“You’re a pirate!” sobbed JACK,
          “And your colours are black!”
  But he heard—­as he struggled to speak—­
          The conductor observe,
          With remarkable verve,
  That he didn’t want none of his cheek!

          With a want of regard,
          He demanded JACK’s card. 
  And young HORNER was summoned next day,
          When the poor little lad
          Lost the battle, and had
  All the costs in addition to pay.

          Now the Moral is this: 
          Little Master and Miss,
  Whom I’m writing these verses to please;
          If your tiny feet ache,
          Then a ’bus you may take,
  But be sure it’s an L.G.O.C.’s!

* * * * *

A CURSORY OBSERVATION.

From the Figaro for Dimanche, April 17, we make this extract:—­

“SPORTS ATHLETIQUES.—­Le match international de foot ball entre le Stade Francais et le Rosslyn Park foot ball Club de Londres sera joue demain sur le terrain du Cursing Club de France a Levallois.  L’equipe anglaise est arrivee a Paris hier soir.  Le match sera preside par le marquis de Dufferin.”

“The Cursing Club!” What an awful name!  For what purpose are they banded together?  Is it to curse one another by their gods? to issue forth on premieres to damn a new play?  What fearful language would be just audible, curses, not loud but deep, during the progress of the Foot-ball Match over which the Marquis of DUFFERIN is to preside!  It is all over by now; but the result we have not seen.  We hope there is no Cursing Club in England.  There existed, once upon a time, in London, a Club with an awful Tartarian name, which might have been a parent society to a Cursing Club.  Let us trust—­

[*** The Editor puts short the article at this point, being of opinion that “Cursing” is only a misprint for “Coursing;” or, if not, he certainly gives Le Figaro the benefit of the doubt.  Note, also, that the match was to be played on “Cursing Club Ground,” lent for the occasion, and was not to be played by Members of the “C.C.”]

* * * * *

THE LAY OF THE LITERARY AUTOLYCUS.

(SEE CORRESPONDENCE IN THE TIMES ON “LITERARY THEFTS.")

Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing.

  When books and magazines appear,
    With heigh! the hopes of a big sale!—­
  Why, then comes in the cheat o’ the year,
    And picks their plums, talk, song, or tale.

  The white sheets come, each page my “perk,”
    With heigh! sweet bards, O how they sing!—­
  With paste and scissors I set to work;
    Shall a stolen song cost anything?

  The Poet tirra-lirra chants,
    With heigh! with heigh! he must be a J.—­
  His Summer songs supply my wants;
    They cost me nought—­but, ah! they pay.