Bethnal Green.

Come revel with me in the country's delights,Its rapturous pleasures, its marvellous sights;No landscape of common or garden I praise,But Nature's strange charms that the painter pourtrays.No summer begins there, and spring never ends,It mingles with autumn, with winter it blends;Its primroses bloom when the barley is ripe,Amid its red apples the nightingales pipe.There often the shadow falls southward at noon,And sunrise is hailed by the pale crescent moon,The sun sets at will in the east or the west,In the grove where the cuckoo is building her nest.There the milkmaid sits down to the left of the cow,In harvest they sow, and in haytime they plough;While mowers, in attitudes gladsome and blythe,Impossible antics perform with the scythe.There huntsmen in June after foxes may roam,And horses unbridled go champing with foam;From torrents by winter fierce swollen and high,The proud salmon leaps in pursuit of the fly.Ah Nature! it's little—I own for my part—I know of your face save as mirrored in art;Yet, vainly shall critics begrudge me that charm,For a fellow can paint without learning to farm.

Come revel with me in the country's delights,Its rapturous pleasures, its marvellous sights;No landscape of common or garden I praise,But Nature's strange charms that the painter pourtrays.

Come revel with me in the country's delights,

Its rapturous pleasures, its marvellous sights;

No landscape of common or garden I praise,

But Nature's strange charms that the painter pourtrays.

No summer begins there, and spring never ends,It mingles with autumn, with winter it blends;Its primroses bloom when the barley is ripe,Amid its red apples the nightingales pipe.

No summer begins there, and spring never ends,

It mingles with autumn, with winter it blends;

Its primroses bloom when the barley is ripe,

Amid its red apples the nightingales pipe.

There often the shadow falls southward at noon,And sunrise is hailed by the pale crescent moon,The sun sets at will in the east or the west,In the grove where the cuckoo is building her nest.

There often the shadow falls southward at noon,

And sunrise is hailed by the pale crescent moon,

The sun sets at will in the east or the west,

In the grove where the cuckoo is building her nest.

There the milkmaid sits down to the left of the cow,In harvest they sow, and in haytime they plough;While mowers, in attitudes gladsome and blythe,Impossible antics perform with the scythe.

There the milkmaid sits down to the left of the cow,

In harvest they sow, and in haytime they plough;

While mowers, in attitudes gladsome and blythe,

Impossible antics perform with the scythe.

There huntsmen in June after foxes may roam,And horses unbridled go champing with foam;From torrents by winter fierce swollen and high,The proud salmon leaps in pursuit of the fly.

There huntsmen in June after foxes may roam,

And horses unbridled go champing with foam;

From torrents by winter fierce swollen and high,

The proud salmon leaps in pursuit of the fly.

Ah Nature! it's little—I own for my part—I know of your face save as mirrored in art;Yet, vainly shall critics begrudge me that charm,For a fellow can paint without learning to farm.

Ah Nature! it's little—I own for my part—

I know of your face save as mirrored in art;

Yet, vainly shall critics begrudge me that charm,

For a fellow can paint without learning to farm.

Bethnal GreenBethnal Green.East-Ender."'Ary Scheffer!' Hignorant fellers, these foreigners Bill! Spells 'Enery without the haitch!"

East-Ender."'Ary Scheffer!' Hignorant fellers, these foreigners Bill! Spells 'Enery without the haitch!"

'Arry.Wot's the difference between Nelson and that cove in the chair?

Charlie.Give it up, mate.

'Arry.Wy,Nelsonwas a nautical 'ero, and this chap's a'ero nautical, to be sure.

Scene—Exterior of St. James's Hall on a Schumann and Joachim Night.

'Arry (meeting High-Art Musical Friend, who has come out during an interval, after assisting at Madame Schumann's magnificent reception).'Ullo! What's up? What are they at now?

High-Art Friend (consulting programme).Let me see. They've done "Op. 13." Ah, yes! They've just got to "Op. 44."

'Arry (astounded).'Op forty-four! St. James's 'All got a dancin' licence! Hooray! I'm all there! I'll go in for 'Op forty-five. What is it, a waltz or a polka?

[Rushes to the pay-place.]

Rude am I"Rude am I in My Speech" (Othello)The Language of Flower Girls

The Language of Flower Girls

"I know of no cure but for the Englishman (1) to do his best to compete in the particulars where the German now excels; (2) to try to show that, taken all round, he is worth more than the German."—Mr. Gladstone on English Clerks and German Competition.

All very fine, O orator illustrious!But I as soon would be a mole or merman,As a short-grubbing, horribly industrious,Linguistic German.A clerk's a clerk, that is a cove who scribblesAll day, and then goes in for cue, and "jigger,"And not a mere machine who feeds by nibbles,Slaves like a nigger.Learn languages? And for two quid a week?Cut barmaids, billiards, bitter beer and betting?Yah! that may suit a sausage, or a sneak!Whistles need wetting.That is if they are genuine English whistles,And not dry, hoarse, yah-yah Teutonic throttles.I'm not a donkey who can thrive on thistles.No, that's "no bottles."I've learned my native tongue,—and that's a teaser—I've also learned a lot of slang and patter;But German, French, Italian, Portuguese, sir,For "screw" no fatter?Not me, my old exuberant wood-chopper!Levelmeto the straw-haired Carls and Hermanns?No; there's another trick would do me proper,—Kick out the Germans!Old Bismarck's "blood and iron's" a receipt meantFor sour-krautt gobblers, sandy and sardonic!But for us Britons that Teutonic treatmentIs much too tonic.The cheek of 'em just puts me in a rage,Send 'em back home, ah! even pay their passageOr soon, by Jove, we'll have to call our age,The German "sauce"-age!

