_Thursday._--It appears I had an altercation with the police last night. I am free, but sorrowful. I really must put myself under restraint. I feel almost certain that I have given way to intemperance. On appealing to BROWN (or whoever he is), he says I have been as drunk as a fly for ages. This hurts me very much. Only thing to do is to retire into a retreat. Have, with the assistance of BROWN (or whoever he is), drawn up the application. It looks right enough. And, as this is my last chance for some time to come, I and BROWN (or whoever he is) are going to make a night of it. _Friday._--Boots again! BROWN (or whoever he is) called with two doctors. I said I couldn't be bothered with them. BROWN (or whoever he is) said I must. So I saw them. They say that the Act requires that I must understand what I am doing. All right--going into retreat. Word "retreat" should be pronounced as one syllable. All right, they have made the statutory declaration. _Saturday._--Here I am. Charming place, away from drink, and ought to do well for the next fortnight. Can't remember how long I promised to stay, but know it was for some considerable time. I have just seen the Superintendent. He says he is very sorry, but I cannot stay any longer. This, in spite of it appearing that I have signed an application undertaking to remain for life. Can't make it out. Rather vague about what I have been doing during the week, but know I wanted to cure myself from habitual inebriety. Superintendent says he must turn me out under the statute. Appears that I signed the application for admission when I was not absolutely sober. Can't be helped. Out I go. Well, there are worse things in the world than whiskey and port. I have a notion that I am booked for another night in my boots! * * * * * [Illustration: NOTE AND QUERY. _Small Boy_ (_to Companion_). "I SAY, BILL, WHICH O' THESE TWO'S TAKEN THE PRIZE?"] * * * * * THE RECENTLY-ELECTED R.A.'S. The pictures these talented gentlemen show Monotonous never appear; Waves, woods, and (say) Wenice, MACWHIRTER & Co. Depict for us year after year. WOODS always paints Venice, the place that brought forth A Moor, but MOORE'S chattels and goods Are seas, not calm south ones, but those of the north, Whilst NORTH and MACWHIRTER paint woods. * * * * * A DEBT OF HONOUR.--Will the verse described as _Ode_ by Mr. WILLIAM MORRIS be paid with the Poet Laureateship? * * * * * [Illustration: WHAT WEDDING PRESENTS ARE COMING TO. _She._ "I DON'T SEE _MY_ CHEQUE ANYWHERE!" _He._ "A--CAN I HELP YOU? WHAT NAME?" _She._ "OH--WELL--MINE IS HARDLY A CHEQUE. A--IT'S A POSTAL ORDER, YOU KNOW, FOR FIFTEEN SHILLINGS!"] * * * * * OUR OWN AMBASSADOR. _Mr. Punch, meeting Columbia at the World's Fair, thus greeteth her:--_