on diphtheria, and typhod and
      such;
  But then others, who don’t like a hupset, put up with the lot, pooty much,
  Jest to save topsy-turvey and ’oles in the garden, and mud on the stairs;
  Landlords, likeways, is dabs at postponing, and patching, and ’ushing up
      scares. 
  But if we are to spot wot goes quisby, and be the responsible chaps,
  Wheugh! we should ’ave a regular beanfeast with sockets and air-pipes
      and traps! 
  No, no, westry worrying sneaks, it won’t work.  As for “W.B.E.” 
  He may frighten the Kensington lot, he won’t ’ave no effeck upon Me! 
  Diphtheria be jolly well dashed!  It is often, as DUDFIELD explains,
  Mere “follicular(—­hem!—­) tonsillitis.” Me bother my ’ed about Drains? 
  Go to!  I ’ave got other fish, in a manner of speaking, to fry,
  That L.C.C. gave itself airs and declared it would wipe my old heye
  With its bloomin’ Big Pots and “Progressives.”  Aha! where the doose are
      they now? 
  Mister ROSEBERY resigned, regular sick of bad manners and endless bow-wow;
  Now LIBBOCK and FARRER are orf.  FARRER gave the Times one in the eye,
  ’Cos it seemed for to ’int even he of them precious Progressives wos shy. 
  Swears their manners is quite up to dick, most consid’rit, and all that
      there stuff. 
  Well they may ’ave been Brummels of course, but he seems to ’ave ’ad
      quite enough!
  ’Owsomever, wotever the cause, now they’re quit of the Great Toffy Three,
  They must ’ave a new Chairman, in course, and—­ha! ha!—­wot a hopening
      for Me!! 
  Porochial Bumble must rule, spite of fads, in a steady and sane age,
  And ’aving a heye on High Orfice I can’t waste my time on mere
      Drainage!

    [Kicks Report, and strikes an attitude.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  TRUE LITERARY EXCLUSIVENESS.

“DON’T YOU ADMIRE ROBERT BROWNING AS A POET, MR. FITZSNOOK?”

“I USED TO, ONCE; BUT EVERYBODY ADMIRES HIM NOW, DON’TCHERKNOW—­SO I’VE HAD TO GIVE HIM UP!”]

* * * * *

HIDE AND SEEK.

  Ah!  Pirate KID’s Treasure has done good we know,
  It suggested a rattling good story to POE. 
  But the “Syndicate” started to seek where ’tis hid,
  Will probably find that same Treasure—­“all KID!”

* * * * *

TEA IN TEN MINUTES.

(A SONG AT A RAILWAY STATION.)

AIR—­"THEE, THEE, ONLY THEE."

[Illustration]

  Ten minutes here!  The sun is sinking
  And longingly we’ve long been thinking,
        Of Tea, Tea, fragrant Tea!

  The marble slabs we gather round,
    They’re long in bringing what is wanted. 
  The china cup with draught embrown’d
    Our thirsty souls are wholly haunted
        By Tea, Tea, fragrant Tea!