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EXACTLY HITTING IT.

Cheery Stable-keeper :-"Now's YOUR TIME, SIR! HE'S WAITING FOR YOU."

[Judkins thinks, from the expression of the brute's eye and the action of his near hind leg, that is just what he is doing.

SI TU SAVAIS.

SI TU SAVAIS, when you are asked to dine
With half-a-dozen others, say, or eight,

The master's agonies about the wine,

The mistress' cares anent the glass and plate;
The winks, when some relève is running short,
And all seem digging at a tiny dish;

The frowns when men, like water, swill old port,
And flustered waiters help you twice to fish.

Nuisance a dinner means
When you're behind the scenes,
Si tu savais.

Si tu savais, when haughty women scoff

At fashion's victims and the cares of dress,
The days through which they've stitched their fingers off,
The hours devoted to each wilful tress;

Si tu savais, what coils of plaits conceal,
The pow'r of peplums and the tricks of fringe,
The fraud an unpick'd "costume" will reveal,
Or hair or eyebrows destitute of tinge,

Dresses for showy belles
Are but too often sells,
Si tu savais.
Si tu savais, when you have turned your back
Upon a house where all have welcomed you,
How many people cultivate the knack

Of sneering when they've nothing else to do; Si tu savais, endeavours to amuse

Are picked to bits by men and called absurd; While women curl their lips and then abuse People with whom they've not exchanged a word, Really, 'twixt you and me, There's little charity, Si tu savais.

Si tu savais the history of all

That's made into a dainty dish to eat;

Si tu savais what passes when we call

A hard-worked servant from her hard-earned seat;

Si tu savais the fingers that run round

The edges of your morning's marmalade;

Si tu savais what life is, I'll be bound

You'll stick to love and friendship when they're made.

Grant what I've said is true,
Tell me, what could you do,
Si tu savais?

Rather too Cwt.

WE clip this from the Liverpool Daily Post of the 19th instant:WANTED, a respectable Young Man as Light Porter. One who fears the Lord, and can carry two hundredweight. A Wesleyan preferred. - Address D 135, office of this Paper.

We beg seriously to protest against this combination of piety and porterage, as calculated to bring solemn things into ridicule. The only excuse we can make for D 135 is that he is an idiot, who does not perceive his own folly, and thinks it possible that a man who could carry a couple of hundredweight might be apt to make light of graver things.

Looking at it in a New Light.

Ir is not surprising that public feeling should be aroused at the daring street outrages which have lately been exposed in the papers; it might reasonably have been expected that "daylight robberies" had ceased with the abolition of the Window Tax.

Botanical Note.

THE man who wants a pint of beer immediately after breakfast must have been forced from a bed devoted to seek-ale.

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THE DUCKS (AND DRAKES) OF DIRECTORS.

Chorus (AIR:-"That's the way the money goes "):-"FLING AWAY, BOYS! LOTS MORE WHERE THIS COMES FROM !"

MRS. BROWN AT EXETER HALL.

Ir must be near three year ago, jest arter we moved over into Kennington as is called South Lambeth, as MRS. CHAWDLEY, as lived oppersite, come in one Monday arternoon about three, and says, "MRS. BROWN mum, may I ask a favour ?" I says, "MRS. CHAWDLEY, mum, what is it, for my word's my bond, so will never promise what I don't perform ?"

She says, "Would you mind a-takin' my Emmy for to see a play through bein' 'er birthday, and promised for to go, as would certainly 'ave took 'er myself but for the measles a-breakin' out." "Well," I says, "if she's got the measles, birthday or no birthday, she didn't ought to go, as is a great risk, through bein' liable for to check the eruption and prove fatal through a-turnin' in, as I've know'd 'appen myself, and only through a crack of the winder left open unawares.' "Oh," she says, "she ain't got 'em 'erself as 'ad 'em favourable two year ago, but 'er little brother, as I see were a-sickenin' Sunday night and I can't leave 'im, for the fever runs 'igh of a night and that fractious as he won't go near nobody but me, so I've just run in for to ask you if you'd mind a-takin' on 'er as won't give you no trouble, and," she says, "you'll excuse me, but in course 'er pa will pay all expenses."

