That blunderbuss, too! Good old Guard! At what Knight of the Road has it shot? And do you remember the bard Who gave us "_The Tantivy Trot_?" Mr. EGERTON WARBURTON's gone, No longer the Highwayman robs; And silence now settles upon The Last of the Guards--MOSES NOBBS! Yet oblivion shall not descend On that name till a stave hath been sung. The Muse is antiquity's friend, And in praise of the past will give tongue. If CRACKNALL, the Tantivy Whip, Claimed song, they're but _parvenu_ snobs Who say that the lyre should let slip The memory of stout MOSES NOBBS. The Mail-Coach, my NOBBS, is no more What it was when you put on the man; We've Mail Trains, all rattle and roar, And that portent, the Packet Post Van. A Pullman, and not the Box-seat, Is the aim of our modern Lord BOBS; But the old recollections are sweet; And _Punch_ drinks to your health, MOSES NOBBS! [Footnote 1: The _Telegraph_ gives the gentleman's name both as "NOBBS" and "NOGGS." As "NOBBS" comes first, _Mr. Punch_ adopts it, he hopes without misnaming the illustrious veteran.] * * * * * [Illustration: KIND INQUIRIES. _The Dean's Wife._ "IS THE DEAR BISHOP STILL LIVING?" _Episcopal Butler._ "OH YES, MA'AM. HE'S _BETTER_ TO-DAY! WE'RE ALL SAYING HE'S GOING TO DISAPPOINT 'EM _YET_!"] * * * * * CONFESSIONS OF A DUFFER. IV.--THE DUFFER AS COLLECTOR. I may be a Duffer, but I hope I am neither an idiot nor a cad. I have never collected postage-stamps, nor outraged common humanity by asking people to send me their autographs. With these exceptions I have failed as a collector of almost everything. To succeed you need luck, and a dash of unscrupulousness, and careful attention to details, and a sceptical habit of mind. Even as a small boy I used to waste my shillings at a funny little curiosity-shop, kept by a nice old lady who knew no more about her wares than I did. Here I acquired quite a series of old coppers, which Mrs. SOMERVILLE said were ancient Bactrian. We asked where Bactria was, and she replied that it was a "country beyond Cyrus." We answered that Cyrus was not a territorial but a personal name, "A fellow, don't you know, not a place," but the old lady's information stopped there. I wonder where my Bactrian Collection is now. Certainly I never sold it; indeed, I never sold anything; not only because nobody would buy, but because, after all, one is a Collector, not a tradesman. Birds' eggs I would have collected if I could, but you had first to find the bird's nest (almost an impossible quest for a born Duffer), and to blow the eggs, which, let me tell you, needs nicety of handling. I did once find a thrush's nest, and tried blowing an egg, but it was not wholly a success, and the egg (the contents of which I accidentally absorbed) was not wholly fresh. Then it is awkward when you are at the top of