"Jack Sheppard Reversed."

This is the title of an amusing article in last week's Saturday Review. It is not the story of JACK SHEPPARD once more done into rhyme. The title so happily selected is thoroughly justified by the doings of an eccentric and original burglar, who, broke into a prison! This certainly was JACK SHEPPARD reversed with a vengeance! The hero of the escapade is said to be a tinted native of Barbadoes—his portrait should be published as a companion to the "penny plain" of his prototype as "twopence coloured."

Cardinal Manning's Precedence.

THE PHAGOCYTE.

(The Story of a Blood Feud.)

[A microscopist has found an organism called the Phagocyte in the blood, which pursues and devours the Bacilli.]

MR. PUNCH'S SWIM ROUND THE WORLD.

(From his own Prophetic Log-book.)

Herne Bay.—The weather being extremely favourable, I jumped off the end of the new pier, and, getting the benefit of the flood tide, passed the Nore and inspected Southend. Swimming quite easily, assisted by one or two short rests.

Margate.—Beached this popular seaside place a few hours later. Swam out of sight of the sands to rid myself of a view of the excursion riff-raff thereon congregated. Sea completely smooth, but cold. Took a nip of ——'s English Cognac.

Ramsgate.—Very pleased to find myself abreast of the Royal Crescent, which seemed delightful. Cape Grisnez still bearing N.E. by E. Munched one of ——'s excellent Birchrod Biscuits.

Dover.—Just had a good long rest in front of Clarence Lawn, which glistened in the sunlight. Greatly refreshed after a drink of ——'s Essence of Gravy beef.

Calais.—A shower of rain came on at this point. However, one of ——'s excellent umbrellas kept my head dry, and, being easy to hold, did not prevent me from swimming and writing up my log.

Gibraltar.—I felt very fatigued going through the Bay of Biscay, but recovered much of my strength off the fortress by sucking one of ——'s capital Kill-cough Lozenges.

Malta.—I have now been in the water six days and three nights continuously, and yet am nearly as fresh as when I started. I attribute this marvellous fact to my practice of sipping ——'s Essence of Coffeetine.

Aden.—Water extremely hot, but am still confident of success. Went to sleep for an hour in the Red Sea, smoking one of ——'s Anti-alligator cigarettes, which are a real preventive against crocodile annoyance.

Madras.—Am continuing my side-stroke but somewhat languidly. I half regretted that I was unable to go on shore to see the Indian curiosities. Much refreshed after partaking of the contents of ——'s Patent Luncheon Basket.

Singapore.—Have now been continually in the water for six weeks. Regret that my log should be so "scrappy," but my time just now is very much occupied by other things. Tired, but confident of success. During the last fortnight have fed with great relish upon ——'s Purée de foies gras. It is not only cheap, but excellent.

New Hebrides.—Am now within measurable distance of the end of my journey. Quite accustomed to the water. However, greatly fatigued, and very pleased to eat some of ——'s Alimentary Condiment.

Pitcairn Island.—Glad to be again in these latitudes. My strokes are now very feeble. I should have to give in were it not for ——'s Medicated Mutton Broth, which seems to be most nourishing.

Cape Town.—In a fainting condition. Scarcely able to hold this pen. Became better after eating ——'s Digestible Plum Puddings, sold in tin canisters at 1s. 10d. per pound.

Rio Janeiro.—Terribly hot and exhausted. I have now been three months continuously in the water, which is certainly a long time. Much amused with a toy called ——'s Mechanical Rabbit.

Cape Verde Islands.—Almost unconscious from fatigue. However, I can swim more easily after I have drunk a glass or two of ——'s Cabbage Rose Temperance Non-Intoxicating Sherry. It is a most admirable beverage.

Madeira.—I move with the greatest difficulty, and fear I must be sinking. I obtain great strength from an occasional sip of ——'s "Beef-fibre" (title registered) which seems to me worth twice its weight in gold.

Dublin.—Have now been in the water continuously for nearly half a year. Too feeble to look at Dublin. I am evidently sinking, and can only keep off a relapse by eating ——'s Patent Vegetable Substitute for Roast Pork.

