"I told you, sweet one," was the triumphant response, "to get rid of it, and are you not now pleased that you took my advice?" And I admitted I was. * * * * * [Illustration: PAST AND PRESENT. _Serious and much-Married Man._ "MY DEAR FRIEND, I _WAS_ ASTONISHED TO HEAR OF _YOUR_ DINING AT MADAME TROISÉTOILES!--A 'WOMAN WITH A PAST,' YOU KNOW!" _The Friend_ (_Bachelor "unattached"_). "WELL, YOU SEE, OLD MAN, SHE'S GOT A FIRST-RATE _CHEF_, SO IT ISN'T HER 'PAST,' BUT HER 'RE-PAST' THAT _I_ CARE ABOUT."] * * * * * IN PRAISE OF PENTONVILLE. ["The healthiest place in England is Pentonville Prison."--_Daily Graphic._] Is it sadey ye're falin' an' pale, me bhoy, Loike a sprat that has swallered a whale, me bhoy? The best thing Oi know Is a sixer or so On skilly an' wather in jail, me bhoy. Ye're free from all koinds o' temptations, lad, Ye can't overate on thim rations, lad, There's so much a-head O' skilly an' bread Accordin' to jail regulations, lad. They trate ye wid fatherly care, me bhoy, They tell ye o' what to beware, me bhoy, They tache ye to be Teetotal, ye see, For 'tis nothin' but wather is there, me bhoy. So, whin ye're beginnin' to fale, me lad, That ye've dhrunk enough whisky an' ale, me lad, The best of all ways To lengthen your days Is to spind a few wakes in the jail, me lad! * * * * * [Illustration: A TOAST. _Mamma._ "TO-DAY'S OUR WEDDING-DAY, TOMMY. YOU SHOULD STAND UP AND DRINK ALL OUR HEALTHS." _Tommy_ (_rising to the occasion_). "CERTAINLY. FATHER--MOTHER--AND"--(_pointing to himself_)--"THE RESULT!"] * * * * * THE UNTAMED SHREW; OR, WANTED A PETRUCHIO. (_A Shakspearian Foreshadowing of the Situation in France._) Prophetic Swan! To picture in advance The future's pageantry of personage And scene was thine unique prerogative; So easily thy creations take the mould Of aftertimes and characters unborn. Paris to-day seems Padua, thy fair shrew, The tricksy termagant, "curst _Katharine_," The Paduan _Xantippe_, prickly, perverse, Yet fascinating vixen, dons to-day A Gallic guise, and fumes in French, and flounces In skirts _à la République_. What said _Gremio?_ "_Your gifts are so good, here's none will hold you!_" And who may hold the fair Lutetian shrew? No man, "I wis," is "_half-way to her heart_ _But if he were, doubt not her care should be_ _To comb his noddle with a three-legg'd stool_, _And paint his face_, _and use him like a fool_." Here's _Katharine_--but where's _Petruchio?_