_If close researche, as welle we hope,_ _Perchaunce complete ye texte,_ _This ballade, as scribes saye, shall be_ _"Continued in our next!"_] * * * * * ADVERTISEMENT EXTRAORDINARY. [Illustration] Wanted, a few good extra Judges, who will be prepared to do all the work at present delayed or neglected by the existing members of the Bench. They will be expected to dispense with all vacations except a week at Christmas, five days at Easter, and a fortnight from the first to the fifteenth of October. They will devote their entire time to the service of the State, both day and night. Their day will be devoted to business in the High Court of Justice in the Strand, and when required they will go Circuit (by special express) sitting at the various assizes from 9 P.M. until 3 A.M., returning to London by trains timed to reach the Metropolis sufficiently early to allow of the usual morning sitting. They will be further required to consider their leisure (if any) entirely at the disposal of those members of the Bar and Solicitors who require it. If they do this punctually and diligently, without knocking up, they will be permitted to draw salaries computed at the rate of about one-third of the emoluments received by a third-rate Queen's Counsel; and if they grow lazy, or are incapacitated by illness, they will be rewarded by a number of personal attacks in the London newspapers. Applications to be sent to the Lord Chancellor (endorsed "Extra Judges to suppress outside clamour") as early as possible. Every candidate for an appointment will be expected to be as strong as a horse, and as insensible to feeling as the back of a rhinoceros. * * * * * Big Drinkers, Moderate Drinkers, and Little Drinkers--this is the Tipple Alliance! * * * * * [Illustration: "WHEN A MAN DOES NOT LOOK HIS BEST."--NO. 3. WHEN HIS DENTIST _WILL_ SUSPEND OPERATIONS TO TELL HIM FUNNY STORIES.] * * * * * GILBERT À BECKETT. BORN, APRIL 7, 1837. DIED, OCT. 15, 1891. "Wearing the white flower of a blameless life." TENNYSON. GILBERT the Good! Title, though high, well earned By him through whose rare nature brightly burned The fire of purity, Undimmed, unflickering, like some altar flame Sky-pointing ever. Friend, what thought of blame Hath coldest heart for thee? A knightly-priest or priestly-knight wert thou, Man of the radiant eye and reverent brow; Chivalry closely knit With fervent faith in thee indeed were blent; Thought upon high ideals still intent, And a most lambent wit. Serene, though with a power of scathing scorn For all things mean or base. Sorrow long borne, Though bowing, soured not thee. Bereaved, health-broken, still that patient smile Wreathed the pale lips which never greed or guile Shaped to hypocrisy.