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THE ANGLO-GERMAN CONCERTINA.

“I confess I was not at all prepared for the feelings that some South Africans appear to entertain with respect to our conduct in the recent negotiations”—­Lord Salisbury to the Deputation of African Merchants respecting the proposed Anglo-German Agreement.

[Illustration:  Imperial Instrumentalist (loquitur).  “WHAT, NOT LIKE THE TONE OF IT?  WELL, YOU DO SURPRISE ME!!!”]

  I fancied that this Instrument
    Would make a great sensation
  And that its music would content
    The critics and the nation,
  I know it is what vulgar folks
    Christen the “Constant-screamer;”
  I thought you’d scorn such feeble jokes;
    It seems I was a dreamer. 
  You writhe your lips, you close your ears! 
    Dear me!  Such conduct tries me. 
  You do not like it, it appears
    Well, well,—­you do surprise me!

  ’Tis not, I know, the Jingo drum,
    Nor the “Imperial” trumpet. 
  (The country to their call won’t come,
    However much you stump it.)
  They’re out of fashion; ’tis not now
    As in the days of “BEAKEY.” 
  People dislike the Drum’s tow-row. 
    And call the Trumpet squeaky. 
  So I the Concertina try,
    As valued friends advise me. 
  What’s that you say?  It’s all my eye? 
    Well, well,—­you do surprise me!

  I fancied you would like it much,
    You and the other fellows. 
  Admire the tone, remark my touch! 
    And what capacious bellows! 
  ’Tis not as loud as a trombone,
    But harmony’s not rumpus;
  The chords are charming, and you’ll own
    It has a pretty compass. 
  I swing like this, I sway like that! 
    Fate a fine theme supplies me! 
  The “treatment” you think feeble, flat? 
    Well, well—­you do surprise me!

  The “European Concert”?  Grand! 
    (You recollect that term, man!)
  This is a Concertina, and
    It’s make is Anglo-German,
  You can’t expect the thing to be
    English alone, completely;
  But really, as ’tis played by me. 
    Does it not sound most sweetly? 
  Humph!  DONALD CURRIE cocks his nose,
    BECKETT disdainfully eyes me,
  My Concertina you would—­close!
    Well, well—­you do surprise me!

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WEEK BY WEEK.

Scarcely a day passes without bringing us nearer to the end of the year.  That is a melancholy reflection, but we are not sure that it exhausts all the possibilities of misery latent in the flight of time.  It has been noticed, for instance, that the Duke of X——­, whose sporting proclivities are notorious, never fails to celebrate his birthday with a repast at an inferior restaurant, and, as His Grace is powerful, his friends suffer in silence and bewail his increasing ducal age.