["The Anti-Gambling League has decided to take proceedings against the Jockey Club..

In the view of the League every member of the Jockey Club is equally open to indictment."-Morning Post.]

SPORT IN COURT;

Or, The New Year Dream of the National Anti-Gambling

Leaguer.

Ou! it must have been the grog, for I slumbered like a log,
And I dreamed-such a dream! I was holding forth in court,
And the prisoners in the dock,-how the Sporting League 'twould
shock!-

Were the Princes, and the Nobles, and the Leading Lights of
Sport.

A supreme, successful raid on the Jockey Club we'd made.
No mere stuffy, sordid set, of poor betting-men this time,
No cheap winner-spotting snobs, but a lot of topping nobs,
And I had them on the hip, and I charged the lot with Crime!
It was prime to see a Prince at my language flush and wince,
And a Lord Chief Justice squirm, and a stern-faced Judge quite

blench.

But I could not fail to mark the demeanour of the Clerk,

Who looked on it as a lark!-and that Beak upon the benchAh! he had a mighty "beak," which I felt a wish to tweakHad a wink in his left eye which seemed frivolous, if funny; And he didn't seem to suit us, for we wished a stern-faced BRUTUS; Nay, a ruthless RHADAMANTHUS were the big-wig for my money. Ah! it wanted resolution to conduct that prosecution,

With a Prince and several Dooks, and an Earl, a County Squire,
And a Mephistopheles, who sat lounging at his ease,
Whom the culprits all called "JIMMY," and seemed hugely to
admire ;

For although I ramped and raved, Beak and Prisoners behaved
In a fashion which seemed scornful, and assuredly was light;
And that Clerk-confound his mug, which looked strangely like
a pug!-

And the chap for the defence, with his eyes so brisk and bright,
They seemed all upon the grin, or almost, which was a sin,
And I'm sure I heard a Dook whisper in a Judge's ear,

"Don't old Mulberry Nose look funny? I will bet you any money!

Well, I missed the wager's point; but oh, dear! oh dear!! oh dear!!!

Think of betting-in a Court! And I thundered against Sport,

Which meant Gambling, more or less, and red ruin, and disgrace.
From the girls who, though they 're loves, wager wickedly-in gloves,
To the Plunger Peer who shames his ancient race-to win a Race.
Ah! I think I" gave them beans." I'm uncertain what that means,
And the phrase I overhead, and although it sounds absurd,
But the Lord Chief Justice whispered I was doing so-to "JIM".

I felt it meant a compliment to me, compelled from him.
So I said "Sport may intrigue and set up a rival League
To our holy Anti-Gambling One; but Sport is a Foul Sink
We have pledged ourselves to purge with a besom and a scourge-
But here that Punchian eye indulged in a prodigious wink,
Such a spasm of sheer fun, that I felt the case was done;
Court, Prisoners, Judge, assumed the guise of a colossal Joke!
My head appeared to swim, the wild vision did dislimn,
And with a shriek of bitter disappointment I-awoke!

"ANGLO-INDIAN."-We are indisposed to go the full length of agreement with the learned Editors of the New English Dictionary in their study of the derivation of the objectionable word "damn." In the interesting extract you inclose they remark: "The conjecture that the word is the Hindi dām, dawm, an ancient copper coin, of which 1,600 went to a rupee (see YULE), is ingenious, but bas no basis in fact." That may be so. It is, nevertheless, a curious coincidence that at the present time the steady declension of the money value of the rupee, combined with its immoveable rating in the salary list, produces in the Civil Service and the army in India a state of feeling subject to which at least 1,600 dams go to a rupee. We much fear that, under this provocation, our army in India is able to compete with regiments earlier enrolled, who, you will remember, swore terribly in Flanders."

66

NEW YEAR.

"RING out, wild bells." We hope that you, With '94 that's rung out,

Will kindly ring out just a few
Of all those things entitled "new"
Which plagued us till quite mad we grew
As mad as dog with tongue out.
Those novelties! The newest kind-
With turned up nose and weird, slee-
-py eyes, that told of vacant mind,
And monstrous chignon massed behind-
Were those appalling things designed
By Mr. AUBREY BEARDSLEY.

