one on 'em.

MRS. BROWN ON OMNIBUSES.

THEY certainly are public conveniences, as is what omblibus means I've heard say; but I'm sure if you gets it one way you loses it another, for of all the beastly things to get into dressed decent it's I was a-goin' to spend the day last week with MRS. ELKINS, as lives near 'Averstock-'ill, and is a party I've been beknown to this many a year, through her havin' a sister as was lady's-maid in a family where I know'd the upper housemaid as I took tea with frequent.

me.'

I started in good time, and got into the Clapham 'bus, as is what I calls genteel and empty in the general way, except when them parties is a-comin' home to dinner from their business, as is from four to six, and crowded in the mornins. In the middle of the day they're well nigh took up with ladies, as in my opinion isn't always agreeable company in a 'bus, for what with the fuss as they makes about their skirts bein' set-on, and some wantin' the winders up and others down, as I owes my stiff neck to a fantastical old cat, as was snug up in the corner out of the draught, and let the winder down into my right ear, and was downright rude through me a-objecting, as I says, Change places if you likes the draught, and have it in welcome, as don't suit I was set down at the Elephant and Castle, and if you'd seen the mud scraped all up along the side of the path, reg'lar batter puddin', as the sayin' is, and that deep as I was up to my ancle in no time. If there is a thing as I hates it's mud, as will stick, as the sayin' is. Them Elephant and Castle 'busses is very frequent, so I didn't wait long; but law, they're nearly as muddy as the roads. So I says, Conductor, why ever don't you keep it cleaner, as is a reg'lar dunghill for straw and mud ?" "Well," says he, "you muds it yourself; look at your boots," which was more than I could do just then without a-kickin' the parties as was opposite, so I didn't say no more. It was one of them muggy warm days, and I was pretty warm clothed through not havin' quite shook off my cold, and I'd on my new velvet bonnet, as a bit of wire ribbon inside would keep a-workin' into my head, as was worretin' me. We hadn't gone far when in gets a couple of young gals with hats, as looked that bold as I don't hold with, and I'm sure the way as they showed their stockins a workin' of their way up that 'bus through their crinolines a-stickin' out behind I never did.

I says, "For mercy sake put her gownd down for her," to the other gal, a-speakin' low; "for, my dear, she didn't ought to show her legs like that." She busts out a-laughin' and says, "Why not? They're her own," that loud as give me quite a turn, and if they hadn't been and mudded my dress and velvet cape dreadful through a-drawin' their draggle-tail dresses all over me.

I was put out and says, "I thinks as you might learn to get in decent." Says one on 'em, "Who are you callin' indecent?" Says the other, "You're a nice one to complain with such boots on as that. Why, you've been a-runnin' of a race ain't you?" and then all the other parties grinned.

I says, "Conductor, put me down the nearest to the 'Ampstead-road.” He said, "Here you are at Charin'-cross," though a old gentleman did say Regency Circus, but as I didn't care partickler about my company I got out. But, bless you, Charin'-cross was a reg'lar wilderness to me, that confusin' with 'busses a-tearin' here and there and everywhere, let alone cabs and carts by the score, and I don't think as ever I should have got across the street but for a little boy as was a-crossin'-sweeper, and took me all through the dirt. When I'd give him a penny I looks out for the 'bus as I wanted, and at last I see 'Averstock-'ill, as I know'd it was my way. So I stops it and gets in, but the stiffin' hole as it was quite took my breath away, partickler as parties wouldn't move up, but I was obliged for to struggle up to the very top, and reg'lar stove in the crown of my bonnet agin the lamp as was there, and proved a leak all over my bonnet and dripped on to my cape.

