Far the funniest thing about the play was the fact that so clever and experienced a writer should have made it. Perhaps the compliments I have paid to my friend Mr. VACHELL in these columns have given me the right to beg him not to take advantage of his many recent successes and palm off on the public just any kind of banality, For these are days when pens (with or without a big P) must be pretty good if they are to compete with the sword. With this appeal (and with a silent prayer that the play may not come by a natural death in time for my homily to serve as a funeral appreciation) I hasten to conclude, hoping that it will find, him in the pink (as they say) of a blushful remorse; and, anyhow, I remain, His sincerely, O. S. * * * * * NURSERY RHYMES OF LONDON TOWN. XI.--Saint John's Wood. Saint John walked in a Wood Where elm-trees spread their branches And Squirrels climbed and Pigeons cooed. And Hares sat on their haunches. He built him willow huts Wherever he might settle; His meat was chiefly hazel-nuts, His drink the honey-nettle. His Wood that grew so green Is now as grey as stone; His Wood may any day be seen, But where's the good Saint John? * * * * * "On all faces was the defiant scowl of hatred as we looked at them."--_Daily Chronicle._ What had our genial contemporary done to deserve this? * * * * * "Turkish newspapers received in Copenhagen contain long lists of names of prominent Arabs who have been hanged for treason or for absenting themselves from military service. Overleaf is another list of well-known Arabs living in Great Britain and the British Colonies, who are cordially invited to return without delay."--_Morning Paper._ Dilly ducks, dilly ducks, come and be killed. * * * * * JUSTIFICATION. [Illustration: _Wife._ "Two bottles of ginger-beer, dear?" _He._ "Why, yes. Have you forgotten that this is the anniversary of our wedding-day?"] * * * * * OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. (By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks.)