HORTICULTURE UP TO DATE

Stimulated by the recent achievements of a horticulturist, who is about to place on the market the "pomato," a blend of the apple and tomato, and the "plumcot," a mixture of plum and apricot, Mr. Punch hopes soon to be able to announce the successful rearing of the following novelties:—

The Cumberry.—This may be regarded either as a very long gooseberry or a very short cucumber, according to fancy. When fully ripe the skin is thin and the contents pulpy. Unripe it is like a cobble, and may be used as such. Mr. Punch is disposed to think that the over-ripe cumberry will be very popular at elections, especially when eggs are scarce. The hairy variety looks like a fat caterpillar, and makes very good grub.

The Mistletato, a happy combination of the romantic and the domestic. This fruit, which has a very piquant flavour, has been grown in a small patch of soil, concealed, like King Charles, among the branches of an oak. Hence it is not surprising that the Mistletato should combine the nourishing qualities of the homely tuber with the sentimental associations of that plant which was revered by our Druid ancestors and is beloved by modern maidens. It should be a popular dish at wedding breakfasts.

The Pumpkonion promises well and seems likely to combine the amplitude of the pumpkin with the pungency of the onion. Mr. Punch is of opinion that a machine will have to be invented for dealing with this vegetable, as to handle it would be too severe a tax upon the cook's lachrymal glands.

The Turniparrot and the Parsniparagus are not yet sufficiently developed to be described with any confidence. Many others are only in an incipient state at present, but Mr. Punch hopes to be able before long to announce that he has brought several to maturity, including the Collage and the Cabbyflower.

All's Well that Ends Well.—

Stepmother (entering village school with whip). "My boy tells me you broke your cane across his back yesterday?"

Schoolmaster (turning pale). "Well, I—I may have struck harder than I intended, but——."

Stepmother. "I thought I'd make you a present of this whip. You'll find it'll last longer and do him more good!"

A Riddle from Colney Hatch.—Q. Why have we reason to suppose that a bee is a rook?

A. Because.

The Origin of Rural Decadence.—Through communications corrupt good manners.

"SECOND THOUGHTS"

Priest. "Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?"

Bridegroom Elect. "Well, aw's warned aw'll hev to hev her. But aw wad rayther hev her sister!!"

The Vicar's Daughter. "Awfully cold, isn't it, Mrs. Muggles?"

Mrs. Muggles. "Yes, my dear. But, bless ye, I'm lovely and warm!"

Miss Townley. "I think the country is just sweet. I love to see the peasant returning to his humble cot, his sturdy figure outlined against the setting sun, his faithful collie by his side, and his plough upon his shoulder!"

The Bishop of Lichborough (who has been on a visit to a sporting squire). "Now, I wonder if your man has remembered to put in my pastoral staff?"

William (overhearing). "Yes, my lord. I've put your lordship's gun-case into the carriage!"

Curate, after weeks of serious reading and conversation with Gaffer Stokes without much apparent result, is at last rewarded by a look of rapt exaltation on the Gaffer's face.

Gaffer Stokes. "A-men! That's the first wopps I see this year!"

A GOOD REASON

Sympathetic Cousin. "Poor boy! I'm so sorry you didn't pass your exam. What was the reason, I wonder?"

Poor Boy (also wondering). "I can't think."

HAPPY THOUGHT

Obliging Country Butcher. "Let me cut it into cutlets for you, ma'am,—leaving just enough bone for you to hold 'em by, while you're eating 'em!"

Wages and Wives.—Philanthropic Farmer. "Well, Tompkins, after this week, instead of paying you partly in cider, I shall give you two shillings extra wages."

Tompkins. "No, thanky', master; that won't do for me!"

Farmer. "Why, man, you'll be the gainer; for the cider you had wasn't worth two shillings!"

Tompkins. "Ah, but you see I drinks the cider myself; but the ow'd 'ooman 'll 'ev the two shillun'!!"

A Puzzle in Horticulture.—Little Chris. Daddy, what makes onions?

Daddy. Seeds, of course.

Little Chris. Then what makes seeds?

Daddy. Onions.

Little Chris (triumphantly). Then why don't us feed the canary on onions?

[Discomfiture and retreat of Daddy.

Agricultural Question.—Is a landlord who allows his farms to be over-stocked with rabbits entitled to be called a great bunnyfactor?

"AT ONE FELL SWOOP"

Wife. "Well, did ye find th' puddin' I left for you in the saucepan?"

Collier (whose favourite dish is boiled puddings). "Oh, ay; I found it right enough. It were a stunner!"

Wife. "Did you take the cloth off?"

Collier (after a pause). "Were there a cloth on?"

Rector (short-sighted). "Well, Richard, hard at work, eh? Let me see, you are Richard, aren't you?"

Labourer. "No, sir, oi be John, sir. You 'ad the pleasure o' buryin' Richard last week, you remember, sir!"

First Tramp. "Why don't you go in? 'E's all right. Don't you see 'im a-waggin' his tail?"

Second Tramp. "Yus; an' don't you see 'im a-growlin'? I dunno which end to believe!"

PROBABLY

He. "I hope there are no bulls in here. I can't run as fast as I used to."

She. "I'm told that's the worst thing to do. I think if you stand and look at them, it's enough to send them away!"

"SOMETHING LIKE A MEDICINE"

Doctor. "Now remember, my man, three or four drops of this mixture three times a day—and inhale."

Patient. "Be I to take it in four or six hale, guv'nor?"