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"ON THE BLAZON'D SCROLL OF FAME." [To each man of the Crews of the three Life-boats stationed in the Isle of Wight, at Brighstone, Brook and Atherfield, respectively, Mr. Punch has had pleasure and pride in presenting an illuminated copy of the Picture and Poem entitled "MR. PUNCH TO THE LIFE-BOAT MEN," which appeared in his issue of February 13. The names of the coxswains and crews of these three boats, the Worcester Cadet, the William Slaney Lewis, and the Catherine Swift, are inscribed thereon (as they should be in the memories of all true Britons), as follows:-Of the Worcester Cadet, JAMES COTTON (Coxswain), ROBERT BUCKETT (Second Coxswain), ROBERT SALTER, WILLIAM BARTON, FRANK EDMUNDS, FRANK BUCKETT, GEORGE NEW, GEORGE MORRIS, GEORGE SHOTTER, GEORGE HAWKER, EDGAR WHITE, WILLIAM MERWOOD, and JAMES HEDGECOCK.

Of the William Slaney Lewis, JOHN HAYTER (Coxswain), BEN JACOBS (Second Coxswain), ROBERT COOPER, W. JACOBS, J. COOKE, G. WHITE, W. CASSELL, T. HOOKEY, J. NEWBURY, J. COOPER, J. HOOKEY, R. WOODFORD, M. CASSELL, WILLIAM HAYTER, W. BLAKE, and W. HOOKEY.

Of the Catherine Swift, WILLIAM COTTON (Coxswain), DAVID COTTON (Second Coxswain), JAMES COTTON, THOMAS COTTON, FRANK COTTON, JOHN COTTON, CHARLES COTTON, WALTER WOODFORD, WALTER WHITE, CHARLES HARDING, and B. WHILLIER.

These names thus receive-as they deserve-honourable record "For distinguished bravery and gallant conduct whilst on duty on the occasion of the wreck of the s.s. Eider, January 31, 1892."]

ON the Scroll! And why not? Be you sure that it bears
Many entries less worthy of record than theirs,

The rough sea-faring fellows, whose names now go down,
With applause from their Sovereign to swell their renown,

CONFESSIONS OF A DUFFER.

VI. THE DUFFER AT WHIST.
(Continued.)

I AM really fond of the game, which is fortunate, though my partners don't think so; but I am free to confess, that nothing short of an absorbing admiration for it and desire to excel, could tempt me to brave the sarcasms, even insults, to which I am subjected. Your thoroughgoing Whist-player as such-admirable in private life as I personally know him to be the moment he begins the daily business of his life, seems to cast his better nature to the winds. At another time and place he would lend a sympathetic ear to any tale of woe; now and here nothing seems to interest him but his own immediate welfare, which he pursues with concentrated energy and earnestness. I verily believe that if, at one of two adioining tables, the chandelier fell on the players' heads to their exceeding detriment, the occupants of the other table would scarcely lift their eyes or interrupt their rubber for one moment. Fiant charte ruat cælum let the cards be made whatever chandeliers fall.

The players at my Club are all good. one especially so, a retired Colonel of a West Indian regiment, of whom I stand in mortal dread. He has short shrift for any failings, even of players nearly as good as himself, whilst as for me! though he has never yet resorted to personal violence with a chair-leg, yet that would not surprise me; and my pestilent fate in defiance of all mathematical odds in such case made and provided, is to cut him as my partner three and four times in succession in an evening. I sometimes have glimmerings of sense, and in hands presenting no particular difficulty, if they contain plenty of good cards-c

-can manage to scrape along in a way I think fairly satisfactory even to him, though he never encourages me by saying so. But an awful thing happened the other night. I had

To posterity's ears. And right pleasantly, too,
They should sound on those ears; for, run over each crew
And you'll find that those names have a true homely smack
Both of country and kinship; there's JIM, there is Jack,
There is BOB, there is BILL, Tом and GEORGE, CHARLIE, FRANK;
Can you not hear them sound o'er the waves as in rank
They go down to their work, ringing right cheery hail
Through the shrieks of the storm that shall not make them
pale,

Those bold Britons? They're brothers, sires, cousins, and sons,
For see how the "family name" through them runs
Those COTTONS could make up a crew at a pinch!