Herne Bay.—Returned dead—quite dead! Restored to life by inhaling ——'s Vitality Producer.

N.B.—The above blanks will be filled up with real names. For particulars apply at 85, Fleet Street Advertisement Department.

A Black Business.

As stated in the Daily Telegraph of Thursday last, the Russian Censor stamped out Mr. Punch's Cartoon, "From Nile to Neva," and obliterated the verses. The St. James's Gazette suggested that the Cartoon was thus reproduced in Whistlerian fashion. It certainly is a study in black, without any relief whatever. A Black business indeed! Who shall correct the Censor Incensed? Even Mr. Punch himself would be chary about visiting Petersburg, lest he should be "bound in Russia,"—and sent to Siberia.

WHAT THE TAME RABBIT SAID TO THE GRAND OLD GARDENER.

(Some way after "Alice in Wonderland.")

"The work of Major MORANT is headed Profitable Rabbit Farming. (Laughter.) Yes, that is a subject for merriment, probably, on account of its comparative novelty, but it is also a subject of satisfaction, which is akin to merriment, because this rabbit-farming appears to be a very good and promising description of pursuit.... That is the raising of tame rabbits."—Mr. Gladstone at the Hawarden Floral and Horticultural Society's Show.

These were the verses the Tame Rabbit recited:—

LITERATURE AND LOTTERY.

(By a Patron of the Popular Press.)

ROBERT'S LITTLE HOLLERDAY.

My hollerday, or sum of it, was spent in Hopen Spaces. Hif anybody as has got two eyes in his hed, and a hart in his buzzom, wants for to see what can be done with about 40 hakers of land—witch the most respecfool Gardiner told me was about the size of the Queen's Park at Kilburn—let him go there on a fine Summer's Arternoon, and see jest about five thowsen children a playing about there, all free, and hindependent, and appy, with two fountings to drink when they're ot and thirsty, and a nice littel Jim Nasyum to climb up and down. They ain't allowed to play at Cricket coz there ain't not room enuf, but I did see two bold littel chaps, about six a peace, a breaking of the Law, and a playing at the forbidden game, with a jacket for the wicket and a stick for a Bat, and the kind-arted Gardiner hadn't got hart enuff to stop 'em.

He told me as how, when the Copperashun fust took possesshun of it, it was nothink but a Baron Swomp, but that, what with the spending of lots of money, and the souperintending genus of Major MAKENZIE, in two years it was maid to blossom like a rose. I spent a werry plessant arternoon there, and drove home in style on the Box Seat of a reel Company's Bus. The nex day I went to Higate Wood, another of the grate works of the good old Copperashun. And lawks, what a difference! No swarms of children a playing about on the grass, but lots and lots on 'em a racing about among the hundreds of trees, and their warious fathers and mothers a looking on with smiling faces and prowd looks. There is one place in the werry middle of the Wood where no less than sewen parths meets, and there the Copperashun Committee has bilt up a bewtifool Founting, and a long hinskripshun in praise of Water, tho I shood dout if they speaks from werry much pussonal xperience. I was told as how, when they fust hopened the Founting, the Chairman made a bewtifool speech, and ended by saying, "Water, brite Water for me, and Wine for the trembling Debborshee," and then they all went off to a jolly good dinner.

With that artistick taste as so distinguishes 'em, they have crissened the place where the seven roads meets, "The Seven Dials." There was crowds of peeple there, all enjoying of themselves in a nice quiet way, and altogether it was a werry werry nice site.

The werry next day I started in the warm sunshine for pretty West Ham Park, and had a leetle adwenture as ushal, for jest as I got there who shoud I meet but the rayther sillybrated Parson of the Parish—tho' judgin by aperiences I shoud have took him for the Bishop of ESSEX—and seeing me in my new Hat and my best black Coat, he werry naterally took me for a inquiring Wisitor, and told me all about the good deed of the Copperashun in saving the Park for the good of the Peeple. There was some werry little chaps a playing Cricket as before despite of the Law, and they had a reel bat too, and one on 'em, seeing me a looking on apruvingly, gave the ball such a tremenjus blow that he got a tooer, so I called out braywo!