All very fine, O orator illustrious!But I as soon would be a mole or merman,As a short-grubbing, horribly industrious,Linguistic German.

All very fine, O orator illustrious!

But I as soon would be a mole or merman,

As a short-grubbing, horribly industrious,

Linguistic German.

A clerk's a clerk, that is a cove who scribblesAll day, and then goes in for cue, and "jigger,"And not a mere machine who feeds by nibbles,Slaves like a nigger.

A clerk's a clerk, that is a cove who scribbles

All day, and then goes in for cue, and "jigger,"

And not a mere machine who feeds by nibbles,

Slaves like a nigger.

Learn languages? And for two quid a week?Cut barmaids, billiards, bitter beer and betting?Yah! that may suit a sausage, or a sneak!Whistles need wetting.

Learn languages? And for two quid a week?

Cut barmaids, billiards, bitter beer and betting?

Yah! that may suit a sausage, or a sneak!

Whistles need wetting.

That is if they are genuine English whistles,And not dry, hoarse, yah-yah Teutonic throttles.I'm not a donkey who can thrive on thistles.No, that's "no bottles."

That is if they are genuine English whistles,

And not dry, hoarse, yah-yah Teutonic throttles.

I'm not a donkey who can thrive on thistles.

No, that's "no bottles."

I've learned my native tongue,—and that's a teaser—I've also learned a lot of slang and patter;But German, French, Italian, Portuguese, sir,For "screw" no fatter?

I've learned my native tongue,—and that's a teaser—

I've also learned a lot of slang and patter;

But German, French, Italian, Portuguese, sir,

For "screw" no fatter?

Not me, my old exuberant wood-chopper!Levelmeto the straw-haired Carls and Hermanns?No; there's another trick would do me proper,—Kick out the Germans!

Not me, my old exuberant wood-chopper!

Levelmeto the straw-haired Carls and Hermanns?

No; there's another trick would do me proper,—

Kick out the Germans!

Old Bismarck's "blood and iron's" a receipt meantFor sour-krautt gobblers, sandy and sardonic!But for us Britons that Teutonic treatmentIs much too tonic.

Old Bismarck's "blood and iron's" a receipt meant

For sour-krautt gobblers, sandy and sardonic!

But for us Britons that Teutonic treatment

Is much too tonic.

The cheek of 'em just puts me in a rage,Send 'em back home, ah! even pay their passageOr soon, by Jove, we'll have to call our age,The German "sauce"-age!

The cheek of 'em just puts me in a rage,

Send 'em back home, ah! even pay their passage

Or soon, by Jove, we'll have to call our age,

The German "sauce"-age!

Informal IntroductionAn Informal Introduction.'Arry (shouting across the street to his "Pal")."Hi! Bill! This is 'er!"

'Arry (shouting across the street to his "Pal")."Hi! Bill! This is 'er!"

(Whit Monday)

A verse for "'Arry"? Well, I'm shot!(Excuse my language plain and terse)For such a nuisance I have notA verse.His praise don't ask me to rehearse,But, if you like—I'll tell you what—Therôleof Baalam I'll reverse.Only, like Balak, from this spotDesire me 'Arry's tribe to curse,To grant that prayer you'll find me notAverse!

A verse for "'Arry"? Well, I'm shot!(Excuse my language plain and terse)For such a nuisance I have notA verse.

A verse for "'Arry"? Well, I'm shot!

(Excuse my language plain and terse)

For such a nuisance I have not

A verse.

His praise don't ask me to rehearse,But, if you like—I'll tell you what—Therôleof Baalam I'll reverse.

His praise don't ask me to rehearse,

But, if you like—I'll tell you what—

Therôleof Baalam I'll reverse.

Only, like Balak, from this spotDesire me 'Arry's tribe to curse,To grant that prayer you'll find me notAverse!

Only, like Balak, from this spot

Desire me 'Arry's tribe to curse,

To grant that prayer you'll find me not

Averse!

Female buying ticket.'Arriet."Wot toime his the next troine fer 'Ammersmith?"Clerk."Due now."'Arriet."'Course Oi dawn't now, stoopid, or I wouldn't be harskin' yer!"

'Arriet."Wot toime his the next troine fer 'Ammersmith?"

Clerk."Due now."

'Arriet."'Course Oi dawn't now, stoopid, or I wouldn't be harskin' yer!"

A kind correspondent callsMr. Punch'sattention to the fact that 'Arry the ubiquitous crops up even in the classics as Arrius, in fact, inCarmenlxxxiv. of Catullus. How proud 'Arry will be to hear of his classical prototype! Our correspondent "dropping into verse," exclaims:—

Yes! Your Cockney is eternal;Arrius speaks in 'Arry still;Vaunts 'is "hincome" by paternal"Hartful" tricks hup 'Olborn 'Ill.

Yes! Your Cockney is eternal;

Arrius speaks in 'Arry still;

Vaunts 'is "hincome" by paternal

"Hartful" tricks hup 'Olborn 'Ill.

How well he is justified may be seen by a glance at the text of Catullus:—

DE ARRIO.

"Chommoda" dicebat, si quando commoda velletDicere, et "hindsidias" Arrius insidias:Et tum mirifice sperabat se esse locutum.Cum, quantum poterat, dixerat "hinsidias."Credo, sic mater, sic Liber avunculus ejus.Sic maternus avus dixerit, atque avia.

