The writer of sensuous snippety novels, In Grub Street gutters forlornly grovels; The "Boy Genius of Gehenna," of the babbling boasters, Turns a very poor penny by Stygian Posters! O it _is_ a norrible tale! And what do New Women and New Art avail? Egomania-Tommyrotica is all a hum, Half fiddle-de-dee, and half fi-fo-fum! * * * * * BANDS AND BOMBS.--How many Hungarian Bands are there about? There's a "Real Blue Hungarian" (does this mean a "True Blue," good old Tory, Band?)--there's an "Anglo-Hungarian," and a "White Hungarian." In fact, Hungarian Band "with variations." The Real Hung'ry-an'-Thirsty Bands are to be seen every night in the Feeding Places of the Indian Exhibition, Earl's Court, where, specially within the bowers of the al fresco Welcome Club, _can_ be served a very good dinner which _may_ be bettered; and, if you are a Lucullus, you _comme gourmet_ will have to Look-ullus-where for it. [N.B.--To get this jest well received give the dinner yourself, and towards the middle of the feast try the jape. They'll all laugh _en--mais après?_] * * * * * [Illustration: "AYE! BUT HOW?" _Squire_ (_in dog-cart_). "HERE! YOU FOOL! HOLD HIS HEAD!!"] * * * * * MISONEOGYNY. DEAR MR. PUNCH,--New Woman dead? Not a bit of it. Don't believe she ever existed. Never met her anywhere myself, and never met anybody who has. It's my belief there "ain't no sich person." Merely an idea or an influence, don't you know; and you can't shake hands, go into dinner, dance, or flirt with a poisonous influence, any more than you can with a bad smell. Whatever she is, though, afraid she's driven me into evil courses--rhymes. Here they are:-- [Illustration] Oh, where is that horrible modern monstrosity, Where is the woman whom people call "New," Who thinks, speaks, and acts with such utter atrocity, Tell me, oh where are the "women who do"? Half angry, half sad (upon grounds sentimental) man Begs the New Woman to stoutly proclaim-- "No longer a lady, and not yet a gentleman"-- Where are the creatures who own to the name? This monster has, surely, no lasting vitality, Only existing in fancy and print; It is just an unlovely abstract personality, Coin from the end-of-the-century mint. And, therefore, in physical prowess and mental, man Owns her supremacy, calm and serene, Because the New Woman is like the "Old Gentleman," Heard of more often--thank heaven--than seen. Shouldn't worry if I were "Misoneogynist." New woman fad nearly played out, only a black cloud floating across the blue sky of common sense. Nice idea, isn't it? Till cloud rolls by shall remain, Yours cheerily, A. BACHELOR. * * * * * THE "BOGEY-LAND OF SCIENCE."--From the _Glasgow Herald_:--