There seemed a lot of washing going on jest outside the Park, the white shirts and settera, flustering gaily in the breeze. But, as the Poet says, "they're allus Washing somewheres in the World!" The common peeple was orderd to walk on the footpaths, but a gardiner told me as them orders was not ment for such as me. I had a most copious Lunch for tuppense in the helegant Pawillion, and being in a jowial and ginerus mood, I treated six of the jewwenile natives to a simmeler Bankwet. Then there is the sillibrated Band as the Copperashun perwides twice a week, on which occasions reserwed seats is charged a penny each. The werry adwanced state of the musical taste of the nayberhood may be judged by the fact, that at a Concert close by, a "Ode to a Butterfly" was to be played on a base Trombone!

The Gardiner told me as there was such a crowd of children on larst Bank Hollerday that there was hardly room to move about, tho' the Park is 80 hakers big; but as I am told that such a space wood hold about 80 thousand, quite cumferal, I thinks as he must have slitely xadgerated.

ROBERT.

A STRIKING NURSERY RHYME.

(With a Moral.)

THE PROFESSIONAL GUEST.

AT THE SEA-SIDE.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,—When I last wrote to you I was anticipatorily revelling in the sea-bathing, tennis tournaments, pier band, and evening promenades of Flatsands. Alas! that I must confess it, but, after a fortnight's visit to that "salubrious spot" (vide highly-coloured advertisements), I give it as my opinion that Flatsands is a failure; and I think that, when you have listened to, or rather perused, my tale of woe, you will agree with me that it is a place to be avoided at all costs.

On the difficulties and length of my journey thither (I changed five times, and spent nine hours in doing so), I will not dwell, neither will I lay stress on the fact that, when I did at last reach my destination, a prospect void of either Aunt, or conveyance of any kind, met my view, or that a heavy sea-mist had gathered, and was falling in the guise of penetrating, if fine, rain. After parleying with the station-master for some time, I ascertained that the station 'bus never put in an appearance in wet weather, and that I could not get a closed fly, because the Flatsands' conveyances were all pony-traps, and therefore hoodless. He, however, directed me towards Balmoral, which was my Aunt's address, and told me that ten minutes' walk would take me, and that my luggage should be sent after me, on a truck.

After some difficulty, for the sea-fog was very thick, I discovered Balmoral, but not my Aunt. The truculent-looking proprietor of the house, who answered the door, condescended to inform me that my relative "was the difficultest lady he'd ever had to do for. And that she'd left two days a-gone." But where she had betaken herself to, he either would not or could not tell me. "You'd best try along this row," he said, and then slammed the door in my face. Having nothing better to do, I followed his advice, and "tried along the row." I rang at Osborne, Sandringham, and Windsor. I knocked at Claremont (the bell was broken there), and walked boldly into Marlborough House, for that royal residence in particular was devoid of all ordinary means of heralding one's approach. I was just giving up my quest in despair, when through the rain, which was now falling heavily, I spied a small stucco villa standing shrinkingly back behind a row of palings, which, in spite of their green paint, looked more like domestic fire-sticks than anything else. The somewhat suggestive name of Frogmore was inscribed on the small gate, and I remembered that I quite shivered as I walked up the sloppy path, with my usual inquiry ready to hand. This time, though, I was right, and when, a few minutes later, I was sitting before a roaring fire, imbibing hot tea, and listening to my Aunt's account of her latest complaint (did I tell you she was hypochondriacal?) I felt that really and at last I was in for a pleasant visit.