"Chommoda" dicebat, si quando commoda vellet

Dicere, et "hindsidias" Arrius insidias:

Et tum mirifice sperabat se esse locutum.

Cum, quantum poterat, dixerat "hinsidias."

Credo, sic mater, sic Liber avunculus ejus.

Sic maternus avus dixerit, atque avia.

Catullus,Carmenlxxxiv.

Which—for the benefit of 'Arry himself, who is not perhaps familiar with the "Lingo Romano"—though he may know something of a "Romano" dear to certain young sportsmen, though notdearer to them than other caterers—may thus beveryfreely adapted:—

'Arry toHoxford gives the aspirate stillHe cruelly denies to 'Igate 'Ill;Yet deems in diction he can ape the "swell,"And "git the 'ang of it" exceeding well.Doubtless his sire, the 'atter, and his mother,The hupper 'ousemaid, so addressed each other;For spite of all that wrangling Board Schools teach,There seems heredity in Cockney speech.

'Arry toHoxford gives the aspirate still

He cruelly denies to 'Igate 'Ill;

Yet deems in diction he can ape the "swell,"

And "git the 'ang of it" exceeding well.

Doubtless his sire, the 'atter, and his mother,

The hupper 'ousemaid, so addressed each other;

For spite of all that wrangling Board Schools teach,

There seems heredity in Cockney speech.

According to a trade circular issued by a Cockney company, Florence and Lucca, whence the finer description of oils have been heretofore imported, are threatened with a vigorous competition by the Iles of Greece.

The Richest Dish in the World.—The "weal" of fortune.

'Arry's Motto.—"Youth on the prowl and pleasure at the 'elm."

Cab fareLady."Half-a-crown, indeed! Your fare is eighteen-pence. I looked it up in Bradshaw."Cabman."Well, to be sure! Wot a good wife youwould 'avemade for a pore man!"

Lady."Half-a-crown, indeed! Your fare is eighteen-pence. I looked it up in Bradshaw."

Cabman."Well, to be sure! Wot a good wife youwould 'avemade for a pore man!"

Back to the LandBack to the Land.Farmer's Wife (who has told the new lad from London to collect eggs)."Well, Jack, have you got many?"Jack (who has raided a sitting hen)."Rauther! One old 'en she's bin and layed thirteen, and I don't think she's finished yet!"

Farmer's Wife (who has told the new lad from London to collect eggs)."Well, Jack, have you got many?"

Jack (who has raided a sitting hen)."Rauther! One old 'en she's bin and layed thirteen, and I don't think she's finished yet!"

Addressed to A Young Lady, but dropped by some mistake into Mr. Punch's letter-box.

Sweet hangel, whom I met last heveHat Mrs. Harthur's 'op,I 'ope that you will give me leaveA question now to pop.I mind me 'ow when in the 'allYour carriage was hannounced,You hasked me to hadjust your shawl,Hon which with 'aste I pounced.Then heager to your Ma you ran,She anxious to be gone,I 'eard 'er call you Mary-Hann,Or helse 'twas Mari-hon.Now, Mary-Hann's a name I 'ateHas much as Betsy-Jane,I could not bear to link my fateWith such a 'orrid name;But Mari-hon I like as wellAs hany name I know;Then, hangel, I emplore thee tell,Dost spell it with a Ho?

Sweet hangel, whom I met last heveHat Mrs. Harthur's 'op,I 'ope that you will give me leaveA question now to pop.

Sweet hangel, whom I met last heve

Hat Mrs. Harthur's 'op,

I 'ope that you will give me leave

A question now to pop.

I mind me 'ow when in the 'allYour carriage was hannounced,You hasked me to hadjust your shawl,Hon which with 'aste I pounced.

I mind me 'ow when in the 'all

Your carriage was hannounced,

You hasked me to hadjust your shawl,

Hon which with 'aste I pounced.

Then heager to your Ma you ran,She anxious to be gone,I 'eard 'er call you Mary-Hann,Or helse 'twas Mari-hon.

Then heager to your Ma you ran,

She anxious to be gone,

I 'eard 'er call you Mary-Hann,

Or helse 'twas Mari-hon.

Now, Mary-Hann's a name I 'ateHas much as Betsy-Jane,I could not bear to link my fateWith such a 'orrid name;

Now, Mary-Hann's a name I 'ate

Has much as Betsy-Jane,

I could not bear to link my fate

With such a 'orrid name;

But Mari-hon I like as wellAs hany name I know;Then, hangel, I emplore thee tell,Dost spell it with a Ho?

But Mari-hon I like as well

As hany name I know;

Then, hangel, I emplore thee tell,

Dost spell it with a Ho?

POLITICS AND GALLANTRYPOLITICS AND GALLANTRYFirst 'Arry."Hay, wot's this 'ere Rosebery a torkin' abaat? Bless'd if he ain't a goin' to do awy with the Lords!"Second 'Arry (more of a Don Juan than a Politician)."Do awy with the 'ole bloomin' lot o' Lords, if he likes, as long as he don't do away with the lidies!"

First 'Arry."Hay, wot's this 'ere Rosebery a torkin' abaat? Bless'd if he ain't a goin' to do awy with the Lords!"

Second 'Arry (more of a Don Juan than a Politician)."Do awy with the 'ole bloomin' lot o' Lords, if he likes, as long as he don't do away with the lidies!"