As I didn't think much on that promise myself, for he's a deal too much bounce for me. I didn't like for to be ill-natured, though I can't a-bear plays myself, and MRS. CHAWDLEY showed me the tickets all right, as she said as 'er good gentleman 'ad took and paid for. So I give way through not a-carin' much about it, for of all the sp'ilt children as ever I did see them CHAWDLEYS is the wust. If you seed the figger as they sent that child in to me with a clean muslin frock a-stickin' out all starch and flounces round 'er, with 'er 'air a mask of ile and a blue sash with a 'at as were all rosebuds, and a scarlet jacket as I wouldn't 'ave met a bull in was it ever so. She looked for all the world as though a-goin' to dance with the sweeps, and so I told 'er. We 'ad a cup of tea and was off in good time, and sorry I am as I 'ad my merino on, for the 'eat was jest a-settin' in. I took my redicule with a few cakes in and bought a orange or two for the child, and 'ad a little drop of sperrits with me, as I don't ever consider as it's safe to go out without, for you never can tell what may 'appen. We wasn't long a-gettin' of a 'bus, and of all the nuisances as ever I did know in a buss it was that gal, as smelt werry foul of 'er 'air ile, and worreted me for sugarstick and then would keep a-suckin' on it and daubin' of it all over 'erself and everythink else, and if she didn't put a 'arf sucked oranged on the seat as a party a-comin' in all of a 'urry set down sudden on with a squash, as made 'im swear frightful, and squirted it all over my gownd as the colour is fled for ever.

I don't think as we could 'ave been 'arf way there when if that child didn't turn sick and I was obligated for to get out of the 'bus just agin the oblisk, and walk every step of the way to the theayter we was goin' to, as were the 'Delphy, and when we got there the gent at the door says, "Mum, this ticket is not for 'ere but the next one as you'll come to on this side the way."

I was that 'ot and cross, and ready to die with thirst so 'ad a glass of mild ale next door to that theayter, and give the gal a bottle of ginger beer and walked on slow to the other theayter. We 'adn't got two steps 'ardly from where we 'ad the refreshments, when EMMY, she says, "Oh!" I says, "What's the matter?" She says, "Why the string as mother run through my musling frock's been and busted and the skirt's a-comin' off."

I looks round and sees a baker's shop as I took 'er into, and the good lady were very civil and 'elped me to set that skirt to rights, and I says to EMMY, "Now whatever you do don't fidget or you'll be all to bits in a instant."

As we went along there was parties werry pressin' with their oranges and play bills as I didn't require none on, till we come to a place where parties was a-goin' in by crowds and lots of children as was gettin' out of 'buses and wans, and there was men a-standin' about the door a-givin' away bills.

So I says to one party, "Please can you tell me is this the theayter as I'm a-goin' to." He says, "It's a deal better than any theayter, partickler for a nice little gal like that."

"Well," I says, "if it's anything for children I should like 'er to see it, but will this ticket admit ?" Law when I come to look for it in my glove it was gone. I says, "Whatever shall I do," as must 'ave left it in that baker's shop.

Says the party, werry civil, "Oh, never mind the ticket, we'll get you in without one." I says, "Thank you kindly," and in I goes, but the children kep' a-swarmin' in, rude in their ways as I corrected them myself, a-drivin' at anyone like mad up a staircase.

When we got into the place it were a fine large room, though lookin' dingy. I says, "Look at the orgin, EMMY,' as says, "Bother the orgin; I'ate a orgin."

I didn't say nothin', but kep' a-movin' on till we got right under a gallery as was the only seat, and the 'ottest place as ever I were in, and them children crowded together all in front as didn't make the

place none the fresher. As to settin' down in comfort I couldn't, and that poor child was pretty nigh stifled. She kep' on a-whimperin' and a-botherin' me, a-sayin', "I can't see," and "When's it a-goin' to begin?" I says, "My dear, there's a gent a-beginnin' to say something now as I can't make out." So I says to a sour-lookin' old thing as set next me, "Pray whatever is it?" She only scowls and says, "Ush."

