MR. BRIGGS'S PLEASURES OF HUNTING.
Reading edition
No. IX.
MR. BRIGGS HAS ANOTHER GLORIOUS DAY WITH THE HOUNDS, AND GETS THE BRUSH (FOR WHICH HE PAYS HALF-A-SOVEREIGN—ONLY DON'T TELL ANYBODY).
AWFUL POSITION DURING A STORM.
DOG-DAYS! PLEASANT FOR JOHN THOMAS.
Old Lady. "JOHN THOMAS!"
John Thomas. "YES, MY LADY!"
Old Lady. "CARRY ESMERALDA—SHE'S GETTING TIRED, POOR DARLING!"
ALARMING.
Hairdresser. "THEY SAY, SIR, THE CHOLERA'S IN THE HAIR, SIR!"
Gent. (very uneasy). "INDEED! AHEM! THEN I HOPE YOU ARE VERY PARTICULAR ABOUT THE BRUSHES YOU USE."
Hairdresser. "OH! I SEE YOU DON'T HUNDERSTAND ME, SIR. I DON'T MEAN THE 'AIR OF THE 'ED, BUT THE HAIR HOF THE HATMOSPHERE!"
TEMPUS EDAX RERUM.
"GOOD GRACIOUS! IS IT POSSIBLE?—NO! YES! NO!—YES! YES, BY JUPITER, IT'S A GREY HAIR IN MY FAVOURITE WHISKER!"
A ROMANCE OF ROAST DUCKS.
"MY DARLING, WILL YOU TAKE A LITTLE OF THE—A—THE STUFFING?"
"I WILL, DEAR, IF YOU DO; BUT IF YOU DON'T, I WON'T."