Yes—­in the game of law BEN wins,
    And many guineas in he’s picking,
  But have you heard his wife has twins,
    And both of them alive and kicking?

  And pompous JOE, now JOE, M.P.,
    Is doubtless pleased at growing raucous
  Through speaking, since he’s proud to be
    The Member for a Tory Caucus.

  Yet I’m afraid for his poor brain,
    That such success will surely turn it,
  For every speech means so much strain,
    Since off by heart he has to learn it!

  And mazy JACK, whose chance in life,
    We all of us considered shady,
  Has married money (and a wife);
    But tell me—­do you know the lady?

DICK’s dinners, too, I’m quite aware,
Are noted—­yet he’s far from steady,
Whilst TOM’s fine house in Belgrave Square
Is mortgaged, so they say, already.

Life, after all, is surely more
Than guineas, Belgrave Square, or dinners. 
Life is a race—­but yet, before
You curse your luck, are these the winners?

* * * * *

And so, old friend, content I jog
Along, amidst life’s hurry-skurry,
And smoke my bird’s-eye, sip my grog,
Without a care or thought to worry.

* * * * *

VOCES POPULI.

ON THE ICE.

SCENE—­The Serpentine.  On the bank, several persons are having their skates put on; practised Skaters being irritable and impatient, and others curiously the reverse, at any delay in the operation.

Chorus of Unemployed Skate-Fasteners.  ’Oo’ll ’ave a pair on for an hour?  Good Sport to-day, Sir!  Try a pair on, Mum! (to any particularly stout Lady).  Will yer walk inter my porler, Sir? corpet all the w’y!  ‘Ad the pleasure o’ puttin’ on your skites last year, Miss!  Best skates in London, Sir!

    [Exhibiting a primaeval pair.

The Usual Comic Cockney (to his Friend, who has undertaken to instruct him).  No ’urry, old man—­this joker ain’t ’arf finished with me yet! [To Skate-Fastener.] Easy with that jimlet, Guv’nor.  My ’eel ain’t ’orn, like a ’orse’s ‘oof!  If you’re goin’ to strap me up as toight as all that, I shell ’ave to go to bed in them skites!...  Well, what is it now?

[Illustration:  “Look here!  This is rather a pretty figure.”]

Skate-Fastener.  Reglar thing fur Gen’lm’n as ’ires skates ter leave somethink be’ind, jest as security like—­anythink’ll do—­a gold watch and chain, if yer got sech a thing about yer!

The C.C. Oh, I dessay—­not me!

Skate-F. (wounded).  Why, yer needn’t be afroid! I shorn’t run away—­you’ll find me ’ere when yer come back!

The C.C. Ah, that will be noice!  But all the sime, a watch is a thing as slips out of mind so easy, yer know.  You might go and forgit all about it.  ’Ere’s a match-box instead; it ain’t silver!