MR. BRIGG'S PLEASURES Of SHOOTING.

No. III.

9 A.M., HIS ARRIVAL ON THE MOOR. MR. BRIGGS SAYS THAT THE FINE BRACING AIR MAKES HIM SO VIGOROUS THAT HE SHALL NEVER BE BEAT. HE ALSO FACETIOUSLY REMARKS THAT HE IS ON "HIS NATIVE HEATH," AND THAT HIS "NAME IS MACGREGOR!"

THE STARVED-OUT ALDERMAN.

DREADFUL CASE OF DESTITUTION.

No. IV.

11 A.M. MR. BRIGGS BEGINS TO SHOW SYMPTOMS OF DISTRESS. HE FINDS HIS "NATIVE HEATH" A VERY DIFFERENT THING TO HIS "NATIVE FLAGSTONES."

AN OCEAN SWELL.

THE DELIGHTFUL PROCESS OF DRESSING IN A BATHING-MACHINE.

AN EXCLUSIVE.

Enter Small Swell (who drawls as follows). "A—BROWN, A—WANT SOME MORE COATS!"

Snip. "YES, SIR. THANK YOU, SIR. HOW MANY WOULD YOU PLEASE TO WANT?"

Small Swell. "A—LET ME SEE; A'LL HAVE EIGHT. A—NO, A'LL HAVE NINE; LOOK HERE! A—SHALL WANT SOME TROWSERS."

Snip. "YES, SIR. THANK YOU, SIR. HOW MANY WOULD YOU LIKE?"

Small Swell. "A—I DON'T KNOW EXACTLY. S'POSE WE SAY TWENTY-FOUR PAIRS; AND LOOK HERE! SHOW ME SOME PATTERNS THAT WON'T BE WORN BY ANY SNOBS!"

ELEGANT HABIT.

Mamma. "MY DEAR FREDERICK, DO PRAY TAKE YOUR HANDS OUT OF YOUR POCKETS!"

Frederick. "COULDN'T DO IT, MAMMA, DEAR; ALL OUR MEN AT CAMBRIDGE WEAR THEIR HANDS IN THEIR POCKETS, AND I COULDN'T DISGRACE MY COLLEGE BY TAKING MINE OUT!!"

PITY IS AKIN TO LOVE.

Boy (loq.). "O DON'T I PITY THEM POOR NOBS IN CARRIDGES THIS HOT WEATHER!"

AN OMNIBUS INCIDENT.

Man (thrusting his hand into the window). "WILL YOU BUY A PENKNIFE WITH A HUNDRED BLADES, SIR?"