Yes, "things"; for nought of human shape,
However strangely bizarre,

Is there portrayed; there's not an ape,
That feeds on cocoa-nut or grape,
Between Morocco and the Cape,
So hideous as these are.

For goodness' sake, don't let us see
New Art which courts disaster!
We much prefer to Mr. B.
VELASQUEZ, REMBRANDT, even P.
P. RUBENS OF VANDYKE, for we
Like oldness in a master.

And then "New Humour." Heavens, why
It's but a pleasure killer!

A cause of weary yawn and sigh,

Which makes us almost long to fly
To those old jokes collected by

A certain Mr. MILLER.

NEW YEAR NOTIONS.

(By an Old Buffer.)}

"THERE is nothing new under the sun," someone says;

I wish that there wasn't, by Jingo!

It seems to me everything's New in these days,
And nothing is genuine old stingo.

A New Poet turns up about once a week
(According to log-rolling rumour);

And there's the New Politics, all grab and sneak;
And something dull dubbed the New Humour!
The New Art; I'm certain it comes from Old Nick,
It's so diabolic and dirty.

Faith! some of their Novelties make me feel sick,
And most of them make me feel "shirty."
The New Year!-well, that is as old as the hills.
The New Leaf-we annually turn it.

Ah! if the New Newness would banish Old Ills.

Not e'en an Old Fogey would spurn it.

New Year, give us books that are healthy and gay,
And Art that's not impish or queer, Sir!

And if you'll but cart the New Woman away,
You will be a Happy New Year, Sir!

THE MODERN THEATRE LAUGH.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,-I crave the hospitality of your columns under the following circumstances. The other night I went to a burlesque. Being a man of modest means, I contented myself with paying half-a-crown, for which sum I was able not only to sit with the plebs in the pit, but to see Society in the stalls.

Will it be believed, at the end of this so-called nineteenth century, that songs were sung and things were said which made those everywhere around me laugh? Sadder still, two-thirds of those I saw were women!-women, who are our mothers and sisters, when they are not our wives and sweethearts!

I haven't the least notion where the harm in all this comes in, but I'm confident there's some somewhere. In any event it's a serious sign of the times; which reminds me that I should have sent this to the Times, if I had not thought the recent Society-play correspondence sufficient for one season. I'm so afraid the dear old Thunderer will drop the telegraphic news and take to Telegraphic Correspondence. In any case, I invite letters on "The Seriousness of Laughter." Yours distressedly, A DI-TRI-SYLLABIC PITTITE. [No letters on this subject will be inserted.-ED.]

In politics Newcastle, too,
With programme was prophetic;
And now Leeds leads, and shows who's
who.

The Grand Old Man - there's age for you!

Has found much better things to do,
Not prosy but poetic.

But all the things, so new in time,
Are nothing to the woman,
Who now is new," and seeks to climb
To heights which seem to her sublime;
(Excuse the execrable rhyme)

She is indeed a rum 'un.

Of course we know that youth is sweet;
Old women are not charming;

But no old woman we could meet,
With featless form and formless feet,
This wild New Woman now could beat,
She's perfectly alarming.

Ring out, wild bells, wild belles like these
New-fangled fancies screaming;

Ring in the woman bound to please,
A lady, always at her ease,
Not manlike woman, by degrees
More man that woman seeming.

Old '94, who now has fled,

Encouraged blatant boldness

In things called "new," as we have said; New '95, now he is dead,

Might bring some things which are instead Remarkable for oldness.

"SHOULD CHRISTMAS BE ABOLISHED?"

[A symposium on the above question appears in the December Number of The Idler.]

WITH what philosophy sublime
The institutions are discussed,
Which foolish men of olden time
Were well content to take on trust!
"Is life one great mistake?" we cry,
3,
"Our modern teachers deem it so
"Man's place shall woman occupy P

And now this last-" Shall Christmas go ?"