Poor likeness."ANDSHEOUGHT TO KNOW!""That's supposed to be a portograph of Lady Solsbury. But, bless yer, it ain't like her a bit in private!"

"That's supposed to be a portograph of Lady Solsbury. But, bless yer, it ain't like her a bit in private!"

AUNT UPON THE CLIFF'ARRY'S AUNT UPON THE CLIFFA study in perspective done by 'Arry with a 'and camera.

A study in perspective done by 'Arry with a 'and camera.

To a Cockney Inquirer who consults her concerning the inevitable Annual "Outing" and its probable issues.

Inquirer.What subject sets me worrying and doubting?

Echo."Outing."

Inquirer.My wife suggests for family health's improving?—

Echo.Roving.

Inquirer.What's the first requisite for taking pleasure?

Echo.Leisure.

Inquirer.The second (for a slave to matrimony)?

Echo.Money.

Inquirer.You say that woman of all founts of mischief—

Echo.Is chief.

Inquirer.What is this close agreement ofmywomen?

Echo.Omen.

Inquirer.I fear for me they'll prove a deal too clever?

Echo.Ever.

Inquirer.What is the manner of my buxom Mary?

Echo.Airy.

Inquirer.And what's her goal in every hint and notion?

Echo.Ocean.

Inquirer.How recommends she Ramsgate, shrimpy, sandy?

Echo.'Andy.

Inquirer.WhereasIhold it at this season torrid?—

Echo.'Orrid!

Inquirer.And hint, with a faint view to scare or stop her?—

Echo.'Opper!

Inquirer.(Meaning thePulex). Answers she politely?

Echo.Lightly.

Inquirer.How then am I inclined to view the mater?

Echo.'ate her.

Inquirer.What feel I when she hints at sea-side clothing?

Echo.Loathing.

Inquirer.Mention of what makes all my family scoffers?

Echo.Coffers.

Inquirer.Then if I storm, what word breaks sequent stillness?

Echo.Illness!

Inquirer.What feels a man when women 'gin to blubber?

Echo.Lubber.

Inquirer.What is the show of patience that may follow?

Echo.Hollow!

Inquirer.What would the sex when it assumes that virtue?

Echo.Hurt you.

Inquirer.What's the result of halting and misgiving?

Echo.Giving.

Inquirer.What is man's share anent this yearly yearning?

Echo.Earning.

Inquirer.What's the chief issue of this seaward flowing?

Echo.Owing.

Inquirer. How long before I'm free of tradesmen's pages?

Echo.Ages!

Our Cockney correspondent says that the birds are very wild, and that the heath being extremely slippery, the attempt to run after them is apt to be attended with numerous falls, especially in patent-leather boots. He says the exercise is fatiguing in the extreme, and complains that there are no cabs to be had on the hills though there are plenty of flies.

"What eminent composer would in England have probably been 'in the ring'?"

"'Aydn."

"Why?"

"Because who ever 'eard of 'Aydn alone? Ain't it always a 'Aydn and abettin'? Eh? Now then! Come up, can't yer!"

EuphemismEuphemism.Cab Tout (exasperated by the persistent attentions of constable)."Look 'ere, ole lightnin'-ketcher, w'ere the missin' word are yer shovin' us to?"

Cab Tout (exasperated by the persistent attentions of constable)."Look 'ere, ole lightnin'-ketcher, w'ere the missin' word are yer shovin' us to?"

wheelin' a bitCoster (to acquaintance, who has been away for some months)."Wot are yer bin doin' all this time?"(Bill Robbins who has been "doing time")."Oh I 've bin wheelin' a bit, ole man—wheelin' a bit!"

Coster (to acquaintance, who has been away for some months)."Wot are yer bin doin' all this time?"

(Bill Robbins who has been "doing time")."Oh I 've bin wheelin' a bit, ole man—wheelin' a bit!"

Buy a combHe Thought He was Safe.Irascible Old Gentleman."Buy a comb! What the devil should I buy a comb for? You don't see any hair on my head, do you?"Unlicensed Hawker."Lor' bless yer, sir!—yer don't want no 'air on yer 'ead for a tooth-comb!!"

Irascible Old Gentleman."Buy a comb! What the devil should I buy a comb for? You don't see any hair on my head, do you?"

Unlicensed Hawker."Lor' bless yer, sir!—yer don't want no 'air on yer 'ead for a tooth-comb!!"

QUESTION OF TASTEA QUESTION OF TASTELiz (to Emily)."Mind yer, it's all roight so fur as it goes. All I sez is, it wants a fevver or two, or a bit o' plush somewhares, to give it what I callstoyle!"

Liz (to Emily)."Mind yer, it's all roight so fur as it goes. All I sez is, it wants a fevver or two, or a bit o' plush somewhares, to give it what I callstoyle!"

The Land of the 'Arry'uns.—'Am'stead 'eath.

When a vulgar husband drops his h's, a good wife drops her eyes.

THE SNOW CURETHE SNOW CURE!!Fiendish Little Boy (to elderly gentleman, who has come a cropper for the fourth time in a hundred yards)."'Ere I say, guv'nor, you're fair wallerin' in it this mornin'! H'anyone 'ud think as you'd bin hordered it by your medical man!!!"

Fiendish Little Boy (to elderly gentleman, who has come a cropper for the fourth time in a hundred yards)."'Ere I say, guv'nor, you're fair wallerin' in it this mornin'! H'anyone 'ud think as you'd bin hordered it by your medical man!!!"

