12, NOON.--I am now once again at the Government Head Quarters. As I could get no better conveyance, I inflated my canvas carpet-bag with gas, and used it as a balloon. I found it most valuable in crossing the battery which now masks the remains of what was once Government House. The President, after having organised a band of _pic-pockettini_ (desperadoes taken from the gaols), has gone into the provinces, declaring that he has a toothache. By some, this declaration is deemed a subterfuge, by others, a statement savouring of levity. The artillery are now reducing the entire town to atoms, under the personal supervision of the Minister of Finance, who deprecates waste in ammunition, and declares that he is bound to the President by the tie of the battle-field. [Illustration: Our Correspondent in an Elevated Position.] 2 P.M.--Have rejoined the Oniononi, coming hither by ricochet on a spent shell. The people are entirely with them, and cheer at every fresh evidence of destruction. Found a well-known shopkeeper in ecstasies over the ruins of his establishment. He said that, "Although the revolution might be bad for trade, it would do good, as things wanted waking up." A slaughter of police and railway officials, which has just been carried out with infinite spirit, seems to be immensely popular. If you don't get this, make immediate complaint. Don't accept, as an excuse, that the wires have been cut, and the office razed to the ground. They can get it through, if they like. 4 P.M.--Just heard a report that I myself have been killed and buried. As I can get no corroboration of this statement, I publish it under reservation. I confine myself to saying that it may be true, although I have my doubts upon the subject. 6 P.M.--It seems (as I imagined) that the report of my death and funeral is a canard. This shows how necessary it is to test the truth of every item of information before hurrying off to the Telegraph Office. Efforts are now being made to bring about a reconciliation between the contending parties. 8 P.M.--The revolution is over. When both sides had exhausted their ammunition, peace naturally became a necessity. The contending parties are now dining together, _al fresco_, as the town is in ruins. Nothing more to add save, All's well that ends well! * * * * * MR. PUNCH'S DICTIONARY OF PHRASES. WORKMEN'S. _"Merry Christmas to you, Sir, and many on 'em!" i.e.,_ "Have you got that half-crown handy?" IN THE SMOKING-ROOM. _"Quite so; but then, you see, that's not my point;" i.e.,_ "It _was_, ten minutes ago." _"Yes, but allow me one moment;" i.e.,_ "Kindly give me your close attention for twenty-five minutes." SOCIAL. _"Not your fault, indeed! Mine for having so long a train;" i.e.,_ "Awkward toad!" _"Where did you get that lovely dress, dear?" i.e.,_ "That I may avoid that dress-maker." THEATRICAL.