Review on the Brain. BY A BRIGHTON IDIOT. Он, let me drop a voluntear, For northern breezes, stiff as starch, The lame and blind-but not the halt. If all the news may be believed Which through the outpost I've received, Of meat they won't have any lack, Then if this noble expedition So to the field, fair ladies, come, With telescopes, my worthy crew, And though rain falls, it doesn't boot- THE LATEST OCCUPATION OF THE PARISIAN "LOAFER." -Stealing loaves. 66 OUR EXTRA-SPECIAL AND THE WILD HORSES. WELL, to be sure!" I remarked to my friend, after the Wild Broncho Horses of the Prairie had completed an elaborate military drill, and began to carry on in the most unequine-like way with their trainer's pocket-handkerchief. "Well, to be sure! I really think Mr. Farini must have procured these quadrupeds from the land of the 'Houynhms.' "Yes," returned my friend, "I thought there was a 'Swift' look about them when they galloped in." "For my part," I answered, feeling my Extra-Special reputation demanded prompt vindication, "I came here quite expecting, seeing it is an Aquarium, to find sea-horses on view." "And, instead of C horses, you find each one is a 'gee,' eh?" queried my irrepressible friend, who will certainly not be taken out by me again. Meanwhile, two of the cleverly-trained steeds were opening a box and taking out a handkerchief with such neatness that I felt it incumbent on me-there's nothing like keeping yourself en evidence, Sir-to publicly address Mr. Bob White, their owner and trainer, "These skewbalds, I believe, Mr. White," said I, "were five years ago careering over the boundless plains of Colorado?" "They were, sir," Mr. White politely replied; "all eight of 'em were caught the same day.' Then, Sir, my eyes flashed, for I saw my way to making a quip. "Oh! you collared eight, did you? I wonder, under the circumstances, you did not Colora-dozen!" After this, Sir, everybody seemed to know me. "Why, it's FUN'S Extra-Special!" I heard them whisper around me. And then I felt, Sir, I must coruscate at any cost. "Do you notice how Rarey-fied' the atmosphere is becoming?" I exclaimed by way of commencement, as the mare called Piccannini began waltzing about on her hind hoofs at a signal from her master. "Not at all," cried Mr. Farini, who is also a wag in his way, "this is no mere 'Raree' show." Before I could think of a fitting repartee-it was not until I was in bed last night that I thought of the crushing rejoinder, "Then you don't consider each horse a 'Rarey avis,' then?"-another mare, so creamy white that her very whey of stepping suggested a milk-walk, was introduced for the purpose of rolling a barrel up a plank. "She don't seem inclined to roll it, do she?" remarked a foolish indi. vidual at my side before the mare had even begun to try. "Of course she isn't inclined," I exclaimed, snappishly; "but the plank is, you see, and that answers the same purpose.' I was more impressed, however, by the agile way in which two horses played at see-saw, and was seeking an opening to suggest that their motto ought to be Aut see-saw, aut nullus,' when the hero of the occa. sion was introduced. "Gentlemen," cried Mr. Bob White, "this is Nettle," which was not a judicious name to give him, because on hearing it we none of us cared to "give him a hand." 46 I wonder what his little game is?" asked a weak-eyed man in a pipy voice. "You can, at all events, judge of his stile from that," said I, pointing to the five-barred gate which had been placed into position. "I must tell you, gentlemen," explained Mr. Bob White, "that Nettle is not well this evening." "Then why not send him to Nettley horse-pital?" I asked during the pause that ensued. Instead of answering me, Mr. White proceeded to station the horses on the other side of the five-barred gate, on which, after a little coaxing, Nettle (who must have wanted physic badly) coolly took the lot! It was indeed a wonderful feat, Sir, and moved me strangely-so much so, in fact, that I had scarcely got outside before, nerved to emulation by what I had seen, I quickened my footsteps into a run, and just by the corner of Parliament Street, Sir, took a 'bus. A BENDING BEFORE THE "GAEL."- Mr. Gladstone's promise to consider the claim of Scotland to a Cabinet Minister, EASTER EGGS FOR BRIGHTON. (See Cartoon.) THERE is joy again in London-on-the-Sea, For they'll have a pretty sight on And to make the scene more lively and more gay, Will come flocking in with dozens Of their sisters and their cousins, And their aunts, of course,-aunts with a little a. Oh, those denizens receive a nasty jar When you rob them of the charms of mimic war ; And they look on Easter Monday As their special sword-and-gun-day, Which explains that there's a simple recipe DITTIES OF THE DAY. ADAPTED TO THE MUSIC OF THE MOMENT. NEW SERIES. No. 38.