OPEN TO DOUBTOPEN TO DOUBTOstler (dubiously, to 'Arry, who is trying to mount on the wrong side)."Beg pard'n, sir, I suppose you're quite accustomed to 'osses, sir?"

Ostler (dubiously, to 'Arry, who is trying to mount on the wrong side)."Beg pard'n, sir, I suppose you're quite accustomed to 'osses, sir?"

There are various kinds of larks to be observed by Cockney naturalists, which are more or less, and rather less than more, indigenous to London. There is first of all the cage lark (Alauda Miserrima) which is chiefly found on grass-plats measuring about two inches square, and may be heard singing plaintively in many a back slum. Then there is the mud lark (Alauda Greenwichiensis), which is principally seen towards nightfall on the shores of the river, when the whitebait is in season. This little lark is a migratory bird, and flits from place to place in quest of anything worth picking up that may happen to be thrown to it. Finally, there is the street lark (Alauda Nocturna), which is known to most policemen in the neighbourhood of the Haymarket, and the like nocturnal haunts.

As a gratifying proof of our progressing civilisation, there has been of recent years a very marked decrease in the number of white mice, andmonkeys dressed as soldiers, exhibited by organ-grinders in the London streets. Trained dogs appear, however, decidedly more numerous, and performing canaries may be met with not infrequently in the squares of the West End. The naturalist should note, moreover, that the learned British pig (Porcus Sapiens Britannicus) which, within the memory of men who are still living, used commonly to infest the fairs near the metropolis, has recently well nigh completely disappeared and is believed by sundry naturalists to be utterly extinct.

The rum shrub (Shrubbus Curiosus) which, although deserving of close investigation has somehow escaped mention in the pages of Linnæus, is found in great profusion in the purlieus of Whitechapel, as well as other parts of London where dram-drinkers do congregate. It may be generally discovered in proximity to the Pot-tree (Arbor Pewteriferens), which may be readily recognised by its metallic fruit.

The common cat of the metropolis (Felis Catterwaulans) is remarkable, especially for the exceeding frequency and shrillness of its cries when it goesupon the tiles, or proceeds to other spots of feline popular resort. Sleep becomes impossible within earshot of its yellings, and the injury they cause to property as well as human temper is immense. It has, indeed, been roughly estimated that thirty thousand water-jugs are annually sacrificed, within a circuit of not more than six miles from St. Paul's, by being hurled from bedroom windows with the aim to stop these squalling feline "Voices of the night."

A certain proof that oysters are amphibious may be noted in the fact that they always build their grottoes in the courts and the back streets of the metropolis where, in the month of August, with extravagant profusion, their shells are yearly cast.

The scarlet-coated lobster (Le Homard Militaire, Cuvier) has been frequently discovered on the shores of the Serpentine, or basking by the margin of the water in St. James's Park. This crustacean, when treated well, will drink like a fish, excepting that, unlike a fish, he does not confine himself to water for his drink. His shell (jacket) is of a bright red colour, which is notproduced, as in the lobster species generally, by the agency of the caloric in the act of being boiled. The scarlet-coated lobster leads, while in London, a very peaceful life, notwithstanding his presumed propensities for fighting.

If we may credit the statistics which, with no slight labour, have been recently collected, no fewer than five million and eleven blue-bottles are annually slaughtered in the butchers' shops of London, before depositing their ova in the primest joints of meat. The number of the smaller flies which, merely in the City, are every year destroyed for buzzing round the bald heads of irritable bank clerks, amounts, it has been calculated, to one million three hundred thousand and thirteen.

From Taplow.—First 'Arry.I'll tell you a good name for a riverside inn—"The Av-a-launch."

Second 'Arry.I'll tell you a better—"The 'Ave-a-lunch." Come along!

ILE wot yer drinks"Did yer order any ile round the corner?""What do you mean by ile? Do you mean oil?""Naw. Not ile, but ILE wot yer drinks!"

"Did yer order any ile round the corner?"

"What do you mean by ile? Do you mean oil?"

"Naw. Not ile, but ILE wot yer drinks!"

Question of the SensesA Question of the Senses.First County Councillor."I'm told theacousticsof this hall leave much to be desired, Mr. Brown!"Second C. C. (delicately sniffing)."Indeed, Sir Pompey? Can't say as I perceive anythink amiss, myself; and my nose is pretty sharp, too!"

First County Councillor."I'm told theacousticsof this hall leave much to be desired, Mr. Brown!"

Second C. C. (delicately sniffing)."Indeed, Sir Pompey? Can't say as I perceive anythink amiss, myself; and my nose is pretty sharp, too!"

Quick WorkQuick Work.Guttersnipe."Please muvver wants sixpence on this 'ere fryin' pan."Pawnbroker."Hallo! it'shot!"Guttersnipe."Yus, muvver's just cooked the sossidges, an' wants the money for the beer!"

Guttersnipe."Please muvver wants sixpence on this 'ere fryin' pan."

Pawnbroker."Hallo! it'shot!"

Guttersnipe."Yus, muvver's just cooked the sossidges, an' wants the money for the beer!"

I'm so blooming dryWe mustn't always judge by appearances."I say, Bill, you aren't got such a thing as the price of 'arf a pint about you, are yer? I'm so blooming dry!"

"I say, Bill, you aren't got such a thing as the price of 'arf a pint about you, are yer? I'm so blooming dry!"

Philanthropic CosterPhilanthropic Coster' (who has been crying "Perry-wink-wink-wink!" till he's hoarse—and no buyers)."I wonder what the p'or unfort'nate creeters in these 'ere low neighb'r'oods do live on!!"

