FORTHCOMING NEW WORK to be expected in about six weeks' time, _Newton's Principia_, revised and corrected by Mr. JUSTICE CAVE. * * * * * GROSVENOR GEMS. (FIRST VISIT.) [Illustration: No. 150. The Old Hand teaching "Blind Hookey" to his Young Friends.] [Illustration: No. 26. "Sail or Return."] [Illustration: No. 190. Lottie and Stottie of Oldham.] [Illustration: No. 381. "Sich a gettin' up Stairs!" "How shall we get on to landing of the Gallery from here without a trapeze?"] [Illustration: No. 92. Photography under Difficulties.] * * * * * OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. Not much time for books this week, says the Baron; just been able to glance at W. S. LILLY'S _Right and Wrong_: verdict--so far, all right, nothing wrong. Sharp chapter on journalism--severe, but not unjust. Picked up small book, for which inquire at W. H. SMITH'S bookstalls, _Four Thousand Years After_, by HELEN L. CHEVALIER. Baroness having read it, highly recommends it in hot weather, as being a weird, mystical legend, of a soothing and interesting character, commencing a few years before "ADAM delved and EVE span," and finishing in the time of steam yachts; so that it is brought right up to date. It is full of incident and picturesque description. I see Mr. FARJEON has been at it again with the _Mystery of M. Felix_. _Felix_--Happy Thought. Mr. HARRY FURNISS'S _Academy Antics_ is entertaining reading, and some of the earlier illustrations are quite Gilrayish in their breadth of style, not of subject. BARON DE BOOK-WORMS. * * * * * PHENOMENON IN NATURAL HISTORY (_by an observant Cricketer_).--Obtaining a Duck's Egg from a Bat. * * * * * IN THE KNOW. (_By Mr. Punch's Own Prophet._) EVERY jackass who ever was seen in the pig-skin knows perfectly well, or ought to know, unless his brain has gone barnacle-hunting in one of Mr. J.'s journalistic bum-boats, that a race is to take place at Epsom in the early part of next month. It has been customary to speak of this race as the Derby, and to imagine that the owner whose horse wins it gains possession of the Blue ribbon of the turf. As if, forsooth, in a matter like this, the colour mattered in the very least. But I have a further objection to this hugger-mugger, three-cornered, rag-and-bone, vermilion-faced, grog-blossomed, hash-headed fashion of describing things, and it is this. If a two-year-old, provided with one of Mrs. PARTINGTON'S patent range-finding, rectangular brooms, can beat an unbroken four-year-old over the Nose-bag Handicap Course by fourteen shoe-nails in a hundred, how in the name of all that is lop-sided can a three-masted frigate in full sail keep up with a Chinese Junk on Southampton Water? I pause for a reply, but knowing the anserous, venomous imbecility of the vermin who infest the turf, I think it will be a long time before I get one.