"Well," I says, "if that's your manners, I pities you;" and I gets my bottle out of my redicule, and took the werry least drop, for I was nearly stifled, and I give EMMY another orange and says, "Would you like a cake better?" for she 'adn't took much with her tea. Afore she could answer me, a feller put his 'and on my shoulder and give me a shake as made my teeth chatter agin, and says, "If you outrages common decency like that I'll 'ave you out." I says, outrage decency! you low-lived wagabone, it's you as is a-doing that, a-pullin' any one about like that. 'Ow dare you lay your nasty 'ands on me, you old toothless baboon?"

"Me

Parties all said "Shame." I says, "Shame, indeed, a insolent old blackguard. I only wish I could get at you; I'd pretty soon settle your 'ash."

Well, jest then there bust out sich a yell as made me pretty nigh jump out of my skin, as was all them children a singin' at once. I says, "What a disgraceful noise for to make in a public place. Why we shan't be able to 'ear nothink for them if they goes on like that." Jest then EMMY says, "Oh! MRS. BROWN, I'm so bad." Oh! and if she 'adn't got 'old of my redicule, as she let drop with the cork out of the bottle, and I felt my shoe a-fillin' with that liquor, and the child a-lookin' deadly pale.

I says, "Let me out; she's ill." "Yes," says the sour-faced fieldmale, "and no wonder. You ought to be downright ashamed of yourself to bring 'er up like that, as I see with 'er mouth to your bottle myself."

I 'adn't no time to say nothink, for they lifted Ear out that rough as 'er skirt come right off, and a nice objec' she looked, as no doubt 'ad been at the bottle, for when we got into a little room where a party as looked arter the bonnets come to 'elp us, I smelt the child of sperrits dreadful. I do think as I was over a 'our afore that gal was fit to be moved through bein' that bad; and as we was a-goin' out, a-walkin' along a passage, a solemn-lookin' man come up, and says, My good friend, I am sorry to see such a respectable-lookin' woman so far fo'get 'erself." "Oh," I says, "drop your preachin', I wants to get this child 'ome."

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"Ah," he says, "it's werry sad-and sich a' example-to come to a serious meetin' and be'ave that scandalous." I says, "What do you mean by sayin' as I acted scandalous ?" "Why," he says, "interruptin' of the prayer."

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I says, "Me interrupt the prayers? Why, I ain't been at no prayers. Yes," says the old baboon as 'ad shook me a-comin' up, "I see you, and would give you in charge now if it wasn't for this worthy gentleman as wishes to use gentle means."

"Now," I says, "I tell you what it is, you've assaulted me, as I can prove, and I could punish you." "Ah!" he says to the other party, "didn't I tell you what she was, a downright disgrace to the meetin'.' I says, "I didn't want none of your serious meetin's. I thought it was a theayter." "Ah," he groans, "I thought so." I says,

me."

"You keep yourself to yourself, and don't come a-talkin' to And I goes to the door, and says to a policeman, "Look out for a Waterloo 'bus for me," as said he would; but, bless you, three passed quite full; and while we was a-waitin', I says to 'im, "Whatever place is this ?" He says, "Exeter 'All."

I

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says, "It's a theayter, ain't it?" He says, "No, quite different ;" and jest then up come a 'bus with two places, as took us to the Elephant and Castle, where I was obliged to take a cab from, for that gal couldn't 'ardly crawl. And when I got 'er 'ome 'er mother did take on, a-sayin' as I'd pisened 'er with my filthy sperrits. I says, "she put 'er mouth to the bottle as hadn't more than a glass in it unawares." She says "It serves me right for a-trustin' my child, as is a young lady all over, to a wulgar old cook like you." I says, "I'd adwise you to put your young lady under the pump, as is a disgustin' greedy little sp'ilt beast; and as to bein' a cook, Í says I never was, nor yet my mother kep a apple stall, as was 'er own aunt, I've 'eard say." She says, "better keep a apple stall than be a wile deceiver; why didn't you say 'onest, as you wanted to go to Exeter 'All, and not inwiggle my child."