Philanthropic Coster' (who has been crying "Perry-wink-wink-wink!" till he's hoarse—and no buyers)."I wonder what the p'or unfort'nate creeters in these 'ere low neighb'r'oods do live on!!"

RUDE INQUIRYRUDE INQUIRYStreet Arabs."Hoo curls yer 'air, gov'nour?"

Street Arabs."Hoo curls yer 'air, gov'nour?"

'As yer motor broke downBillingsgate Up-to-date.'Enery."'Ullo, Chawley? Wot's up? 'As yer motor broke down?"Chawley (whose "moke" is a "bit below himself")."Yuss, smashed me 'sparking plug.'"

'Enery."'Ullo, Chawley? Wot's up? 'As yer motor broke down?"

Chawley (whose "moke" is a "bit below himself")."Yuss, smashed me 'sparking plug.'"

navigatin' the HarkFirst "Growler.""'Ulloah, William, where are yer takin' that little lot?"Second "Growler.""Hararat! Don't yer see I'm navigatin' the Hark?"

First "Growler.""'Ulloah, William, where are yer takin' that little lot?"

Second "Growler.""Hararat! Don't yer see I'm navigatin' the Hark?"

Looks the gentleman'Arriet."I will say this for Bill, 'edolook the gentleman!"

'Arriet."I will say this for Bill, 'edolook the gentleman!"

Fifth o' NovemberFirst Urchin."Fifth o' November, sir! Only a copper, sir! Jist a penny, sir!"Second Urchin."Let 'im alone.Cawn't yer see 'e's one of the family!"

First Urchin."Fifth o' November, sir! Only a copper, sir! Jist a penny, sir!"

Second Urchin."Let 'im alone.Cawn't yer see 'e's one of the family!"

"Λαυς αρε α λυξυρυ σογγς εσσεντιαλΛαυς αρε α λυξυρυ σογγς εσσεντιαλ"

'Arrystophanes.

It is evident that the nation is yearning for singable songs in the 'Arry dialect. The late lamented Artemus Ward would probably have said, "Let her yearn"; but a stern sense of duty impels me to try and meet the need, created by theDaily Chronicle. I have a comforting impression that all that is necessary to insure correctness is to "chinge" as many "a"s as possible into "i"s. By this means I secure the "local colouring," which, by the way, has undergone a complete change since Dickens spelt Weller "with a wee, my lord." A catchword, à propos of nothing, is always useful, so I have duly provided it.

Oh! you should seeMy gal and me(Mariar is 'er nime),When we go daownTo Brighton taownTo 'ave a gorjus time.She wears sich feathers in 'er 'at,She's beautiful and guy,But it ain't all beer and skittles—flatAnd 'ere's the reason why:Refrine—She 'urries me, she worries me,To ketch the bloomin' trine;She 'ustles me, she bustles me,She grumbles 'arf the time:It's "'Arry do," and "'Arry don't,"Which "'Arry" will, or "'Arry" won't(It goes against the grine),But—(Triumphantly.)We 'as a 'appy 'ollidy,We gets there all the sime.—'Urry up, 'Arry.

Oh! you should seeMy gal and me(Mariar is 'er nime),When we go daownTo Brighton taownTo 'ave a gorjus time.

Oh! you should see

My gal and me

(Mariar is 'er nime),

When we go daown

To Brighton taown

To 'ave a gorjus time.

She wears sich feathers in 'er 'at,She's beautiful and guy,But it ain't all beer and skittles—flatAnd 'ere's the reason why:Refrine—She 'urries me, she worries me,To ketch the bloomin' trine;She 'ustles me, she bustles me,She grumbles 'arf the time:It's "'Arry do," and "'Arry don't,"Which "'Arry" will, or "'Arry" won't(It goes against the grine),But—(Triumphantly.)We 'as a 'appy 'ollidy,We gets there all the sime.—'Urry up, 'Arry.

She wears sich feathers in 'er 'at,

She's beautiful and guy,

But it ain't all beer and skittles—flat

And 'ere's the reason why:

Refrine—

She 'urries me, she worries me,

To ketch the bloomin' trine;

She 'ustles me, she bustles me,

She grumbles 'arf the time:

It's "'Arry do," and "'Arry don't,"

Which "'Arry" will, or "'Arry" won't

(It goes against the grine),

But—

(Triumphantly.)

We 'as a 'appy 'ollidy,

We gets there all the sime.

—'Urry up, 'Arry.

II.

And when we reachThe Brighton beachIt's sure to pour with rineA pub is notA 'appy spotFor us to set and drineYet there we set and tike our beerAnd while awy the dy,Though we don't 'ave words, no bloomin' fearMariar 'as 'er sy.Refrine—'Er langwidge is for sangwidges,She's sorry that she cime;The weather's wrong, 'er feather's wrong,I 'as to tike the blime.It's "'Arry" 'ere, and "'Arry" there,And "'Arry, you're a bloomin' bear,"And "'Arry, it's a shime"—(Spoken.)—Which is 'ard on a feller! And then we 'asto ketch the bloomin' trine again, and shedotalk, butnever mind—(Brightly.)We've 'ad a 'appy 'ollidy,We gits 'ome all the sime.—'Urry up, 'Arry!

And when we reach

The Brighton beach

It's sure to pour with rine

A pub is not

A 'appy spot

For us to set and drine

Yet there we set and tike our beer

And while awy the dy,

Though we don't 'ave words, no bloomin' fear

Mariar 'as 'er sy.