As to settin' down I didn't, but was wedged in the corner and helpless as a infant, and the party settin' opposite says, "You ladies with your crinolines did ought to have 'busses made for you." I says, "beggin' of your pardon, there ain't a stitch of crinoline about me, as any one may see by the set of my gownd;' ;" and another chap says, "If you was to wear crinoline there ain't no livin' doorway as you'd get in at." I was just a-goin' to give him his answer when the 'bus stops and out every one gets. Railway," says the conductor. "Where's 'Averstock-ill ?" says I. Why, you've come from it," says he. "Why didn't you tell me that afore?" says I. "You never asked me," says he. "You might have been sure as I wasn't goin' to the railway through havin' no luggage," says I. He only laughs and says, "There's a 'bus off for 'Amstead-road now, as is your way." It was as much as ever I could do to get that 'bus to stop, and when I did get into it I was that bad in my breath as I couldn't hardly speak. There was only three in at first as was a mercy, but it very soon filled up, and of all the rough lots as ever I see they was some of them the roughest; not but there was genteel parties, partickler two,

as I took for ladies at first, but proved nothin' better than females in the long run, as smelt of liquor though a-disguisin' of it in lemon peel as they was a-chewin'.

"Pr'aps you wouldn't mind a-settin' off my lap." She was very I says to one on 'em as squeezed herself in atween me and the door, polite I must say, and says, "Excuse me, through not bein' used to these conveniences, as I only takes through fears of cabmen, as is that insolent as I dare not trust."

I says, "Right you are, for I'm sure it's not more than six months ago as I had a cab under a mile and a half, and through not havin' a shillin' 'andy give him half-a-crown and says, 'Give me change,' if he didn't jump on his box and say, 'I'll drive you for nothin' next time, old gal,' and off he goes at a gallop." "Yes," says the lady the other side, and I'm sure I left a Ingy shawl in one as cost sixty guineas and never see it no more. So one is saferin a 'bus."

I says, "Whatever do they mean by a-writin' up 'Beware of pickpockets?" So the one lady laughed and says, "Any one as can't take care of their pockets must be green."""

daughter-in-law had her pocket picked of her pension a-comin' from But a elderly party opposite said, "It's best to look out, for my receivin' it, as was all she had to look to with three small children and her a widow, through him havin' been in the navy, and lost his life in the discharge of his duty on the west coast of Africa." Well, poor soul, she was a tellin' me a deal about her troubles, as was certainly heavy through havin' a husband in his bed near upon two years, and herself a-sufferin' with lumbago, so I didn't take much notice of them females a-gettin' out, as one did very short after the other; for I did feel for that poor old soul as had been to see Her grandson, as was run over in the Westminster 'Ospital), where they did ought to be more careful round the corners, as takes any one nat rally by surprise, and them Boys is that wentersome. We was the last in the 'bus that party and me, and when we gets out I says, "How much ?" "Fourpence," says he, "and please look sharp as I wants my tea." I says, "And so do I." I says, "Wherever is my puss? Why, if it ain't gone. No, here it is in the other pocket, as I could have swore I'd put in the right hand." I opens it, and if there wasn't nothin' in it, as I'd put in eight shillins when I come out, and a lucky sixpence as I always keeps there. Well, I was that flurried I didn't know what to do. The coachman kep' a-hollarin', the conductor sayin', "Look alive," I didn't know what to do, and if I hadn't to borrow It's a mercy as I met with her, and she said as she was sure them two fourpence of that elderly party, as lived close by where I was a-goin'. females as got out, a-pretendin' to be unbeknown to each other, was the thieves. The conductor he says as he know'd 'em.

Then says I, "Why not tell any one?" "Oh! ah!" says he "that's likely. It's stuck up in the 'bus," and off he goes.

How I got to MRS. ELKINS I don't know, I was that tired; and if she hadn't gone out for the day and not expected home to sleep. It's lucky as her servant know'd me well and had silver in the 'ouse, as enabled me for to give that poor old soul as had come out of her way with me a shillin'.

MRS. ELKINS' servant, as is indeed her niece, as I don't consider relations five when I got there, and me a-leavin' home just on two. I was dead a good plan in them compacities, she give me a cup of tea, for it was past beat, and afraid for to take off my boots for fear as I might not be able for to get them on agin, havin' a foot apt to swell up like dough. I did take off my bonnet, and got rid of that wire as 'Liza snipped off with the scissors, and must have cut through somethin? too far, for when I got home the back of my bonnet was clean out. When I was a little bit rested 'LIZA went with me to the 'buss, as was the one I did ought to have come by, a Waterloo, as runs by the end of the street, and glad I was to get into it empty. I had two shilling of her. I don't think as I remembers anythin' clear after she wished me good night, for I dropped off, not as I'd taken more than a tablespoonful in a little warm water, as was poor weak stuff, as we got at the tavern when we was waitin' for the 'bus. I never woke till we'd got to Camberwell-gate, as I did ought to have got out at the Elephant and Castle for to get the Clapham 'bus. Out I gets, and gives the conductor a shillin'. "Hallo!" says he, "this won't do." What won't do?" says I. Why this here shillin'," says he, "it's a duffer." "A what!" says I. "A bad un," says he.

