EXTREMES MEET;

OR, SOME VICTORIAN CONTRASTS. I.

SCENE-A Club Smoking-room. (ARTIST-Mr. Punch.) CHARACTERSAUGUSTUS FITZFADDELL, a "heavy swell," tempore LEECH, with eyeglass, whiskers, lisp, and drawl of period. BOBBIE BLOUNT, a gilded youth of the present day

Augustus. Haw-twy one of these wegaliaws?

[Tendering a weed of about the size of a rocket. Bobbie (flinching at the mere sight of it). My dear old chap, afraid I mustn't, really. Never smoke anything but an occasional cigarette, don't you know.

[Produces a small gun-metal case with cipher in brilliants, and lights a slim, gold-tipped cigarette. Augustus. Wathaw pwetty, those little paper things-look tho doothid innothent.

Bobbie (looking at his wrist). Hullo, confound it all! I've lost my bangle-nuisance!

Augustus. I can feel for you, my deaw fellaw; only the othaw day I lost the little gwidiron off my chatelaine, and I've been a positive weck evaw since-haw.

Bobbie (to himself). Beastly effeminate ass, this. (Aloud.) Ah, we all have our sorrows, what.

Augustus. I vewy nearly cwied, I assure you. And this morning I made the howwid discovewy that a wuby had dwopped out of one of the eyes of my death's-head scarf-pin!

Bobbie. Hard luck!

Augustus. It was thuch a weally stunning pin. I don't feel pwoperly dwessed without it.

Bobbie. Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. No one can accuse you of not being "dressed."

Augustus. Think not? I-aw-flattaw myself these twousaws are wathaw neat. Got the ideaw from the zebwa at the Zoo. Bobbie. Rippin'-that is, well, I mean to say-they look all right-on you.

Augustus. Don't you find it a howwid baw not being able to gwow any whiskaws?

Bobbie. Oh, I don't know: most of the fellows I know are rather by way of clean-shavin'-if you know what I mean.

Augustus (shuddering). Weally? If I sacwificed my whiskaws,

I should look tho extwemely widiculous. They're the pwide of my existence. Without whiskaws, life would be an-aw-dweawy blank.

Bobbie. Oh, you could keep a poodle or somethin', what? Augustus. A westless quadwuped who would expect me to Haw, no thanks. I feel faint at the mere ideaw. Take my arm thwow sticks into the wataw and muddy my side-spwing boots! and let us-aw-stwoll down Piccadilly.

Bobbie (to himself). Stroll down Piccadilly arm-in-arm with a Johnny like an old-fashioned music-hall pro! Catch me! (Aloud.) Er-delighted that is, well, fact is, promised I'd bike down to Ranelagh with some people. Time I got into bicyclin' kit. Do you ride a bicycle, what?

Augustus. Me wide a howwid velocipede and woll along in a fwantic huwwy! No, no; I think any want of wepose is shockingly vulgaw-aw.

Bobbie. My dear chap, nowadays the only really vulgar thing is refinement. By, by. (To himself.) Where on earth has that empty headed bounder sprung from?

Augustus (to himself). Wegulah snob! Aw, I wondaw what's become of all the weal swells.

THE DIVERSIONS OF JUBILEE DAY. LONDONERS cannot be accused of taking their pleasure sadly, or, if they do, it is their own fault, and not that of the officials, who are so considerately providing for their entertainment. "Vehicular traffic" is to be "diverted" in all sorts of ways: apparently it will be in constant fits of laughter.

Light vehicular traffic" is also to be "diverted," with probably some less boisterous form of amusement. For "Traffic going Eastward," other "diversions" are arranged.

And, what is more, anybody employing vehicular traffic, and, in spite of all police blandishments, obstinately refusing to be "diverted," will find himself in Chokee, or in Queer Street, where he will be left to himself to reflect on the inconvenient results of any individual not falling in with the official sense of humour.

"Diversions" everywhere, and, probably, most theatres closed.

WEEDS THAT DIMINISH APACE AT A SMOKING CONCERT.-Cigars.