Lastly, if you prefer sliding to skating, do not slide in a top-hat and frock-coat, unless you are a member of the Skating Club, and even then it looks ostentatious. Dress appropriately in some quiet costume of kickseys and pearlies, with a feather in your hat. Wear your billycock at the back of your head, as it will break your falls. Always shout at the top of your voice. * * * * * A PLEA FOR THE GHOSTS. Once we dreamed of a magical clime, Powerful fairies lived there then, Ready to change, in the shortest time, Men to fishes, or fish to men; Science, alas, assails the land, Down the magical palaces fall, Fairies and elves, we understand, Never could really exist at all. Still remain to us spectres strange, Headless horsemen and monks severe, Some that arrive each night in the Grange, Others (like Christmas) once a year; Yet they linger, a fearful joy, Elderly relics of childhood's day. Now our "scientists" would destroy All their humorous, mild array! Mr. MASKELYNE, learned man! Scoff at Theosophists as you will, Spot each fraudulent gambler's plan, Only allow us our Bogies still! Little we value prosaic truth, If it must scatter these shadowy hosts; Spare us a single belief of youth, Leave us, ah, leave us at least our Ghosts! * * * * * [Illustration: GOING TO THE DOGS. _Candid Vet_ (_who has been called in to look at Mr. Noodle's new purchase, which is somehow amiss_). "AH, YER WANT TO KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH 'IM? WELL NOW, HE'S BEEN GOIN' PRETTY 'ARD TO HOUNDS FOR A DOZEN SEASONS OR MORE, TO MY KNOWLEDGE, HAS THAT 'OSS. NOW, TAKE MY ADVICE, DON'T KEEP 'EM WAITIN' FOR 'IM ANY LONGER,--YOU SEND 'IM TO 'EM!"] * * * * * "ROUGE GAGNE"? [Illustration: "ROUGE GAGNE"? [M. HENRI ROCHEFORT AT MONTE CARLO.] ] Make your Game! Is't fortune, fame, Power supreme, mere notoriety, 'Tis mere gambling all the same,-- Craving knowing not satiety. Marquis or Gavroche, what matter? Rabagas or Noble Red; How the bullion's clink and clatter Fires the eye and heats the head! Mammon-Mephistopheles At the sight in shadow grins; And the player, at his ease, With a dream his heart may please, Red wins! _Will_ it win, or, winning, will _La République_ lose or gain? Is the game chance _versus_ skill, Sly intrigue 'gainst heart and brain? Sanguine as sanguineous, The Mob-loving Marquis sits. Exile, will _finesse_ and fuss, Clack of tongues, and clash of wits, Play the patriotic game? Fall the cards, the ball re-spins! Blood a-fire and walls a-flame Menace if--to Wisdom's blame-- Red wins! * * * * * THE LONG FROST.--Sportsmen are coming up to town in despair. Their hunters are "eating their heads off," and very soon there will be nothing left to tell the tail!