Whilst the HOOKEYS and WHITES from that task need not flinch.
Yes, these names sound as well on the Scroll, after all,
As NAPOLEON or CESAR; and when the Great Call
Of the last human Muster Roll comes, some plain "BILL,"
Whose business was rather to save than to kill,
May step before mad ALEXANDER.

Well, brothers,

(You BUCKETTS, and WOODFORDS and COOPERS and others,
Whose names he need hardly string into his rhymes,)
Punch hopes you may look on this Record sometimes
With pleasant reflections. Mere words, he well knows,
Will not-"butter your parsnips"-(to put sense in prose):
But you have his hearty good will, and you know it,-
Right gladly he takes this occasion to show it!
And when or wherever another should come,

Be sure your friend Punch won't be careless or dumb!

"The only time my partner ever leads a trump is when the adversaries call." I smiled inanely-what else could I do? for I was dimly conscious that the stricture might have justification in fact. Yes, this was bad; but worse remains behind. In the last hand of the next rubber, my partner had four trumps; so had I; he had, besides a very long suit; hence he extracted the trumps, and we were left with the last two between us, mine being the better. I got the lead, of course, exactly at the time I did not want it; although everyone else knew where the smaller trump was, I did not, so I drew it from my partner's hand, and then led him a card of which he had none in the suit; this card, as ill-luck would have it, belonged to an enormously long suit, of which one of the adversaries had entire control. So this gentleman got in and made about six tricks in it, finishing up with the two; he therefore made with his spades all-indeed, I rather think more tricks than the Colonel ought to have made in his diamonds, each of which, now losing cards, he

"When I come to think the matter over in cold blood."

played one rubber with him and won it, though it was only a rubber of two instead of a bumper, as it would have been if I had played properly-for being in doubt and remembering the adage, I had led a trump, but it subsequently turned out that the adversaries had called for them. Now I never see an adversaries' call, and but rarely those of my partner, unless when made glaringly conspicuous by a ten and a two, so I led this wretched card with disastrous results.

However, my partner accepted the situation with unexpected suavity, merely remarking pleasantly, as an item of general interest,

successively banged down with increasing anger and turbulence of gesture, as the enormity of my crime was borne in upon him. It was the deciding game of a rubber; the adversaries' score had stood at one, while we were at two, and besides, we had had two by honours; as they made four by cards, they went out-and so did I-not without an obbligato accompaniment on muted strings; unwhispered whispers of "confounded blockhead!" blundering idiot!" "well,

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of all the born fools!" and similar objurgations.

When I came to think the matter over in cold blood, I could see that my proper course would have been to lead the losing card before drawing my partner's trump. I merely made a mistake (a fatal one I grant) in the order of playing them. That was all.

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My friend goes on to make learned remarks about "American leads," "the fourth best," and the difficulties of playing a knave; lead him at once, I think, on Dogberry's principle: and "thank heaven you are rid of a knave." The depths of my guilt may be guessed from the fact that many of my Mentor's explanations are Hittite to me. People talking of laying up a wretched old age by not playing, I should be laying it up for other people if I did play much. Half-crown points, a partner who knows how to score (those counters and candlesticks, or the machines with little bone grave-stones that shut up with a snap, bother me), and amiable conversation on well-chosen topics while the game goes on, make the kind of Whist that I enjoy. We used to play it in Common Room in the happy past; it was easier than Loo, which I never quite understood. The rigour of the game is the ruin of Whist.

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THE NEW L. C. C. WAXWORKS. There has not been time yet to arrange the Figures.

EXTRA

TAXES
AND THE LCC
FIGURES
WILL

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POPULAR SONGS RE-SUNG.

