Next day his valet brought him with his morning beverage a piece of flat rock. On it was carved a simple human thigh-bone. He uttered a loud cry. She had rejected him. The parcel-post, an hour later, brought him his own ideograph, returned without a word. Ug's greatest friend in the tribe was Jug, son of Mug, a youth of extraordinary tact and intelligence. To him Ug took his trouble. Jug heard his story, and asked to see exactly what he had ideographed. "You must have expressed yourself badly," he said. "On the contrary," replied Ug, with some pique, "my proposal was brief, but it was a model of what that sort of proposal should be. Here it is. Read it for yourself." Jug read it. Then he looked at his friend, concerned. "But, my dear old man, what on earth did you mean by saying she has red hair and that you hate the sight of her?" "What do you mean?" "Why, this ichthyosaurus." "That's not an ichthyosaurus. It's a brontosaurus." "It's not a bit like a brontosaurns. And it _is_ rather like an ichthyosaurus. Where you went wrong was in not taking a few simple lessons in this sort of thing first." "If you ask me," said Ug disgustedly, "this picture-writing is silly rot. To-morrow I start an Alphabet." * * * * * But on the morrow he was otherwise employed. He was standing, concealed behind a rock, at the mouth of the cave of Wug, daughter of Glug. There was a dreamy look in his eyes, and his fingers were clasped like steel bands round the handle of one of the most business-like clubs the Stone Age had ever seen. Orthodoxy had found another disciple. * * * * * [Illustration: SCENE--_An Army Boxing Competition_. _Civilian_. "RATHER A FEARFUL MAN, THAT?" _Soldier_. "WELL, 'E AIN'T REALLY VERY FEARFUL. YOU SEE THE BIG FELLOW'S 'IS SERGEANT AN' THIS IS THE ONLY CHANCE 'E 'AS OF GETTING A BIT OF 'IS OWN BACK."] * * * * * CHARIVARIA. Sir ERNEST SHACKLETON is to undertake a new expedition to the South Pole, and across the whole South Polar Continent. It is said that an offer from Dr. COOK, who happens to be over here, to show Sir ERNEST how he might save himself much wearisome travelling in achieving his object, has been rejected. *** Judge PARRY declares, in the current number of _The Cornhill_, that lost golf balls belong to the KING; and the ballroom at Buckingham Palace is, we understand, to be enlarged at once. *** Mr. BERNARD SHAW is the latest addition to Madame TUSSAUD'S gallery of wax-works. But Mr. CHESTERTON must not be jealous. He too, we understand, will be placed there if room can be found for him. ***