Refrine—

'Er langwidge is for sangwidges,

She's sorry that she cime;

The weather's wrong, 'er feather's wrong,

I 'as to tike the blime.

It's "'Arry" 'ere, and "'Arry" there,

And "'Arry, you're a bloomin' bear,"

And "'Arry, it's a shime"—

(Spoken.)—Which is 'ard on a feller! And then we 'as

to ketch the bloomin' trine again, and shedotalk, but

never mind—

(Brightly.)

We've 'ad a 'appy 'ollidy,

We gits 'ome all the sime.

—'Urry up, 'Arry!

Well-known sporting character, residing at Putney, being unable to reach the moors this season, and having lost his gun, has lately amused himself by bringing down several brace of grouse by means of the Brompton omnibus.

At the Zoo. (A Fact).—'Arriet (looking at the Java sparrows).Wot's them? Sparrerkeets?

'Arry.Sparrerkeets be 'anged—them's live 'umming birds.

Objects of the Sea ShoreCommon Objects of the Sea Shore.First seaside saddle polisher."Wot cheer, 'Arry? 'Ow are yer gettin' on?"'Arry."First-rate, old pal. Only this—beggar always—bumps—at the wrong—time!"

First seaside saddle polisher."Wot cheer, 'Arry? 'Ow are yer gettin' on?"

'Arry."First-rate, old pal. Only this—beggar always—bumps—at the wrong—time!"

Under CorrectionUnder Correction.Fare. "Hans Mansions."Cabby."QueenHanne's Mansions, I suppose you mean, miss?"

Fare. "Hans Mansions."

Cabby."QueenHanne's Mansions, I suppose you mean, miss?"

Penny 'addick"Penny 'addick.""Finen?""No; thick 'un!"

"Finen?"

"No; thick 'un!"

Bloomin' GermansFirst Frenchman."Ah, mon cher ami!"Second Frenchman."Ah, c'est mon cher Alphonse!"British Workman."Bloomin' Germans!"

First Frenchman."Ah, mon cher ami!"

Second Frenchman."Ah, c'est mon cher Alphonse!"

British Workman."Bloomin' Germans!"

wot are we going ter doClerk of Booking-Office."There isnofirst class by this train, sir."'Arry."Then wot are we going ter do, Bill?"

Clerk of Booking-Office."There isnofirst class by this train, sir."

'Arry."Then wot are we going ter do, Bill?"

Fader's gettin' better"Fader's gettin' better. 'E's beginnin' ter swear again!"

"Fader's gettin' better. 'E's beginnin' ter swear again!"

Vendor of Pirated SongsVendor of Pirated Songs."Er y'are, lidy! ''Oly City', 'Bu'ful Star,' 'Hi cawn't think why Hi lubs yer, but Hi do!'"

Vendor of Pirated Songs."Er y'are, lidy! ''Oly City', 'Bu'ful Star,' 'Hi cawn't think why Hi lubs yer, but Hi do!'"

Being an epistle from that notorious and ubiquitous person, luxuriating for the time in rural parts, to his chum Charlie, confined in town.

Wha' cheer, my dear Charlie? 'Ow are yer? I promised I'd drop yer a line.I'm out on the trot for a fortnit; and ain't it golumpshusly fine?Bin dooing the swell pretty proper, I beg to assure yer, old man.Jest go it tip-top while you're at it, and blow the expense, ismyplan.Bin took for a nob, and no error this time; which my tailor's A 1.The cut of these bags, sir, beats Pooleout offits. (Are yer fly to the pun?)And this gridiron pattern in treacle and mustard is something uneek,As the girls—but there, Charlie,youknow me, and so there's no call for to speak.My merstach is a coming on proper—that fetches 'em, Charlie, my boy;Though one on 'em called me young spiky, which doubtless was meant to annoy.But, bless yer! 'twas only a touch of the green-eyed, 'acos I looked sweetOn a tidy young parcel in pink as 'ung out in the very same street.O Charlie, such larks as I'm 'aving. To toddle about on the sands,And watch the blue beauties a-bathing, and spot the sick muffs as they lands,Awful flabby and white in the gills, and with hoptics so sheepishly sad,And twig 'em go green as we chaff 'em; I tell yer it isn't half bad.Then, s'rimps! Wy, I pooty near lives on 'em; got arf a pocketful here,There's a flavour of bird's-eye about 'em; but that's soon took off by the beer.The "bitter" round here is jest lummy, and as for their soda-and-b.,It's ekal to "fizz" and no error, and suits this small child to a t.The weeds as I've blown is a caution;—I'm nuts on a tuppenny smoke.Don't care for the baths, but there's sailing, and rollicking rides on a moke.I've sung comic songs on the cliffs after dark, and wot's fun if that ain't?And I've chiselled my name in a church on the cheek of a rummy stone saint.So, Charlie, I think you will see, I've been doing the tourist to rights.Good grub and prime larks in the daytime, and billiards and bitter at nights;That's wotIcalls 'oliday-making, my pippin. I wishyouwas here,Jest wouldn't we go it extensive! But now I am off for the pier.To ogle the girls. 'Ow they likes it! though some of their dragons looks blue.But lor'! if a chaphasa way with the sex, what the doose can he do?The toffs may look thunder and tommy on me and my spicey rig out,But they don't stare yours faithfully down, an' it's all nasty envy, no doubt.Ta! ta! There's a boat coming in, and the sea has been roughish all day;All our fellows will be on the watch, andImustn't be out of the way.Carn't yer manige to run down on Sunday? I tell yer it's larks, and no kid!Yours bloomingly,'Arry.P.S.—I have parted with close on four quid!