-A SONG OF SADNESS. OH, this is the way that this ditty begins: And so it proceeds to the end (for our sins), Deary, deary me! The French have been trying of late, if you please, Oh, deary, deary me! how odd it seems to be; The "Forest of Epping 'Let's Collar it' Bill "- Has met with a thoroughly merited "spill;" It's clear Mr. Forster is all that is bad, Deary, deary me! Oh, deary, deary me! it's such a jolly spree; Let's find a confessor who 's very polite, Deary, deary me! And ask him to tell us if kissing is right; Deary, deary me! "The workmen of Paris are rather snuffed out; Some nice "votes of censure "" are hanging about; And Bordesley it seems very largely consists Of ruffianly rioting Ritu-a-lists; Deary, deary me! Oh, deary, deary me! a pretty sight to see; There's one satisfaction-it's sure to place The other side in better case; CONVERSATIONS FOR THE TIMES. IF THAT BILL HAD PASSED. "For the benefit of the Working Classes."-Time-honoured War-cry of the Increased-Dividend Hunter. Time-Say Ten Years hence. BOB (journeyman carpenter). Say, Sarah, Bank 'Oliday to-day. Ought to go somewhere-specially as the City Corporation 's taken such pains to preserve the open spaces roun' London for the injoyment of the workin' classes. Wot d'ye say to a run down to Eppin' Forist? SARAH (his wife). Why, certinly, Bob! I'll jest put a bit of something to eat in a bag BOB. Eh? Ush, Sarah! whatever can you be thinkin' of? You'll offend the kind Corporation, that's taken such pains to preserve the open spaces. It's a understood thing, the big public 'ouses in the Forist comes under the 'eading of "Workin' Classes," and the Forist's bin preserved partly to support 'em. So we're supposed to patternise them, and git our grub there-see? SARAH. Oh, very well, Bob. I'm sure I don't want to do anybody out of their rights. I'll jest put on the children's 'ats, and it 'll jest be a nice walk for us all BOB. I say, don't git a-talkin' in that way, Sarah-it ain't grateful. You ain't expected to walk to Eppin' Forist, 'cos the railway compnies comes under the 'eading of the "Workin' Classes," and the Forist's bin preserved mostly to support 'em. You're expected to ride in a train to the Forist, and in the Forist; and when you git tired of injoyin' the Forist on one line o' railway, you can change to another. SARAH. Well, I don't want to do anybody out-but walkin' would do us an' the children more good than trains, wouldn't it? BOB. P'r'aps it would; but we mustn't be selfish, Sarah-we've got to consider the workin' classes, as the Forist 'as been preserved for the injoyment of. Ready? Very well; now we can go through the Forist by any line o' rail we like ('cos all the railway compnies comes under the 'eading of the "Workin' Classes "). So what d'ye say to goin' straight through the Forist by the Great Eastern, and then straight through it the other way by the Great Northern, and then round it by the Great Southern, and then windin' about it in little curls by the Great Western? SARAH. But ain't the children to 'ave jest a little run on the grass? BOB. On the WOT !? SARAH. Why, on the grass, Bob; ain't they to set under the trees? BOB. Hunder the WOT!!? Ain't you 'eard wot I said? I said we was a-going to Eppin' Forist-not Haustralia. There, 'ere we are. Now the children can put their mouths out o' the carridge winder, and git a nice lungful o' smoke from the ingin. Some folks think the smoke from the Great Southern ingins does yer more good than the Great Eastern's; but that 's all a matter of opinion. LITTLE JIM. But wen are we a-comin' to the Forist, father? BOB. The Forist? Why, you-oh! of course, 'ee ain't seen a forist before. This is the Forist, Jim; look wot a lot o' semmyphores, and telegraft-poles, and coal-sidin's, and stacks o' sleepers LITTLE JIM. But I alwis thought there was green things in a forist? BOB. Green things? Why, you ain't a-lookin' out o' your eyes! Ain't that ingin green-an' the guard's flag-an' some of the advertisin' boards? Look at the nice pavement in the little bits of forist between the railway compnies' property. Pavin' compnies comes hunder the 'eading of the "Workin' Classes," and it 's for their good. Then look at them fine factry chimbleys-factry owners comes under the 'eading too; so does speclative builders, an' dust contractors. Well, if you must walk, we'll git out here, and-wot's the matter, mister? RAILWAY OFFICIAL. You can't walk about 'ere-property of the company. This Forist is for the benefit of the Workin' Classes. |