_Dr. Herd._ (_bitterly_). Am I _never_ to have a gleam of happiness--? But stay--do I see my little SENNA once more? _Ruebub._ Pardon me--_my_ little SENNA. She always believed so firmly in my pill! _Dr. Herd._ Well--well. If it must be. RUeBUB, I will take you into partnership, and we will take out a patent for that pill, jointly. ALINE, my poor dear ALINE, let us try once more if we cannot bring a ray of brightness into our cheerless home! _Mrs. Herd._ Oh, HAUSTUS, if only we _could_--but why do you propose that to me--_now_? _Dr. Herd._ (_softly--to himself_). Because I have tried being a troll--and found that nothing came of it, and it wasn't worth sixpence! [HILDA-NORA _goes off to the right with_ HELMER; SENNA _to the left with_ RUeBUB; Dr. HERDAL _and_ Mrs. HERDAL _sit on two of the galvanised iron-chairs, and shake their heads disconsolately as the Curtain falls._ THE END. * * * * * OMNIS CELLULA A CELLULA. (_Professor Virchow--vide Daily Paper._) Life's a cell and all things show it. I thought so once, and now I know it. _Gay_ (_up to date_). * * * * * A RADICAL RIDDLE. Why are the Tories so eager to discuss Black-edged Envelopes, and Black-lead Pencils?--Because they belong to a Stationary Party. * * * * * POLITICS AND TRADE. (_A Poser for "Patriots."_) ["Our Trade is our Politics." Motto of the Licensed Victualler, as publicly avowed at a recent "great Meeting."] [Illustration] DEAR Bung, that frank but huckster-like avowal Is made continually, behind the bar. It _means_--though rather "laid on with a trowel"-- A Trade with Public Spirit quite at jar. The "mercenary politician," making A pocket-business of a patriot's task, Recently put your Press in a great taking; But sordid selfishness here doffs all mask! Which with a patriot's conscience plays most tricks? Which most the venal virus has betrayed,-- The man who makes his Trade his Politics, Or he who makes his Politics his Trade? * * * * * OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. _BURDETT'S Official Intelligence for_ 1893 is just out, a promising young thing in its twelfth year. It is a little early to talk of the holidays, but my Baronite, regarding this thin Vol. of 1783 pages, says he cannot help thinking with what pleasure the City merchant, or his clerk, hastening to the seaside, will pack it up with his collar-box. Every year the monumental work increases in value, by reason of accumulated information. To the tired City man, scaling some Alp, gliding in well-found yacht over silver seas, or prone in bosky dell, there can be nothing more soothing or delightful than to take his "BURDETT" out of his waistcoat-pocket, and read it through from first page to last.