I says, "I'm sure 'LIZA MARTIN never give me a bad shillin'." "You took it, pr'aps, at the public where you was a-drinkin' when I took you up," says he, with a sneer.

I says, "It's my opinion as I never give it you." Says he, "If you say much more I'll give you in charge for smashin'."

I says, "Take your money," and gives him the other shillin'. I says, "Wherever is there a cab ?" "Here you are," says a cabby, as was standin' there wacant. In I got and home I goes more dead than alive, with every rag of clothes smothered in mud, and that cabman wantin' half-a-crown, not as BROWN paid him; but I says, "I don't go out often, and I'd rather stop at home for ever than go through them 'busses agin, as is ruination to your clothes and destruction to your health."

WHAT THEY SAY.
THEY say the Fates inflict a pang
For each delight they bring us;
That, while above the rose we hang,
The wasp flies forth to sting us.
They say our smiles are washed away
In waters that are briny,
And life has not a single day
That's altogether shiny.

They say our moods are so reversed

That what with tears and laughter, We often bolt the sugar first

And gulp the physic after; That under skies not quite serene

We wretched mortals languish, And (though our grass looks very green) Beneath it-latet ANGUISH!

They hunt a fox who follow Hope

Through all its turns and doubles;
And Cupid uses honey-soap

For blowing brittle bubbles.
They say our years like minutes fleet
From twenty-one to fifty:

(Life tries to make the two ends meet;
And, growing old, grows thrifty.)
They say-but, hang it! never mind;
It signifies but little

What folks may say; I hardly find
Their tattle worth a tittle.

If I may only choose my stage,
And those I'd play the piece with,
I'll take the jester; keep your sage
For stuffing other geese with.

TOPSY TURVY PAPERS.

HOW TO BE UNHEALTHY, INDIGENT, AND OOLISH. BY ONE WHO HAS TRIED.

He who has these objects in view need not be discouraged. Often as weakness of character and malignity of disposition may conduce to worldly success, there is still hope for their possessors; and a close adherence to the rules we are about to lay down will not improbably lead a man to the hospital, the work house, and the lunatic asylum. In the first place, if you really desire to be unhealthy, you should lead a regular life. In winter, rise at seven, in summer at five; by so doing, you will manage to exhaust your energies before the real business of the day begins. Take a cold bath, no matter what may be the state of the weather; this will check your natural perspiration, give the system a sudden shock, and not improbably promote the action of pulmonary disease. Be sure you eat a hearty breakfast, avoiding grilled bones, devilled kidneys, and other succulent and toothsome viands, and confining yourself to solid and substantial food. A few cups of tea will materially aid your purpose. Have an early dinner, so that indigestion may commence exactly at the period when you require the greatest amount of bodily and mental energy. Confine yourself to good roast and boiled; eschew entrées and all foreign kickshaws; and, if you absolutely require pastry, take a nice plain suet dumpling. As to wines, avoid claret and hock, which greatly exhilarate; stick to good old port, which is strengthening and bilious. Both in eating and in drinking, let temperance be your golden rule. If you never deviate into a general excess, so much the better. Retire to rest at a very early hour; this will make you sluggish and apathetic, and preserve you from the enjoyments of civilisation. Always sleep with your bedroom window open; so that if there is any epidemic in the air you may be sure to catch it. A strict adherence to these regulations will soon make you as Unhealthy as you can possibly desire.

