* * * * * [Illustration: TRAFALGAR'S TEACHING. _Nelson_ (_receiving the wreath, October 21, nineteenth anniversary of Battle of Trafalgar_). "THANKS! BUT YOUR DUTY TO-DAY IS TO SEE YOU HAVE PLENTY OF SHIPS AND LOTS OF _MEN_ TO FIGHT THEM!"] * * * * * SCRAPS FROM CHAPS. MOUNT THE BUTTER-TUB!--Irish butter is on its trial, it seems. It has managed to get a bad name, because some of the makers or dealers become so attached to it they won't part with it for a month or so after it is churned--and when they _do_ part with it they pretend it's new. So the trustees of the Cork butter market suggest a "date-brand" as a means of restoring the damaged reputation of the Hibernian cow. It is quite obvious that if butter is to keep, it mustn't be kept--which sounds like a bull, but it's true. Now is the time for Irish patriots to come to the rescue of their firkins--to form a "Brand League" if necessary--and prevent the produce of Irish dairies being evicted from the markets of England. * * * * * WHY SHOULD GLASGOW WAIT?--The average time taken by a telegram to get from Glasgow to London, or _vice versâ_, is twenty-nine minutes, and the cry of the Glasgow Chamber of Commerce, in consequence, is "More wires!" The Chamber does not mind if they are overhead wires; all it objects to is, overdue wires. There has been a railway race to the north; but a telegraph race seems still more wanted just now. And the worst of it is that the lordly Stock-Exchange folk are specially provided with a wire that sends _their_ telegrams in five minutes. _Punch's_ advice to the Chamber of Commerce is--"wire in!" * * * * * [Illustration: JUMPING POWDER. (_Mr. Twentystun having a Nip on his way to Covert._) _Small Boy._ "OH MY, BILLY, 'ERE'S A HEIGHTY-TON GUN A CHARGIN' OF 'ISSELF AFORE GOIN' INTO HACTION!"] * * * * * BUMBLEDOM AND BRISTLES.--A strike of barbers has occurred at the Cork workhouse; no inmate cares to undertake the duty at the pay of one shilling a week; and the guardians are thinking of getting in outdoor relief for the chins of their paupers. Why not an "Irish Melody," to this effect?-- The barbers have struck, farewell to the shave, And the rate-supplied soap on the cheek of the brave. * * * * *