MR. BRIGG'S PLEASURES OF SHOOTING.

No. X A FRIEND HAS GIVEN MR. BRIGGS A DAY'S SHOOTING.

A COCK PHEASANT GETS UP, AND MR. BRIGGS'S IMPRESSION IS, THAT A VERY LARGE FIREWORK HAS BEEN LET OFF CLOSE TO TO HIM. HE IS ALMOST FRIGHTENED TO DEATH.

FISHING—WITH FLIES.

THE OLD GENTLEMAN IS IN A HURRY TO GET TO THE STATION—CAB-HORSE JIBS MOST RESOLUTELY.

Old Gent. "NOW, THEN, DRIVER. WHATS THE MATTER?"

Cabman. "OH, IT'S NOTHIN', SIR. HE'S ONLY A LEETLE TOO FRESH, SIR!"

HOW No. 4 ENJOYED HIMSELF,

AND

HOW No. 8 SUFFERED IN CONSEQUENCE.

SPEAK AS YOU THINK.

"ARE YOU GOING?"

"WHY, YE-ES. THE FACT IS, THAT YOUR PARTY IS SO SLOW, AND I AM WEALLY SO INFERNALLY BORED, THAT I SHALL GO SOMEWHERE AND SMOKE A QUIET CIGAR."

"WELL, GOOD NIGHT. AS YOU ARE BY NO MEANS HANDSOME, A GREAT PUPPY, AND NOT IN THE LEAST AMUSING, I THINK IT'S THE BEST THING YOU CAN DO."

A HORRIBLE BUSINESS.

Master Butcher. "DID YOU TAKE OLD MAJOR DUMBLEDORE'S RIBS TO NO. 12?"

Boy. "YES, SIR."

Master Butcher. "THEN CUT MISS WIGGLES'S SHOULDER AND NECK, AND HANG MR. FOODLE'S LEGS TILL THEY'RE QUITE TENDER!"