Why doesn't some Musical Photographic Artist of Scotch Nationality compose a March for his fellow Professors and Practisers, and call it "_The March of the Camera Men_"? Sure to be popular. * * * * * AN UN-"COMMON" GOOD HORSE.--The Winner of this Year's Two Thousand. * * * * * MR. PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN. (_Condensed and Revised Version by Mr. P.'s Own Harmless Ibsenite._) No. III.--HEDDA GABLER. ACT. III. SCENE.--_The same Room, but--it being evening--darker than ever--The crape curtains are drawn. A Servant, with black ribbons in her cap, and red eyes, comes in and lights the gas quietly and carefully. Chords are heard on the piano in the back Drawing-room. Presently_ HEDDA _comes in and looks out into the darkness. A short pause. Enter_ GEORGE TESMAN. _George_. I am _so_ uneasy about poor LÖVBORG. Fancy! he is not at home. Mrs. ELVSTED told me he had been here early this morning, so I suppose you gave him back his manuscript, eh? _Hedda_ (_cold and immovable, supported by arm-chair_). No, I put it on the fire instead. _George_. On the fire! LÖVBORG'S wonderful new book that he read to me at BRACK'S party, when we had that wild revelry last night! Fancy _that!_ But, I say, HEDDA--isn't that _rather_--eh? _Too_ bad, you know--really. A great work like that. How on earth did you come to think of it? _Hedda_ (_suppressing an almost imperceptible smile_). Well, dear GEORGE, you gave me a tolerably strong hint. _George_. Me? Well, to be sure--that _is_ a joke! Why, I only said that I envied him for writing such a book, and it would put me entirely in the shade if it came out, and if anything was to happen to it, I should never forgive myself, as poor LÖVBORG couldn't write it all over again, and so we must take the greatest care of it! And then I left it on a chair and went away--that was all! And you went and burnt the book all up! Bless me, who _would_ have expected it? _Hedda_. Nobody, you dear simple old soul! But I did it for your sake--it was _love_, GEORGE! _George_ (_in an outburst between doubt and joy_). HEDDA, you don't mean that! Your love takes such queer forms sometimes, Yes, but yes--(_laughing in excess of joy_), why, you _must_ be fond of me! Just think of that now! Well, you _are_ fun, HEDDA! Look here, I must just run and tell the housemaid that--she will enjoy the joke so, eh? _Hedda_ (_coldly, in self-command_). It is surely not necessary, even for a clever Norwegian man of letters in a realistic social drama, to make quite such a fool of himself as all that? _George_. No, that's true too. Perhaps we'd better keep it quiet--though I _must_ tell Aunt JULIE--it will make her so happy to hear that you burnt a manuscript on my account! And, besides, I should like to ask her whether that's a usual thing with young wives. (_Looks uneasy and pensive again._) But poor old EJLERT'S manuscript! Oh Lor, you know! Well, well! [Mrs. ELVSTED _comes in_.