He. “THE FACT IS, I NEVER GET ANY WILD FOWL SHOOTING—­NEVER!”

She. “OH, THEN YOU OUGHT TO COME DOWN TO OUR NEIGHBOURHOOD IN THE WINTER.  IT WOULD JUST SUIT YOU, THERE ARE SUCH A LOT OF GEESE ABOUT—­A—­A—­I MEAN WILD GEESE, OF COURSE!”]

* * * * *

THE “EGYPTIAN PET.”

    ["We desire that Egypt should he strong enough of herself to repel all
    external attack, and to put down all internal disturbance.”—­Lord
    Salisbury at the Guildhall.]

Professor of the Noble Art of Self-Defence (the “Pet’s” Trainer), loquitur:—­

Change in my attitude?  Nay, not a bit of it! 
Like JOAN’S true DARBY I’m “always the same.” 
Parties may flout, but I can’t see the wit of it;
Surely they ought to be fly to my game. 
Such “disquisitions” are strangely unfortunate,
Pain us extremely, delighting our foes;
Worry one too, like a busy, importunate
Fly on one’s nose.

Don’t know the play of our pugilist system, “Pet,”
Parties abroad who give heed to such chat. 
Rival lot out of it; nobody’s missed ’em, “Pet,”
(Nobody ever knew what they’d be at). 
Now, in position of much “greater freedom,” “Pet,”
Fancy they’ll badger me into a hole. 
One thing is certain, nobody will heed ’em, “Pet,”
Poor little soul!

They were nice trainers and backers for you, my lad. 
Pretty nigh muffed any small chance you’d got. 
Square up those shoulders a little bit, do, my lad! 
That form won’t put in a slommocking shot. 
Their fumbling style and contemptible flabbiness
Clings to you yet.  Ah! thanks be, you’ve changed hands. 
They’d crab our swim, but the Old Scuttler’s shabbiness
BULL understands.

We didn’t bring you out, put you in training, “Pet,”
Or crack you up as the Coming Young Copt. 
(Straighten up, boy!  Such corkscrewing and craning, “Pet,”
Never a rib-roasting wunner in-popt.)
No, you ’re a legacy!  Would not deceive you, “Pet,”
You are a stick, and have cost a good bit. 
Still we have charge of, and don’t mean to leave you, “Pet,”
Till you are “fit.”

Biceps?  Ah, verily, feeling your muscle, “Pet,”
Isn’t a job that brings SANDOW to mind. 
Where would you be in a real hard tussle, “Pet”? 
You’re not a Pug of the wear-and-tear kind. 
Foes many menace you.  Champions, boy, you know,
Challenge all comers; they have to—­you bet. 
When you can do so, I’ll leave you with joy, you know. 
But—­’tisn’t yet!

Thanks to our care, you’re improving, my “Pet,” a bit. 
Promising Novice, of that there’s no doubt. 
But up to Champion form?  No, not yet a bit. 
Just try that on, and you’ll soon get knocked out. 
Can’t say exactly how long we must bide with you,
Help you develope grit, muscle, and pipe;
But we must own you to-day—­(though we side with you)—­
Not “Cherry Ripe!”