A "PAR" in the _Daily News_ last Thursday told how the Antipodæans had presented Miss NELLIE FARREN with "a Laughing Jackass." What a time he'll have of it! Always in fits, and perhaps the merry bird will at last "die o' laughin'"! For it is a biped and not a quadruped; not that as a biped "the Laughing Jackass" is by any means a _lusus naturæ_. This bird, not probably unfamiliar with the "'Oof Bird" of sporting circles, is, it is said, "a foe to snakes." Excellent omen this for Miss FARREN. Laughter everywhere, and no hissing permitted. If hissing heard anywhere, up starts the Laughing Jackass and down he comes on the snake, and there's an end of the hissing. Theatrical Managers would do well to cultivate the Laughing Jackasses, and keep a supply always on the premises. * * * * * 'ARRY ON ARRIUS. _WITH SOME CONSIDERATION CONCERNING COMPULSORY CLASSICS._ [Illustration] DEAR CHARLIE,--O, _ain't I_ a daisy? Excuse your old pal busting forth; But my name's going hup like a rocket; it's spreading east, west, south, and north. Like that darned hinfluenza, but more so; and now, s'elp me scissors, I find I was famous _afore I was born_! Sounds a licker, but 'anged if _I_ mind.[1] DAN the Dosser, a reglar Old Clo' at dead langwidges, classicks, and such, Says it's _met'em-see-kosis_--a thing as to me, mate, is jest Double Dutch, Means a soul on the shift, as it were, CHARLIE, tryin' fust this form, then that, So that 'ARRY, who once was a donkey, might some o' these days be a rat! Leastways so the Dosser explains it, of course it is all Tommy rot. Rummy thing 'ow a cram o' the Classicks do make yer a reglar crackpot. Dosser hain't no more genuine savvy, he hain't, than a 'aporth o' snuff; But he's up to the lips-like in Latin, and similar old-fashioned stuff. Seems some old Latin cove called CAT ULLUS--a gayish old dog _I_ should say Knew a party called ARRIUS!--bless 'im!--as lived in that rum Roman day, And CAT ULLUS he hups and he scribbles a "carmen"--wich then meant a song, _Not_ a hopera, CHARLIE--about him along of some haitches gone wrong. Like CAT ULLUS's cheek, if you arsk me! That haitch bizness gives me the 'ump. There isn't a hignerent mug, or a mealy-mouthed mutton-faced pump Who 'as learned 'ow to garsp hout a He-haw! in regular la-di-dah style, But'll look down on "'ARRY the haitchless," and wrinkle his snout in a smile. Yah! Haitches ain't heverythink, CHARLIE, no, not by a jugfull they hain't. And yer "_H_-heah! _H_-hold my _H-h-horse_!" sort o' sniffers would screw hout big D.'s from a saint. What's the hodds, arter all? If you're fly to the true hend of Life, wich is larks, You may pop in yer haitches permiskus, in spite of the prigs' rude remarks.