SPECIMENS OF MR. PUNCH'S SIGNATURES!

(Fac-similes taken during the course of the evening.)

This is before Dinner, 7·30. Attested by Several Witnesses.

This is after the Punch à la Romaine, about the Middle of the Banquet.

This is with the Dessert.

After the Claret.

After the Claret and the Port.

During the Cigars, Whiskey and Water.

12·30. Before leaving Table.

1·30. Before getting into Bed.

The above have been submitted to an eminent expert, who says he could almost swear they are the same hand-writing, but must come and dine with Mr. P., in order absolutely to verify them.

A Bad Ending.—"Well, William, what's become of Robert?" "What, 'aven't you 'eard, sir?" "No! Not defunct, I hope!" "That's just exactly what he 'as done, sir, and walked off with heverything he could lay his 'ands on!"

A SALVE FOR THE CONSCIENCE

Vegetarian Professor. "No, madam, not even fish. I cannot sanction the destruction of life. These little creatures, for instance, were but yesterday swimming happily in the sea."

Mrs. O'Laughlan. "Oh but, Professor, just think it's the first time the poor little things have ever been really warm in their lives!"

FELICITOUS QUOTATION

"Oh, Robert, the grouse has been kept too long! I wonder you can eat it!"

"My dear, 'we needs must love the highest when we see it.'"

(Guinevere.)

Little Boreham (relating his Alpine adventures). "There I stood, the terrible abyss yawning at my feet——" That Brute Brown. "Was it yawning when you got there, or did it start after you arrived?"

At a dinner given by my Lord Broadacres to some of his tenants, curaçoa is handed in a liqueur-glass to old Turnitops, who, swallowing it with much relish, says—"Oi zay, young man! Oi'll tak zum o' that in a moog!"

PRICE FOR AGE

Mr. Green. "You needn't be afraid of that glass of wine, uncle. It's thirty-four port, you know."

Uncle. "Thirty-four port!—Thirty-four fiddlesticks! It's no more thirty-four port than you are!"

Mr. Green. "It is I can assure you! Indeed, it's really thirty-six; and thirty-four if you return the bottles!"

FLUNKEIANA

Master. "Thompson, I believe that I have repeatedly expressed an objection to being served with stale bread at dinner. How is it my wishes have not been attended to?"

Thompson. "Well, sir, I reely don't know what is to be done! It won't do to waste it, and we can't eat it downstairs!"

CONCLUSIVE

Scene—Hibernian Table d'hôte

Guest. "Waiter! I say—this is pork! I want mutton!"

Waiter (rather bustled). "Yes, sorr, it's mutton ye want—but it's pork ye'll have!"