THE STANLEY AND AFRICAN EXHIBITION.--One of the largest contributors will be Mr. BONNY. This sounds well; at all events, it's BONNY. The French, who are now welcoming their own private African hero, _le Capitaine_ TRIVIER, back to his native land, may be induced to place their trophies under Mr. BONNY'S care, as, if Imperialists, they can then say they have a BONNY-part in this Exhibition. * * * * * FROM AN INDIGNANT CORRESPONDENT.--"Sir,--I sent you a joke three months ago, which you have not used. Since then I have made arrangements for the joke to appear elsewhere." [What a chance we have lost!--ED.] * * * * * [Illustration: INFELICITOUS QUERIES. _He._ "BY THE BYE, TALKING OF OLD TIMES, DO YOU REMEMBER THAT OCCASION WHEN I MADE SUCH AN AWFUL ASS OF MYSELF?" _She._ "_WHICH?_"] * * * * * "THE BIG GUN!" _Grand Old Gunner loquitur:--_ 'Tis a regular "Mons Meg" of a cannon! The swabs, they have been every one, Very hard the Grand Old (Gunner) Man on, But what will they think of _this_ gun? Double shotted, and charged to the muzzle, And trained by my hands and my eye, The foes I conceive it will puzzle, And tempt them to fly. Mere skirmishing, up to the present, With pop-guns, and flint-locks, and such; But now! They will not find it pleasant, When once this huge touch-hole I touch. Mighty CÆSAR! I guess they won't like it; Great SCOTT! won't it just raise a din? And don't they just wish they could spike it Before we begin? The fun of it is, they have furnished The filling themselves, unaware. The shot they've cast, polished, and burnished, The powder were prompt to prepare. It's pitiful, quite, their position, To see, the unfortunate elves! Their carefully-stored ammunition Thus turned on themselves. Their batteries big it should batter, Their trenches should burst and blow up, Their forces allied it should scatter, It's worse than an Armstrong or Krupp. Chain-shot for swift slaughter's not in it, For spreading it's better than grape, They'll all be smashed up in a minute, Scarce one can escape. Now, MORLEY, my boy, and brave PARNELL, _I'll_ lay it; just follow my hand. That plain will soon look like a charnel, With all that remains of their band; The "fragments of him called McCARTY" (Referred to, I think, in the song) Were huge chunks to the scraps that their Party Will show before long. They shall see what I can do, when ready, As Grand Old (Artillery) Man. Right, PARNELL! left, MORLEY! Now, steady!!! Stop! Just one last peep, whilst I can! I _do_ hope, dear boys, there's no blunder; I _think_ it is loaded all right. Are they horribly frightened, I wonder? Well, now for a sight!!! * * * * *