BRET HARTE, and there is perhaps too great an abundance of phrases and local allusions which will be dark sayings to the uninitiated. But the stories show a quite surprising knowledge of life, a familiarity with military, civil, and native society, and a command of pathos and humour, which have already won a reputation for the author. Few can read _Beyond the Pale_, _The Arrest of Lieutenant Golightly_, _The Story of Muhammed Din_, _The Germ Destroyer_, and _The Madness of Private Ortheris_, for example, without admiration for the versatility which can cover so wide a range, and impress, amuse, or touch with the same ease and epigrammatic conciseness.

BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & CO.

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THE ROOT OF THE MATTER.

(_The Sporting M.P.'s Straight Tip to Trevelyan._)

In the intervals of Sport
M.P.'s vamp the country's work,
Therefore cut the Sessions short,
Supplementary Sessions shirk.
_Must_ have time to pot the grouse,
_Must_ have time to hook the salmon,
Spoil our Sport to help the House?
Gammon!!!

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LOST, somewhere between Land's End and John O'Groat's, a highly-treasured heir-loom, known as the "British Sense of Fair Play." It disappeared immediately after the issuing of the Report of the Parnell Commission, and has never been seen or heard of since. Many applicants have claimed to have re-discovered it; but, from Sir R-CH-RD W-BST-R and Sir W-LL-M H-RC-RT, to L-RD D-NR-V-N, and (last and least) Sir W. M-RR-TT, all have absolutely failed to substantiate their claims. Any Public Man, of whatever party, who can prove his possession of the lost treasure, by making a speech embodying a judicial survey of the Judges' Report, without party-feeling, special pleading, or paltry spite, will, on applying personally to _Mr. Punch_, be HANDSOMELY REWARDED!!!

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PUT THIS IN YOUR PIPE.

[Pipe-Major MCKELLAR has thrown doubts upon the pretty and pathetic story of "JESSIE BROWN of Lucknow."]

Our faith to the winds you would chuck now,
Concerning that Legend of Lucknow.
That sweet Scottish girl
Never heard the pipes "skirl?"
Come! This is mere sceptical muck now!

The Ross-shire Buffs' slogan I'll wager
Will survive many stories much sager.
Our faith in the tale
Is confirmed, and won't fail
At the word of a single Pipe-Major.

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(_Mr. Punch's Suggestions, à propos of the recent Discussions about Mr. Gladstone's Head._)]

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MUSICAL NOTES.