The evening proved a short one, for Aunt retired at nine, for which I was not sorry, as by that time the atmosphere of the sitting-room was distinctly stuffy, and neither dinner, nor the fumes of the invalid's hot-and-strong "night-cap" improved it. Next morning I sympathised with her on the fact that, soon after she had gone to bed, the young lady on the drawing-room floor (for two other families shared Frogmore's roof with us) had begun to sing, and had continued her performances till midnight; but I found my commiseration wasted, for she said that it had soothed her, which was considerably more than it had done me. After breakfast—which was late, on account of Aunt's health—I proposed a stroll on the Promenade, or an inspection of the tennis courts. "Bless my soul!" cried Auntie, "a person in my state of health does not go to places all over promenades and tennis courts. You won't find any such things at a nice quiet resort like Flatsands." I felt a little dashed, but replied "that perhaps she was right, and that it was a nice change to be without tennis; and that, as to promenades, they were quite superfluous where there was a pier, and a good band." "A pier, child!" she screamed. "You won't find any such abominations as piers here, or German bands either. Do you think that I should come anywhere where there was a pier?" I felt the smile on my face becoming fixed, but I mastered my feelings sufficiently to murmur something about bathing before lunch.

"You can't bathe here," snapped Aunt—"they don't allow it. The shore is too dangerous. But you can come out with me, if you like, to the tradespeople—I see my bath-chair coming along the road."

And that, Mr. Punch, is how I spent my fortnight at Flatsands. Walking by the side of my Aunt's chair, and giving orders to the tradespeople in the morning; walking beside the same chair and blowing up the tradespeople for not having carried out the orders, in the afternoon; sitting in a hot room from five to nine o'clock, then lying awake till midnight, listening to the drawing-room young lady singing Italian and German songs out of tune, and with an English accent.

Three things only occurred to in any way vary the monotony of my existence. The first was the arrival of the singing young lady's brother. He was seventeen, and his lungs were as thick as his boots. He tobogganed down-stairs on a tea-tray the first day he arrived; the second day he passed me in the hall and asked, with a grin, "if I was one of the mummies in this old mausoleum?" the third day he left, saying that the place was "too jolly beastly slow" for him. The second event was the sudden extraordinary mania that Aunt (did I tell you she was rich?) took for the singing lady. I discovered, much to my chagrin, I must say, that often, instead of going to bed at nine, as I believed she did, she used to ensconce herself in the drawing-room, and there sit and listen to indifferent music till all hours. It was this second event which brought about the third excitement. For having been a little imprudent one night, in the matter of "night-caps," or careless as to draughts, my Aunt was taken seriously ill. At least she chose to think herself so, though I now have vague suspicions that the singing lady knew more about it all than she cared to tell. All I know is that the doctor was sent for, and that, after a long confab in the sick room, he came to me and ordered my immediate return home. "Your poor Aunt requires perfect quiet," he said.

Having no choice in the matter, I packed my boxes; not exactly with reluctance, but still with an uncomfortable feeling of being wanted out of the way. Aunt's last words to me rather confirmed my suspicions. "Ah! you are off, are you? Well, I may pull through this time—I think I feel better already." Then, with a pecking kiss, and an inaudible remark anent the ingratitude of relations, she dismissed me. As I left the house I distinctly heard that singing creature run up-stairs and into Aunt's room.

On the way back to town I decided that she (Aunt I mean) was right—relations are disgustingly ungrateful.

Yours, much hurt,            THE ODD GIRL OUT.

To the Champion (Cricket) County.

THEATRICAL PROBABILITIES.

New pieces by HENRY AUTHOR JONES, author of Judah, The Deacon, &c.:—The Archbishop; The Salvationist, or Boothiful for Ever! The Rural Dean (a pastoral play); The Chorister, a stirring drama, showing how a Chorister struggled with his conscience. Of course the Rev. Mr. WILLARD will have the principal part in each piece. Then there will be special nights for the Ministers of all denominations. There will be a Matinée of Precedence, to which Cardinal MANNING and all his clergy will be invited. After the play is over, the Right Reverend Dr. WILLARD will preach a sermon to the Cardinal, on his duties generally.

As long as only the orthodox witness these performances all will go well. But what a first night that will be when the Right Reverend Dr. WILLARD and the Reverend HENRY AUTHOR JONES find that some play has been produced in the presence of an audience composed entirely of Dissenters! Absit omen! This may never happen if only serious persons in orders, or rather with orders, are admitted.

NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.