I says, "Me want to go to Exeter 'All ?" I says; "I never 'eard speak of the place. But," I says; "the next time as you sends your child out, dress 'er decent, and teach 'er not to be a 'og for greediness, and spile her own things and everybody else's," and out of the 'ouse Í walked, and ain't spoke to MRS. CHAWDLEY since, as teaches that gal to make faces at me over the blind with her wile ingratitude, and two breadths of my merino that sp'ilt, as I don't believe as ever I shall be able to match in this world."

THE REAL BANK OF ELEGANCE.-A Goodwood slope on the Cup Day.

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SOFT NOTHINGS.

BY A LOITERER IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE LAUREAte. Soft-as the smooth sea, spread o'er level sands;

Balmy-as breeze that in the bright boughs breathes;
Kind-as the kissing touch of kindred hands
When palm with palm enwreathe;

Warm-as the welcome winnowing of the West;
Luscious-as labyrinths of lotos bloom;

Brisk-as the brine that curls the breaker's crest

Glad-as a gleam in gloom;

Mild-as the murmur of meandering rill;

Soft, balmy, kind, warm, sweet, brisk, glad as these, Illicit whiskey from an Irish stillOr-anything you please!

Man and Horse.

THE Illustrated London News states that a gentleman lately deceased has left, among other charitable bequests, a sum of money "to MR8. RICH's fund, towards carrying out her philanthropic object in strewing gravel to help horses in ascending hills." The writer of the paragraph is in a logical fog evidently, and argues that, because some men are donkeys, all horses are men. He must be good enough to correct his blunder, for Mrs. RICH, instead of doing the Philanthropic, has been indulging in Phil-hippics.

"Oh, Day and Night, but this is Wondrous Strange!" THE newspapers inform us that "the distinguished Indian, HOLE-INTHE-DAY, has recently married a white wife at Washington." We blush to think we never heard of the "distinguished Indian" beforeunless he is the well-known "Top of the mornin'" so familiar to readers of Irish romance.

SENSATION.

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TELL me not in penny numbers,
Life is a distorted dream:
For the soul your trash encumbers
With too much of that same theme.
Murder, misery, and madness,
Permeate your dreary text,
Promise of still further sadness
Is" continued in our next."
Literature's honour saving,

Wipe that pen-in mercy wipe!
Hence, too, with the coarse engraving-
Hence, too, with the blunted type!
Paper of which you're a splasher
Better far employed will be
Wrapping-up the savoury rasher,
Or the humble ounce of tea.
Yes! the paper you embellish (!)
Could not surely fall more low,
With the rasher's rancid relish,
Or the tea that is but sloe!

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FROM OUR STALL.

WHEN the REVEREND MR. TOWNLEY wrote a funny farce called High Life Below Stairs, he little thought that the honour of a translation into the French tongue awaited him. Much less did the ingeniou adapter on the other side of the Channel imagine that a British playwright would pounce upon the second version of the farce and build a third upon it. In Our Domestics, which is the work of MR. FREDERIC HAY, the master of the house becomes a married man, with a daughter given to sentiment. The inhabitants of the drawing-room are placed, by characteristic indiscretions, completely at the mercy of the inhabitants of the kitchen; consequently, the brazen orgies of the latter go unpunished. It is absurdly improbable that an entire family (husband, wife, and daughter) would rush off to dine at FRANCATELLI'S merely because an expected guest fails to keep his appointment at their own dinner-table. Nor is it very likely that the lady of the house would borrow fifty pounds of her cook; at all events, the cook would scarcely be such an idiot as to volunteer the loan of that sum. MR. FREDERIC HAY can write rather lively dialogue, but he puns too much. People who pun so much as MR. HAY should be locked up without food, and compelled to write burlesques; that would either kill or cure them in about half a day. The performance of Our Domestics is very creditable to the Strand company. MR. PARSELLE makes up admirably, and acts with great spirit. MR. JAMES is more subdued than usual, and, therefore, much more effective. The sacrifice of his moustache is a feather in his cap. MR. T. THORNE plays a very fair part in a highly amusing way. Miss E. JOHNSTONE, MISS WEATHERSBY, and MISS HARLAND are all that can be wished; the first-named lady is especially to be praised for her vivacity. The drawing-room scene is very well arranged, but a little too red.

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