* * * MR. N. F. DRUCE, of Cambridge, is, as I write, at the head of the batting averages of this year, and next to him comes the marvellous W. G. Ye batsmen attend, of my hints make a use, And consider the greatness of GRACE and of DRUCE. If you wish to make hundreds your names, you'll agree Must be monosyllabic and end with c, e. * * * * * ASCOT. _To Monsieur Punch._ _Cher Monsieur_,--Last year I am gone to your races of Ascot. It is beautiful, it is ravishing, but how it is dear! Thousand thunders, how it is dear! I go to the _Grand Prix_, I pay twenty francs, that is also dear, but it is all, it is finished. Eh well, I desire to see one time your Gold Cup, and I go of good hour by railway. Arrived there I pay one pound, that what you call one sov., and I enter. I suppose I can go by all--_partout_, how say you? Ah, but no! I see by all some _affiches_ "One Pound." I can to write your language enough well, but I speak with much of difficulty. Therefore I read the affixes without nothing to ask. Thus when I read "One Pound" I go no more far. I walk myself in the charming garden and I see the beautiful misses. Ah how they are adorable! DAUDET has wrong, DAUDET is imbecile, they are adorable. It is not the pain to pay again some pounds for to see to run the horses, when I can to see the misses who walk themselves here, without to pay of more. But in fine I am fatigued. Also I have great hunger, for it is the hour of the _déjeuner_. But without doubt one is obliged to pay one pound before to enter the bar. My word, I will not! I shall not pay one sov., and more, for a squashed lemon and a bun of Bath. I go to smoke at place of that, and I walk myself at the shade all near of an arch. All of a blow all the world lifts himself and comes very quick towards me. I cannot escape, I am carried away by the crowd, I arrive to the arch. I think "_Du courage, AUGUSTE mon cher! Sois calme! S'il y a encore une livre à payer----_" But there is no sov., and I pass. Thousand thunders! What is, then, this noise? Is he a revolution, a riot of Anarchists? Ah, no! It are the bookmakers. The bookmakers in the midst of the ladies! Hold, it is droll! And I pay one sov. to stand with those men there! It is too strong! I go more far, I pass the barrier, I am alone on the grass. I go to left. I see some men, in a cage of iron, who cry also. It is--how say you?--"Tatersal." Then, ah heaven, I arrive at the true _Pesage!_ Not of burgesses, not of villain beasts of bookmakers, not even of "Tatersals." But _partout_ the ladies the most beautiful, the most charming, the most adorable! It is there I go! Even if I pay one sov., two sovs., three sovs., I go!