They mock at any plea for mirth,
With fine derision they allude
wish for
peace on earth

To any

As just a pulpit platitude;

This Christmas-time, it seems, is fraught With fancies anything but clever;

The lessons that CHARLES DICKENS taught
Are obsolete, and gone for ever!

They tell us, in their stead, to praise
The jokes on seasonable ills,

The epigrams on quarter-days,

The jeux d'esprit on mud and bills;

But as for honest glee and cheer,

Since every cause for joy's demolished, Why, Christmas, too, it's amply clear,

"66

Should be left out-in fact, abolished."

Well, let them talk; to please themselves
By all means let them demonstrate
That fairies, Santa Claus, and elves
Are manifestly out-of-date.

Well, let them talk; and find a joy

In cynical philosophy,

But every English girl and boy

Will give their empty words the lie!

Nor only these: In every land

When Christmas brings, to brighten life,

The sturdy grip of hand with hand,

The softened heart, the ended strife,

Then air your pessimistic views,

Then ask again, "Shall Christmas go?"

And find your answer, if you choose,

In one emphatic, hearty-"NO!"

THE CHRONICLES OF A RURAL PARISH.

VIII.-AFTER THE POLL.

I AM Overwhelmed with congratulations, from all classes, from all sections, from all ranks, and I am acclaimed on all hands as a worthy head man for a Mudford, if not yet a model, village. Not the least welcome have been the communications which have reached me from those who have made my acquaintance in these published Chronicles. The mayor of a borough whose charter dates well back into the beginning of the second half of the present century, wrote to say that he is emboldened by the fact that his wife's maiden name commenced with a W to write to tell me how rejoiced he is to hear of my success. A gentleman writes from "The Burning Plains of the Sahara" to say that he is always proud of the triumphs of a TIMOTHY. (My daughter points out that this is clearly a forgery, since the Sahara mail isn't in till next week. But I can't go into that.) Then there is a very important letter from Birmingham, of which I will only say that WINKINS, who has backed many a Bill, may yet live to indorse a Programme. I may here add that there has been an attempt in some quarters to decry these Chronicles as absurd and imaginary. My Birmingham correspondent describes "an important picture of things as they actually are." He is right. I am as serious as a Prime Minister.

them as

My wife is back-which reminds me that I received a post-card, which has had the effect usually produced by a bomb. Here is what was on it :

AFTER THE POLL.

After the poll is over,
After the voting 's done,
Mudford will be much duller,

No more election fun.

But ONE man will be more happy, Not so disturbed in his soul (?), WINKINS's wife is come back nowAfter the Poll!

Of course, I should have destroyed the card at once-but I was out when it came, and MARIA read it first! What happened was a good

instance of the monstrous way in which one man's sin is another man's punishment. In this case (1) it was my wife who had persisted in going away, and (2) it was an unknown post-cardist who had written the insulting doggerel. Yet I paid the entirepenalty.

The great puzzle-who is the seventh councillor ?—is still unsolved. All that has happened so far is that Mrs. LETHAM HAVITT and Mrs. ARBLE MARCH are no longer on speaking terms. It has leaked out that Mrs. MARCH had more plumpers than Mrs. HAVITT, whereupon ructions-as JACKY, who has just come home for the Christmas holidays says. I think he's quite right.

Our Parish Council meets next Monday-on the 7th. With the New Year we commence our reign of beneficent activity. I need hardly say that it is certain that I am to be Chairman. My position on the poll suggests it, common decency demands it, moreover I expect it. I refuse to believe that I shall be disappointed.

A GLAD NEW YEAR.

A Reflecting Roundel.

"A GLAD New Year!" Why, bless my heart, how fast
The time flies by! The year's no sooner here
Than it is gone and numbered with the past-
A Glad New Year!

For some the sun shines bright, the sky is clear,
No threatening clouds o'erhead exist to cast
A single shadow. Yet, ah me, how drear
The sad estate in which some lives are passed!
The day when none are sad may not be near,
But then-and not till then-there 'll be at last
A Glad New Year!

UP-TO-DATE VERSION FOR MATURE VIRGINS AND PREMATURELY GRIZZLED WORKING MEN.-They whom the gods don't love, dye young!