Produced by Malcolm Farmer, William Flis, and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading Team. PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 103. August 20, 1892. AD PUELLAM. ["Detective cameras have become favourite playthings with ladies of fashion."--_Ladies' Paper_.] You used to prate of plates and prints And "quick developers" before, In spite of not unfrequent hints That these in time become a bore; But then this photographic craze Seemed little but a foolish fad, While now its very latest phase Appears to me distinctly bad. Since even your devoted friends At sight of you were wont to fly, You manage still to gain your ends, And photograph them on the sly; The muff, the cloak with ample folds, The parcel, and the biscuit-tin, I know that each discreetly holds Detective lenses hid within. Should CROESUS greet you with a smile, A "bromide" will record the fact; Should STREPHON help you o'er a stile, The film will take him in the act. Yet this renown, if truth be said, Is fame they'd rather be without; Nor, I assure you, will they wed A lady photographic tout. * * * * * ANTIQUITY OF GOLF. That Golf was a game probably known to and played by pre-Adamite Man (whoever he may have been; name and address not given) is evidenced by the learned Canon TRISTRAM's observation in the Biology Section of the British Association Meeting last week, to the effect that "he (the Canon) had never seen a better collection of these Links connecting the present with the past world." This must be most interesting to all Golf-players. * * * * * [Illustration: NOT MEMBERS OF "BRITISH ASSOCIATION." _First Passenger_ (_reading Morning Paper_). "'PSYCHICAL CHARACTER OF HYSTERICAL AMBLYOPIA'!! DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT 'PSYCHICAL' MEANS! WHAT DOES IT MEAN, OLD MAN?" _Fellow Passenger_. "DON'T KNOW, I'M SURE, DEAR BOY! SOMETHING TO DO WITH _BRAINS_, I B'LIEVE. NOT AT ALL IN _MY LINE_!"] * * * * * 'ARRIET. A REALISTIC RHAPSODY. (_WITH APOLOGIES TO MR. HENRY KENDATT, AUTHOR OF "ASTARTE," IN THE "BOOKMAN."_) [Illustration: ('Arriet.)] Across the wind-blown bridges, O look, lugubrious Night! She comes, the red-haired beauty Illumined by gaslight! By London's dim gaslight! So hush, ye cads, your roar! Behind her plumes are waving Her oil'd fringe flaps before. O 'ARRIET, Cockney sister, Your face is writhed with jeers; How awful is the angle Of those protuberant ears! Those red, protuberant ears! And your splay feet--O lor!!! My loud, my Cockney sister, Where oil'd fringe flops before!