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"SICH a Nice Man Too!" is one of the latest, and greatest, successes of the clever Coster Laureate, Mr. ALBERT CHEVALIER, who, "Funny without being Vulgar," proves that he, the Muse of the Market Cart, and Bard of the Barrow, "Knocks 'em in the Old Kent Road," and elsewhere - with welldeserved success. As is ever the case with the works of genuine genius, "liberal applications lie" in his "patter" songs, the enjoy ment of which need by no means be confined to the Coster and his chums. For example, at Caucus-Conferences and places where they sing-and shout-the following might be rendered with relish :

:

No. VII.-SICH A SMART MAN TOO!
(Coster-Jim on Corkus-Joe.)

There's party-men yer meets about
What wins yer 'eart instanter;
Of their success there's ne'er a doubt,
They romps in in a canter.

There's one as means to lick the lot,
Brum JOE, the artf'llst dodger.

For 'im we Rads went 'ot and 'ot;

Sez we, "Yus, JOE 's the codger!"

Chorus.

Sich a smart man too! Sich a very smart man!

No Tory pride, no toffish affectation!

Yet 'e somehow makes yer feel
That in 'im yer 'ave to deal

With a gent, if not by buth, by edgercation!

'E made 'is pile in a snide way,

"Down on ther nail," 'is motterWent to the front, and came to stay: Whigs might pertest and potter.

'Is game wos doin' the poor good, And doin' of it 'andsome.

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other eminent statesman, the SAGE OF QUEEN ANNE'S GATE. "What we complain of is, that you have so managed matters that the door hasn't been opened."

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT. EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P. House of Commons, Monday, March 7.-JOKIM in a bad way to- "Ah, well," said JOKIM, wringing his hands, "it's no use my night. People are wanting to know how it has come about that trying anything. Remember once seeing in dock of police-court at TATE'S offer of £80,000 for Picture Gallery, with £80,000 worth of Lyons, a sailor brought up charged with some offence. On his arm pictures thrown in to was tattooed the legend,Pas de chance.' He told long story of start it, has, after long honest endeavour, combined with strict correspondence with honesty and tireless industry, ever frusCHANCELLOR OF EX-trated by malign accident. In short, he CHEQUER, been with- was no sooner out of prison than he was drawn. JOKIM rises to sent back upon fresh conviction. He had explain. no chance, and one time, in enforced retirement from the world, he indelibly inscribed the legend on his forearm. Moi aussi, je n'ai pas de chance. Ever since I joined this Government things have gone wrong with me, whether in Budget Schemes, when acting as Deputy Leader of the House, with £1 notes, and now in this affair, where I run my head against TATE (sort of tête-à-tête), and, though I'm innocent as a lamb, everybody will have it that I've muddled things and lost the nation a munificent gift. Pas de chance; cher Toby; pas de chance!"

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What I should really like to do," he whispered to me, in confidence, "is to give him one for his tête, as we say in cribbage. But suppose I must speak him fair." Did his best in that direction though undercurrent of observation in lengthy paper he read decidedly set in direction of making TATE out as a cantankerous wrongheaded person who, proposing to bestow some £160,000 in way of free gift, expected to have his wishes consulted in such matter of detail as selection of site for Gallery.

I venture to hope," said JOKIM, in concluYoung Father Dillwyn. sion, "that the door is not finally closed on the establishment of a Gallery for British Art." "That's not quite it," said Young Father DILLWYN, with hand to ear, listening from corner seat below Gangway he shares with that

HANBURY been looking into our Army Service, and behold! it is very bad. Condemns it, lock, stock, and barrel. Things no better than they were in time of Crimean War. Our Army costs more, and could do less than any in the world. Curious to find statement like this gravely made in presence of twenty-eight Members, all told, including the SPEAKER. Suppose it's true, Empire on verge of precipice, into which, on slightest impulse, it may totter and disappear. Hon. Members, in the main, care so little that they busy themselves

Craig (not Ailsa).

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