_Mr. Powell._ Well, they had to attend the meetings, and, perhaps, stand drinks, and things of that kind. (_Laughter._) Who would not be such a Medical Officer, Practised in keeping his Board well in hand? D'you think that he offers them cocoa or coffee, Sir? No; but it's whisky he's called on to "stand." Paupers fall ill, and his task is to cure 'em; In fights with infection he comes up to time; 'Gainst bad sanitation he's paid to secure 'em; His drains may be poor, but his "drinks" must be prime. Is any Guardian cantankerous? He "cuddles" him (So did a Counsel obscurely declare); And should this fail, then his "Irish hot" fuddles him; For what is a doctor without "_savoir faire_"? * * * * * THE WATER-BANDITS AGAIN!--Not content with spoiling the Falls of Foyers, the Aluminium Company now threatens an attack on the Falls of Clyde. Oh, what a Fall is there, my countrymen! exclaims the patriotic Scot. The Co. that dares to lay its hands on Clyde, save in the way of kindness, is a willun, and should be wound up instanter. Says the _North British Daily Mail_-- The times are distinctly utilitarian and prosaic, and yet we have not all progressed up, or down, to the level of the man who sees nothing in a grand cataract beyond so much horse-power running to waste. Neatly put, and even from a utilitarian standpoint it may be well to remember that as much money may be brought into Scotland by a thousand tourists wanting to view the Falls, as by a single company wanting to ruin them. * * * * * [Illustration: A THIN DISGUISE. _The Russian Bear_ (_in Chinese costume, only more like himself than ever, slily chuckles as he crosses Manchuria_). 'AHA! THEY WON'T KNOW ME NOW!" (_See Special Communication to "Times," October 25._)] * * * * * THE ENGLISH WIFE. [MAX O'RELL says that the English wife sits opposite to her husband at the fireside in the evening with her curl-papers in her hair.] Air--"_She wore a Wreath of Roses._" She wore a wreath of roses, The night when first we met; Her hair, with careful oiling, Looked shiny, black, and wet. Her footsteps had the lightness Of--say a mastodon; And oh! she look exceeding smart, Though high of hue--and bone. I saw her but a moment, Yet methinks I see her now With the slimness, style and lightness Of--say a Low Dutch Vrow! A wreath of orange blossoms When next we met she wore, The spread of form and features Was much greater than before. And standing by her side was one Who strove, and strove in vain, To make believe that such a wife Was a domestic gain. I saw her but a moment, Yet methinks I see her now, With her big front teeth projecting, A queer blend of horse and cow.