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TENNER SONG FOR DERBY DAY.—­“He’s got it on!”

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[Illustration:  WHAT OUR ARTIST (THE SMALL AND SUSCEPTIBLE ONE) HAS TO PUT UP WITH.

Miss Binks. “PRAY, MR. TITMOUSE, WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DRAW SUCH IMMENSELY TALL WOMEN?”

Our Artist. “WELL, MISS BINKS, I SUPPOSE IT’S BECAUSE I’M SUCH A TINY LITTLE MAN MYSELF.  CONTRAST, YOU SEE!”

Miss Binks. “AH, YES, CONTRAST!  THAT IS HOW WE TINY LITTLE WOMEN ALWAYS ATTRACT ALL THE FINE TALL MEN!  THAT’S HOW WE SCORE!”

Our Artist. “EXACTLY.  I ONLY WISH TO GOODNESS YOU’D ATTRACT THAT VERY FINE TALL MAN AWAY FROM MISS JONES—­THEN I MIGHT HAVE A CHANCE, PERHAPS!”]

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A VERY “DARK HORSE.”

["The Country knows ... what it is we desire to do.  What the Right Hon. Gentleman (Mr. GLADSTONE) desires to do no human being knows.  If we have done our part, as we have done, to clear the issues, all we can ask him is to do his part, to lay before the electorate of this country in the same plain, unmistakable outline, the policy which he desires to see adopted.”—­Mr. Balfour on Second Reading of Irish Local Government Bill.]

    SCENE—­The Paddock, before the Great Race.  Rising Young
    Jockey, ARTHUR BALFOUR, mounted on the Crack Irish Horse. 
    Enter Grand Old Jockey, at the moment minus a mount.

Grand Old Jockey (aside).  Humph!  Don’t look so bad, now, despite
          the dead set
    That against him we’ve made since his very first running,
  Do they mean him to win after all?  Artful set,
    That Stable!  It strikes me they’ve been playing cunning. 
  One wouldn’t have backed him, first off, for a bob. 
    His owner concerning him scarcely seemed caring. 
  Eugh!  No one supposed he was fair “on the job”;
    A mere trial-horse, simply “out for an airing.” 
  When he first stripped in public he looked such a screw,
    He was hailed with a general chorus of laughter;
  Young BAL seemed abashed at the general yahboo! 
    And pooh-poohed his new mount!  What the doose is he after? 
  I’m bound to admit the Horse looks pretty fit,
    And the boy sits him well, and as though he meant trying. 
  I say, this won’t do!  I must bounce him a bit. 
    Most awkward, you know, if his “slug” takes to flying!

Rising Young Jockey (aside).  Hillo!  There’s Old WILLIAM!  He’s out
          on the scoot. 
    The artful Old Hand!  Hope he’ll like what he looks on! 
  He slated this nag as a peacocky brute,
    Whose utter collapse they’ve been building their books on. 
  How now, my spry veteran?  Only a boy
    On a three-legged crock?  Well, I own you are older,