* * * * * "WHERE IS HE?"--With diamond robberies and darksome murders, of which the perpetrators are still at large, we are all crying out for a real genuine "SHERLOCK HOLMES." We, WATSONS, are waiting for him to step forward and drag various dark mysteries into the light of day. Cheerfully shall the coming HOLMES be saluted with Mr. BROOKFIELD'S _refrain_, "O SHERLOCK, you wonderful man!" * * * * * [Illustration: SOCIAL AGONIES. _Hostess._ "I HEARD YOU MET MY COUSIN, MAUD LESLIE, AT THE GIBSONS AT DINNER, MR. WILKINSON, AND THAT YOU WERE CHARMED WITH HER!" _Mr. Wilkinson._ "CHARMED WITH HER? I SHOULD THINK SO! WHO _WOULDN'T_ BE? WHY, I'VE ABSOLUTELY FORGOTTEN WHO THE LADY WAS I TOOK INTO DINNER, AND WHO SAT ON MY OTHER SIDE!" _Lady Visitor._ "I'M AFRAID IT HAPPENED TO BE _ME_, MR. WILKINSON!"] * * * * * "AN AWKWARD CUSTOMER." AIR--"_The Bold Poacher._" When I was bound by Party ties to play the bold Premier, I shouldered of my gun, my lads, and started void of fear; With my trusty lurcher at my heels, to whom the sport is dear, For he's game for fight by day or night at the season of the year! As I and my bold comrade were after bird or hare, The gamekeeper was watching us; for him we did not care. For we were on our ground, my boys, grounds free to tyke or peer; And they're my delight by day or night at the season of the year! As I and my bold comrade were in the Peers' Preserve, We heard the keeper's footsteps, but we did not halt or swerve. But I whistled--to keep up my pluck--a song to sportsmen dear: "Oh it's my delight on a shiny night, in the season of the year!" The Gamekeeper popped through the copse, and faced us with a frown; He's got a black-a-vised stern phiz, and a coat o' velvet brown. He says "Hillo, Sir! _Poaching?_" I retorts, "Oh, don't _you_ fear! A gent may poach his own preserves at the season of the year!" He says, "You ought to be ashamed to set so bad example A sportsman true won't join the crew who trespass, trap, and trample. A dirty bird fouls its own nest!" he adds, with a sour sneer. "Swells should not poach by day or night in the season of the year." Says I, "You sneer, but I'm your peer, my Sol. The people sent me! Stare like an owl, or sneer and scowl, you know you can't prevent me! These here Preserves want breaking up, Monopoly's pitch to queer Is our delight by day or night, in the season of the year. "A-poaching on one's own preserves scarce poaching seems at all. My foot is on my native--copse! The old Game Laws must fall. The 'Peers' Preserves' the people will throw open--or else clear, And you'll have to fight for your old old right at the season of the year.