Nor is the road to Indigence much more doubtful or obscure. Always take care of the pennies, and leave the pounds to take care of themselves. By this means you may collect about twelve shillings in copper in the same time that it would take you to make a sovereign in gold. Never lend money to a friend; he would probably repay it, and when it was known that you were generous you might find people anxious to help you out of any temporary difficulty, which would defeat the object you have in view. Don't risk your money in judicious speculations; put it in the Savings Bank, if you are a workman, and leave it with your banker, if you are rich enough to keep one. The failure of SIR JOHN DEAN PAUL would alone suffice to prove that

thorough confidence in a plausible financier may be a capital short cut to poverty. Keep a niggardly table, and stint your servants. This will induce them to rob you, which is exactly what you want. Pick up a pin wherever you see one; in point of fact, always keep your eyes on the look out for them; for, as you know, a pin a day is a groat a year, and what a splendid thing it is to accumulate not more than fourpence annually! Neither a borrower nor a lender be; you will thus alienate yourself from society. Let your dress be rather shabby than otherwise: for the world is apt to judge by appearances. Bear these counsels steadily in mind, act honestly upon them, and you may rise to be a Pauper even yet.

The way to be foolish is equally simple. Study hard, improve each shining hour; keep yourself on a level with the century. Avoid idle diversions. Never waste your time in the frivolities of society. If you do, you will become a man of the world, which would defeat your object. Devote yourself to argument. Shun works of fiction, and apply yourself to the exact sciences; relieving the tedium of study, if you like, by an occasional excursus in Political Economy. Go to the Polytechnic a good deal, and read DOCTOR COLENSO. Never leave off. Cram your brain as full as it will hold with facts, dates, latitudes and longitudes, systems, theorems, problems, and algebraic formula. Study steam. Avoid the classics. Act upon this advice, and you may find yourself some fine morning in Hanwell itself!

A. G. H., Camberwell.-We don't accept sketches unless they are well-drawn and comic; and the only fun about those you enclose is that they are so badly drawn.

J. H. E., Oxford.-The parody is good, but we don't "hold with your sentiments," as our esteemed friend Mrs. B. would say,

J. S., Kentish Town Road. "The fatal number" has been received. Do you know what "the fatal number" is? Nine: which is the German for "no."

P. P. J. sends us a manuscript, saying, "I value the enclosed at two guineas." We don't think it worth the thousand-and-eighth part of that. P. P. J. had better call for his MS. if he wants it.

"GENT: ONE, etc.," sends us "The Bill, the whole Bill, and nothing but the Bill." Unfortunately we never aecept bills, so this one must not consider itself dishonoured because we throw it out. H. T. R., Sherborne, says he encloses "two rough sketches." He should have said "too rough."

The author of "Eaves-dropping in a third class" leaves off too abruptly. His last line is "all change here," and the change would probably have been for the better.

A correspondent (post-mark, Hastings) sends us the first really funny thing we have received from an outsider-a blank sheet of paper. This is so much better than the average contributions of our numerous non-humorous correspondents that we have printed it; our readers will find it on the back of the cartoon, and can judge for themselves.

Declined with thanks-A. B. C., Paris; G. F. B., Brighton; G. T. S., Liverpool; J. C. H. T., King Street; C. E., Windlesham; V. C., Gainsborough; C. K., Boro'; F. G., Camberwell; J. G. T., and J. B. D., Edinbro'; J. Eloop; Emily; C. W. D., Norwood; H. H., Northampton; W. H., Pentonville; Oxoniensis; F. V.; A. Z.; E. M., Clapham; B. T., St. John's Wood; Daisy.

The Land of Cakes.

THERE appears to be some little dispute going on at Edinburgh as to the right of the Town Council to provide cake and wine, on certain occasions; and Lord Provost Chambers has been descanting and decanting apropos of the question. It is odd that such a heresy should have arisen in a country long know as "the land of cakes"--and (in consequence of recent Sabbatarian howls) "the land of whines."

THE HARVEST IN IRELAND.

Two or three hundred young ash trees have already been cut in Wicklow, on a plantation of EARL FITZWILLIAM's at Shillelagh. Brisk business is in consequence to be looked for at the markets, and there will be a fine show of heads at Donnybrook. A rise in ash-saplings may be expected there, followed in most cases by a fall.

A SEARCH FOR A PRESIDENT.

THE Royal Academy has always been accused of an avaricious spirit, but we did not believe, with its large income, it would have the face to seek a Government GRANT.