No, thanks! Sorry to have troubled you for nothing, but Syndicate has now arranged to build a Coliseum of its own, double the size of yours, and to reproduce Forum, Parthenon, Capitol, Vatican, as well as Windsor Castle and Westminster Abbey, out of old brown paper, compressed and hardened by a new process. Ta-ta for present! Hope you'll get over next Budget all right. * * * * * [Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD(N'T) RATHER HAVE LEFT UNSAID. (_In Mrs. Talbot de Vere Skynflynte's Drawing-Room, after one of her grand Dinner-Parties where nobody gets enough to eat._) _General Guzzleton_. "WHAT'S THAT? TEA? NO, THANKS. I NEVER TAKE TEA UNLESS I'VE DINED!"] * * * * * ALL ADRIFT; OR, THREE MEN IN A PUNT. ["The uncertainty as to the course of business, justifies, to a certain extent, the criticisms of Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT and Mr. LABOUCHERE, upon the proceedings of the Government."--_The Times_.] _B-lf-r_. Humph! Shifting ground again! I did think we were in for a quiet swim and good sport. "Oh! the jolly angler's life Is the beat of any!" Yes, that's all very fine, IZAAK. But it depends upon your pitch--and your companions. I say, G-SCH-N, what _are_ you up to? Don't let the punt swing round like that, man, I was nearly over, and my tackle's fouled. _G-sch-n_ (_struggling with pole_). All very well for you to sit coolly there and criticise me, ARTHUR! _Wh-o-o-of!_ Confound the punt, it's all over the place, and the stream's like a mill-race. _B-lf-r_. Well, hold on to the pole, JOKIM, or we shall be all adrift. We'd better have kept to our first pitch; it _was_ quiet there, and we hooked one or two sizeable ones. (_Aside._) Fact is, you're such a fidget, you lose your fish, and then want to change the pitch. _G-sch-n_ (_aside_). That's right, grumble, grumble! Dawdling duffer, he sprawls across the well in one of his infernal æsthetic attitudes, picks the best swim, and girds at us who have to handle the poles. Wonder SM-TH stands it. _Sm-th_ (_aside_). Well, it's a good job I'm back in the punt. G-SCH-N may be all very well at a right-away race in a wager-boat, when the money's on, and I've seen him do a decent bit of bank-fishing in a pegged-down match; but he _doesn't_ shine as a punter, though he fancies himself a second ABEL BEASLEY. (_Aloud._) Hitch on that chain, JOKIM! _G-sch-n_ (_blowing_). Hang it, I can't. [_Punt oscillates dangerously, nearly tipping over B-LF-R's chair, and making his rod wobble._ _B-lf-r_. For Heaven's sake, G-SCH-N, mind what you're up to! My hook's foul in a snag, and you've nearly snapped my top-joint. _G-sch-n._ Well, wind up, then! _B-lf-r_ (_muttering, and wrestling with his rod_). All very well, man, but I've got to get clear first. Keep her still a minute, do. [_G-SCH-N "holds on" till he gets red in the face, whilst B-LF-R tugs at his tackle._