Yours, Merry Andrew.

* * * * *

Bruisers and BOLUSES.—­A “Champion” pugilist is even more presumptuous than a popular Pill.  He claims to be “Worth a Thousand Guineas a ‘Box.’”

* * * * *

After the season.

A PROPOSAL FIN DE SIECLE.

[Illustration]

  Farewell! since the Season is over,
    Ah me, but its moments were sweet! 
  You are oft’, via Folkestone or Dover,
    To some Continental retreat. 
  On Frenchman and German you’ll lavish
    The smiles that can madden me still;
  While I, with the gillie McTavish,
    Am breasting the heather-clad hill.

  Oh, do you remember the dances,
    The dearest were those we sat out,
  How I frowned when detecting your glances
    On others, which caused you to pout? 
  You are changeful and coy and capricious,
    A weathercock easily blown;
  But when shall I hear the delicious
    One word that proclaims you my own?

  They say that an eloquent passion
    Has long become quite out of date,
  That true love is never the fashion,
    And marriage a wearisome state. 
  They conjure up many a bogie,
    To guard a man’s bachelor life,
  And keep him a selfish old fogey,
    And stop him from taking a wife.

  They vow that a wife needs a carriage,
    And opera-boxes and stalls,
  That money’s the one thing in marriage,
    And cheques are as common as calls. 
  They say women shy (like some horses)
    At vows made to love and obey;
  They tell you drear tales of divorces,
    And scandals, the talk of the day.

  But hang all those cynical railings,
    Just write me one exquisite line
  To say you’ll look over my failings,
    And promise me you will be mine. 
  And though I’m aware it’s the merest
    Small matter of detail, to clear
  The ground, I may mention, my dearest,
    I’ve full thirty thousand a year.

* * * * *

Bacon and A mouthful.—­Last Friday His Honour Judge Bacon had to decide a case which was headed in the papers “Cagliostromantheon.”  What a mouthful!  Mrs. Churchill-jodrell, who was a fair defendant, won the case; and His Honour—­this appeal having been made to His Honour by Mr. B. PLAYFAIR, an excellent name for any gentleman, on or off the stage, but especially for one described as “an actor,”—­decided that His Honour was satisfied.  Peace with His Honour!

* * * * *

New Tory Nursery Rhyme.

(BY “A CAMBRIDGE PARSON.”)

    ["The last reliance of the Tories in extremity is the policy
    of ‘Dishing.’”—­Sir W. Harcourt.]