From HENRY SOTHERAN & CO. (so a worthy Baronite reports) comes a second edition of _Game Birds and Shooting Sketches_, by JOHN GUILLE MILLAIS. Every sportsman who is something more than a mere bird-killer ought to buy this beautiful book. Mr. MILLAIS' drawings are wonderfully delicate, and, so far as I can judge, remarkably accurate. He has a fine touch for plumage, and renders with extraordinary success the bold and resolute bearing of the British game-bird in the privacy of his own peculiar haunts. I am glad the public have shown themselves sufficiently appreciative to warrant Mr. MILLAIS in putting forth a second edition of a book which is the beautiful and artistic result of very many days of patient and careful observation. By the way, there is an illustration of a Blackcock Tournament, which is, for knock-about primitive humour, as good as a pantomime rally. One more by-the-way. Are we in future to spell Capercailzie with an extra l in place of the z, as Mr. MILLAIS spells it? Surely it is rather wanton thus to annihilate the pride of the sportsman who knew what was what, and who never pronounced the z. If you take away the z you take away all merit from him. Perhaps Mr. MILLAIS will consider the matter in his third edition. THE BARON DE B.-W. * * * * * WET-WILLOW. A SONG OF A SLOPPY SEASON. (_By a Washed-Out Willow-Wielder._) AIR--"_Titwillow._" In the dull, damp pavilion a popular "Bat" Sang "Willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!" And I said "Oh! great slogger, pray what are you at, Singing 'Willow, wet-willow, wet-willow'? Is it lowness of average, batsman," I cried; "Or a bad 'brace of ducks' that has lowered your pride?" With a low-muttered swear-word or two he replied, "Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!" He said "In the mud one can't score, anyhow, Singing willow, wet-willow, wet-willow! The people are raising a deuce of a row, Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow! I've been waiting all day in these flannels--they're damp!-- The spectators impatiently shout, shriek, and stamp, But a batsman, you see, cannot play with a Gamp, Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow! "Now I feel just as sure as I am that my name Isn't willow, wet-willow, wet-willow, The people will swear that I don't play the game, Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow! My spirits are low and my scores are not high, But day after day we've soaked turf and grey sky, And I shan't have a chance till the wickets get dry, Oh willow, wet-willow, wet-willow!!!" * * * * * INVALIDED! _Deplorable Result of the Forecast of Aug. 23 on the "D. G." Weather Girl._ [Illustration: FORECAST.--Fair, warmer. WARNINGS.--None issued. ACTUAL WEATHER.--Raining cats and dogs. _Moral._--Wear a mackintosh over your classical costume.] * * * * * A Question of "Rank."