DITTIES OF THE DAY.

ADAPTED TO THE MUSIC OF THE MOMENT.

NEW SERIES. No. 35.-A SONG OF SIGHS.
AIR-"Ho! Hi! Ho!"

THERE'S Manchester, there's Liverpool (there 'll soon be other places)
Exclaim for local justices to try their local cases,

Which seems to us (if we may give a little word in season)

An attitude sufficiently within the bounds of reason.

The Conference (Danubian) has set some folks demurring;
They say it is unpractical and only keeps conferring;
But that is a proceeding it is childish to resent, for
What in all the world beside are conferences meant for?

Ho! Hi! Ho!

The world is slow

To get within the latitude

Of satisfaction's attitudeHo! Hi! Ho!

The Epping Forest Railway Bill will meet with opposition
(Let's hope it will be strong enough to send it to perdition);
Some foot-and-mouth disease has come from Erin, if you pleases,
(A place that's rather subject to all kinds of mouth diseases);
The Princess (handsome is and does!) will scarcely find them help her
In combatting columbacide at stony-hearted Belper,
Where picking out a pigeon's eyes is looked upon as sportive,
And punishment by magistrate is pretty well abortive.
Ho! Hi! Ho!
We only know

That we'd revive the rack again,

And stretch them till they crack again— Ho! Hi!

Ho!

A "Ribbonite" who bangs a drum is not a street musician
(The law declares it), so he makes the most of his position,
Parading streets and banging drums, inhabitants defying
(He takes a street for preference where folks are ill or dying).
Since Carey, the "Invincible," upon his pals has rounded,
Each loyal-hearted subject of the Queen (although astounded)
Is eaten up with selfishness (including MR. FUN, Sir),
For every one in Britain's looking out for "No. 1," sir!

Ho! Hi! Ho!

When caught, I know,

They're sure to show him lenience, And study his convenience

Ho! Heigho!

From Bilsdale (that 's in Yorkshire) some complaints arrive, I see, from
The Quaker whom Lord Faversham has harshly ta'en a key from;
The radius for London cabs they talk about extending-
Though "cabby" to the matter his assistance isn't lending:
The Connaught Prince is christened, as I hear from Mrs. Harris;
They're going to have an "underground" beneath the streets of Paris;
But worst of all, and awful thing that horrifies us mort❜ly,
They say a lot of storms and things are coming on us shortly!

Ho! Hi! Ho!

There they go!

I think that chills our blood enough,—

As if we hadn't floods enough!

Ho! Hi! Ho!

HARD ON THE PASSENGER.

ARE the railways intended for the convenience of our teeming population, or are they not? We have always understood that they were; but it seems that passengers are subjected, even on the best lines, to a system of annoyance, consisting of attempts to induce the passenger to pay for his journey; and, to add to the monstrosity of the thing, the companies appear to fancy themselves justified in making such a demand. Look at this :

"The chairman of the North London Railway mentioned at the halfyearly meeting that no fewer than 10,549 passengers had been caught in attempting to defraud the company of their fares; while he personally had received a number of abusive letters from persons who felt themselves aggrieved at being expected to pay for their travelling accommodation." Here are letters which we have received on the subject from persons of high respectability, which speak for themselves :—

"TO THE EDITOR OF FUN,' L. H. R.A.*

"DEAR SIR,-I think that a few words from me may serve as a useful warning to innocent travellers by our railways. It was necessary for me to proceed to London, and, finding a train about to depart for that place, I entered a first-class carriage and proceeded on my journey. I had been occasioned some little surprise on reaching the platform by a man in uniform-(presumably an official of the line)-who stood at a barrier and held out his hand as I passed; but, believing this to be some sort of joke, I took no notice. However, on the train stopping at a station near the end of my journey, I was again surprised by another man's opening the door and asking me for something-a 'ticket' it sounded like. My reply was, of course, the very natural and sufficient one that I had no ticket, was not in the habit of having any, and did not understand him.

"The decision of my demeanour on this occasion no doubt overawed the man, for he turned slightly red, muttered something which sounded like a confused apology, and retired; and after this incident, no further annoyance occurred on that journey, for there is little doubt that those who attempt this form of extortion are sufficiently sharp to know when they are dealing with a person who will stand no nonsense.' Had I been a weak-minded lad, or a helpless widow or orphan, there is little doubt that the ends of the unscrupulous would have been gained.

"I am, dear Sir, truly yours, A SUBURBAN ARCHBISHOP."

"ALL' AMMIRABILISSIMO EDitore della ‘Baja.'

(“Il Signor Alto-Rettificatore delle Ingiurie.)

"DEAR SIR,-I happened to be travelling on the Metropolitan Railway once when a man in uniform had the effrontery to enter the carriage and ask for my 'ticket,' or something. I put the fellow down, and he retreated hastily. I have written to Harcourt about it, and expect he will bring in a Bill on the subject. I will always defend the rights of the public.

"Alla perpetuazione dei moccoli, ed allo spegnimento dei moccoloni della fazione quarta! "Yours truly, W. E. G. "P.S.-Long residence in the vicinity of a foreign clime must be my excuse for partial loss of the practice of the English language.'

"MY VERY DEar Fun,-Anxious to test the truth of the frequent complaints from my subjects as to attempts to make them pay for tra velling by rail, I disguised myself and journeyed over several railways. I was disgusted to find that I was repeatedly requested to pay. "I am, yours very affectionately,

"H*R M*JES*Y QU**N V*CTOR*A."

* Lord High Rectifier of Abuses.

The "Innocent" Informer. THROUGH ev'ry heart a thrill of horror passed As Carey, in his tale of blood and crime, Described that deed, when, fighting to the last,

Two helpless men were slaughtered in their prime: He told how those brave servants of the State Were by his "brothers" foully hacked to death; With fiendish coolness did he this relate,

While all perused his tale with bated breath.

That "innocent informer" also told

How he and his co-murderers hidden lay
(Paid for their hellish work by traitors' gold)
Until their chosen victims passed that way;
He told of one struck down by many a knife,
And of that nobleman who, staunch and brave,
Unarmed attacked them, valuing not his life,
And fell while struggling hard his friend to save.

"Not an informer," though, is he who late
Bore in the councils of his town a share;
The accusation makes him feel irate,

He vaunts his innocence with injured air.
Yet, link by link, has he the plot revealed,
In which he aided the assassin's hand:
He with the "brotherhood" lay there concealed,
He sought more victims for his hellish band.
And lo! that widow (whom Heav'n gave relief)
Utters no wish for vengeance for her loss,
But breathes, 'mid all her new-awakened grief,
The prayer of Him who died upon the Cross:
"Father, forgive them," doth she cry to God.
Now Retribution has its work begun,
Waiting the time when with its mighty rod

'Twill scourge the murderers hired by "Number One!"

A Place for Everything.

Now that the statue of the Duke of Wellington has been removed from Hyde Park Corner, the First Commissioner of Works is said to be exercised as to its new destination. There cannot be two opinions as to the proper place-Leicester Square-for there the Duke would be face to face with his old enemies the French.

A CASE-US BELLI.-The military chest.

A PEACEABLE neighbour some Irishmen had,
And as he annoyed them (as decency would),
They set about calling him all that was bad

(Their skill in that way being strikingly good).

They kept on for years with this pleasant intrigue, But Fortune will frown on the veriest boor; They sent all their cash to the bank and the League, And so they were presently starving and poor. "Let's call on our neighbour," they said with accord, "He's bound to assist us, the blagyard, it's clear.'

Not Hankey-Panky.

A Dying Strain.

"SWANS sing before they die," but, lady fair, Before you sung to me you dyed-your hair.