MEASURES AND MEN.--M. JACQUES BERTILLON has been lecturing before the Anthropological Society--(the only Society where _anthropoi_ are logical)--on his method of "identifying criminals by comparing their measures with those of convicted prisoners on the prison registers." Ahem! How about novel Home Rule Measures compared with those of past Kilmainhamites? * * * * * [Illustration: THE QUEEN'S SERVICE. "I SEE YOUR SERVANTS WEAR COCKADES NOW, MISS SHODDSON." "YES. PA'S JUST BECOME A MEMBER OF THE ARMY AND NAVY STORES."] * * * * * L'ENFANT TERRIBLE! _Chorus of Passengers, expostulating:--_ Stop, WILLIAM, stop! Your game is not a game _we_ can enjoy! Your father's son should not thus play the Little Vulgar Boy! This is not Margate, WILLIAM mine, and ours is not a crew Of ordinary trippers, packed aboard the _Lively Loo_ For a shillingsworth of suffering on a wild and wobbling sea. Stop, WILLIAM! You'll upset the boat! Why can't you let it be? Our boat has braved a many storms. It's old and may be crank; But though it sometimes sprang a leak, it never wholly sank. We are not packed so close to-day as we have oft been packed. Against some stiffer gales than this we've weathered and we've tacked; But, WILLIAM, though our craft tossed wild, though loud the winds have roared, We've never, never had so bad a boy as _you_ on board! Sit down, now do, you pickle, you! Don't dance upon that thwart, And see-saw in that sort of way. We want to get to port, Not Davy Jones's Locker, Sir. "These roarers" are wild things, As SHAKSPEARE in _The Tempest_ says, and do not care for Kings; To keep them down and bale them out has always been our aim; But you, you just play larks with them. What _is_ your little game? You, young, the latest chap on board, but of a sound old stock Of Royal navigators, do you think it right to mock All nautical traditions in this reckless kind of way, And greet these waves, as BYRON did, as though with them you'd _play_? They're dangerous playfellows, boy; tiger-cubs hardly in it For riskiness! I say, do stop! You'll swamp us in a minute. Look at your Crown! Such head-gear, boy, is seldom a tight fit, And oscillations sometimes act as Notices to Quit!