PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. Volume 108, May 25th 1895. _edited by Sir Francis Burnand_ [Illustration: STUDIES IN ANIMAL LIFE. UNCLE TOBY AND THE WIDOW WADMAN, AS THEY MIGHT HAVE BEEN. ["_Uncle Toby and Widow Wadman._" C. R. LESLIE, R.A. Exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1831.]] * * * * * A MARK AGAINST DENMARK.--At the beginning of last week it was midsummer weather, and _not_ to have cast off winter clothing and donned light attire would have been deemed "Midsummer madness." But by Thursday "_on a changé tout cela_," except the clothes, and we were in midwinter! The _Daily Telegraph's_ weather-clerk observed, that all "this resulted from a deep depression in Denmark." It certainly caused deep depression here; and there must be "something rotten in the State of Denmark" which ought to be looked to immediately. Ere these lines appear we hope--sincerely hope--that we shall have retraced our steps towards summer. * * * * * QUERY SUGGESTED.--We read in the _Financial Times_ that "A corner in camphor is, it is stated, being arranged." Is to be in "a corner in camphor" as good as being "laid up in lavender"? * * * * * A CENTURY OF CENTURIES. [By scoring 288 in the match Gloucester _v._ Somerset at Bristol, on May 17, Mr. W. G. GRACE, now nearing his 47th birthday, made his hundredth innings of 100 runs or over in first-class matches.] "_O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!_" Sang _Punch_ on the seventeenth instant May, With a true Jabberwockian chortle, As he saw the swipe, on the Bristol ground, Which worked GRACE'S hundred of centuries round; A record ne'er equalled by mortal. "My beamish boy"--of nigh forty-seven-- There isn't a cheerier sight under heaven Than W. G. at the wicket. When your "vorpal" bat "goes snicker-snack," _Punch_ loves to lie, with a tree at his back, And watch what _he_ calls Cricket. And now, as a topper of thirty years, After many hopes, and a few faint fears. (Which _Punch_ never shared for a jiffy.) You've done the trick! Did your pulse beat quick As you crept notch by notch within reach of the nick? Did even _your_ heart feel squiffy? _Punch_ frankly owns _his_ went pit-a-pat While he followed the ball and watched your bat As the nineties slowly tottled; And the boys of the Bristol Brigade held breath, In an anxious silence as still as death. But oh! like good fizz unbottled, We all "let go" with a loud "hooray" As the leather was safely "put away" For that hundredth hundred. Verily, _Now_ you're the "many centuried" GRACE! And for many a year may you keep top place, Piling three-figure innings right merrily! * * * * *