Poor BLANK THREESTARS attempted to give his views on the subject, but broke down. He was extremely exhausted; but the gentleman in black kept him going. He insisted upon being answered this, and answered that, until the eminent Member of the London County Council became almost senseless with fatigue. He closed his eyes once more, and when he reopened them, found that his own servant was standing by his side. "Going to Spring Gardens, Sir?" asked the faithful adherent. "If you are it is time to be off." "No," returned Mr. BLANK THREESTARS; "never again. I shall resign. I have had enough talking to last me a lifetime." From that moment BLANK THREESTARS became a changed character. He goes in for all sorts of hard work--wood-cutting, cricket, football, and golfing--but he never approaches the L. C. C. In fact, he has only mentioned Spring Gardens once since his conversion, and then only to link with its name an expression usually represented by the fourth capital letter of the alphabet. And with this declaration his story must come to an end, as he declines to utter another syllable in explanation. * * * * * QUEER QUERIES. FUTURE OF AFRICA.--Having read in the papers that Mr. JOHNSTON, our Commissioner in Central Africa, advocates the colonising of that country by "the yellow races," I write to ask if it would be of any use for me to apply? As I have now suffered from chronic jaundice for sixteen years, complicated with intermittent attacks of bilious fever, and, as my skin is usually of a bright orange, I think that I should fulfil Mr. JOHNSTON'S requirements down to the ground. Some of my friends urge me not to go because they are sure the swampiness of the country would carry me off; but Africa can hardly be much swampier than Lower Tottenham has been during the past autumn, and, personally, anything that would really "carry me off" from the latter place I should welcome as a blessed change. Perhaps some reader, with more knowledge of Africa than I possess, could inform me whether there would be much danger of my yellow complexion, in case of my having a fit of the blues out there, being converted into _green?_ Would Mr. JOHNSTON in that case regard me as a sort of colourable fraud, and ship me back home? WOULD-BE PIONEER. * * * * * THE PERILS OF A JESTING PREMIER. When Premiers try to joke (As they will like other folk) They should really have a care That their meaning be quite plain E'en to Brummagem's slow brain, Or it really isn't fair. For you see a Goodman Dull The jest's flower may not cull, And he'll send a queer epistle To the _Times_ which shows him crunching Gentle irony, and munching Like a donkey at a thistle. The ironical's a trap For your solid sort of chap, _Au grand serieux_ he'll take it, Your elusive little joke, And, like terrier or moke, Dig his teeth in it and shake it.