[Extorted, by circumstances beyond his control, from a stolid but unsuccessful Saxon Shootist at Bisley and Wimbledon, after the match at the latter place between picked twenties of the London Scottish and the London Rifle Brigade, won easily by the former team.]

  Oh! the Scot lot are all cracks at a shot,
  And extremely successful at Hunting the Pot. 
  This particular “Saxon” the hump has got,
  Being licked by a team which is Picked and Scot.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  SETTING THEIR CAPS AT HIM; OR, AN AUTOCRAT IN ODD COMPANY.

["Never,” said the CZAR, at the Imperial dinner to which the Officers of the French Fleet were invited, “could I have believed that Republican Sailors, that Republican Soldiers, could have such a bearing.”—­Times.

    “The CZAR has, at the instance of the United States, ordered a
    temporary relaxation of the measures for the expulsion of the
    Jews from Russia.”—­Times.]

Autocrat (aside).  “HUMPH!  CHARMING CREATURES, BOTH; BUT CAN’T SAY I LIKE THEIR COSTUMES!”]

  “How happy could I be with either?”
    Humph!  N-n-o-o, I can hardly say that! 
  Yet here we are, tripping together,
    Republics and proud Autocrat! 
  Two cats and a Boreal Bruin!—­
    So satire will say, I’ve no doubt. 
  And some will declare it must ruin
    The Russdom once ruled by the knout. 
  I wonder—­I very much wonder—­
    What NICK to this sight would have said—­
  I fear he’d have looked black as thunder,
    And savage as RURIC the Red. 
  For this did we lose the Crimea? 
    For this did we larrup the Jews? 
  I really had not an idea
    Republics could rule—­and amuse. 
  Miss FRANCE looks extremely coquettish. 
    How well Miss COLUMBIA can coax! 
  The Teuton, no doubt, will look pettish,
    The Briton will grumble “a hoax.” 
  Aha!  I can snub a Lord Mayor,
    And give shouting Emperors a hint;
  I back La Belle France.  Her betrayer
    My meaning must see, plain as print. 
  My reply to the great Guildhall grumble
    Had less of politeness than pith,
  But—­well I’ve no wish so to humble
    My friend Mr. EMORY SMITH,
  Or CRAWFORD, the Consul.  No thank ye,
    Persona gratissima, he;
  And therefore I yield to the Yankee
    The boon I refused to J.B. 
  But yet, all the same, it is funny
    To see Three like us in One Boat. 
  COLUMBIA looks dulcet as honey,
    Miss F.’s every glance is a gloat. 
  I never imagined Republics
    Could have such a “bearing” as these. 
  Enjoyingly as a bear cub licks
    The comb sweetly filled by the bees,
  I list to their flattering-chatter;
    Their voices are pleasant—­in praise;
  But—­well, though it seems a