Wha' cheer, my dear Charlie? 'Ow are yer? I promised I'd drop yer a line.

I'm out on the trot for a fortnit; and ain't it golumpshusly fine?

Bin dooing the swell pretty proper, I beg to assure yer, old man.

Jest go it tip-top while you're at it, and blow the expense, ismyplan.

Bin took for a nob, and no error this time; which my tailor's A 1.The cut of these bags, sir, beats Pooleout offits. (Are yer fly to the pun?)And this gridiron pattern in treacle and mustard is something uneek,As the girls—but there, Charlie,youknow me, and so there's no call for to speak.

Bin took for a nob, and no error this time; which my tailor's A 1.

The cut of these bags, sir, beats Pooleout offits. (Are yer fly to the pun?)

And this gridiron pattern in treacle and mustard is something uneek,

As the girls—but there, Charlie,youknow me, and so there's no call for to speak.

My merstach is a coming on proper—that fetches 'em, Charlie, my boy;Though one on 'em called me young spiky, which doubtless was meant to annoy.But, bless yer! 'twas only a touch of the green-eyed, 'acos I looked sweetOn a tidy young parcel in pink as 'ung out in the very same street.

My merstach is a coming on proper—that fetches 'em, Charlie, my boy;

Though one on 'em called me young spiky, which doubtless was meant to annoy.

But, bless yer! 'twas only a touch of the green-eyed, 'acos I looked sweet

On a tidy young parcel in pink as 'ung out in the very same street.

O Charlie, such larks as I'm 'aving. To toddle about on the sands,And watch the blue beauties a-bathing, and spot the sick muffs as they lands,Awful flabby and white in the gills, and with hoptics so sheepishly sad,And twig 'em go green as we chaff 'em; I tell yer it isn't half bad.

O Charlie, such larks as I'm 'aving. To toddle about on the sands,

And watch the blue beauties a-bathing, and spot the sick muffs as they lands,

Awful flabby and white in the gills, and with hoptics so sheepishly sad,

And twig 'em go green as we chaff 'em; I tell yer it isn't half bad.

Then, s'rimps! Wy, I pooty near lives on 'em; got arf a pocketful here,There's a flavour of bird's-eye about 'em; but that's soon took off by the beer.The "bitter" round here is jest lummy, and as for their soda-and-b.,It's ekal to "fizz" and no error, and suits this small child to a t.

Then, s'rimps! Wy, I pooty near lives on 'em; got arf a pocketful here,

There's a flavour of bird's-eye about 'em; but that's soon took off by the beer.

The "bitter" round here is jest lummy, and as for their soda-and-b.,

It's ekal to "fizz" and no error, and suits this small child to a t.

The weeds as I've blown is a caution;—I'm nuts on a tuppenny smoke.Don't care for the baths, but there's sailing, and rollicking rides on a moke.I've sung comic songs on the cliffs after dark, and wot's fun if that ain't?And I've chiselled my name in a church on the cheek of a rummy stone saint.

The weeds as I've blown is a caution;—I'm nuts on a tuppenny smoke.

Don't care for the baths, but there's sailing, and rollicking rides on a moke.

I've sung comic songs on the cliffs after dark, and wot's fun if that ain't?

And I've chiselled my name in a church on the cheek of a rummy stone saint.

So, Charlie, I think you will see, I've been doing the tourist to rights.Good grub and prime larks in the daytime, and billiards and bitter at nights;That's wotIcalls 'oliday-making, my pippin. I wishyouwas here,Jest wouldn't we go it extensive! But now I am off for the pier.

So, Charlie, I think you will see, I've been doing the tourist to rights.

Good grub and prime larks in the daytime, and billiards and bitter at nights;

That's wotIcalls 'oliday-making, my pippin. I wishyouwas here,

Jest wouldn't we go it extensive! But now I am off for the pier.

To ogle the girls. 'Ow they likes it! though some of their dragons looks blue.But lor'! if a chaphasa way with the sex, what the doose can he do?The toffs may look thunder and tommy on me and my spicey rig out,But they don't stare yours faithfully down, an' it's all nasty envy, no doubt.

To ogle the girls. 'Ow they likes it! though some of their dragons looks blue.

But lor'! if a chaphasa way with the sex, what the doose can he do?

The toffs may look thunder and tommy on me and my spicey rig out,

But they don't stare yours faithfully down, an' it's all nasty envy, no doubt.

Ta! ta! There's a boat coming in, and the sea has been roughish all day;All our fellows will be on the watch, andImustn't be out of the way.Carn't yer manige to run down on Sunday? I tell yer it's larks, and no kid!Yours bloomingly,'Arry.

Ta! ta! There's a boat coming in, and the sea has been roughish all day;

All our fellows will be on the watch, andImustn't be out of the way.

Carn't yer manige to run down on Sunday? I tell yer it's larks, and no kid!

Yours bloomingly,

'Arry.

P.S.—I have parted with close on four quid!

Poison in the Bowl.—Hot weather.—Advice by our own Cockney. Don't put ice in your champagne. It's pison. How do I know this? Because it comes from Venom Lake.

Seasonable.—'Arry's friend.What's the proper dinner for Ash Wednesday?

'Arry.Why, 'ash mutton, o' course.

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