I passed along a dim back-street, Margarina!In search of something good to eat, Margarina!O pallid tripe! O "faggots" queer!Was ever such strange human cheer?And O my heart, I loathed thee so,There on show, there on show, Margarina!I saw thee in a sallow dab, Margarina!Upon the grubby marble slab, Margarina!O sickening stodge! O greasy shine!O "Dairy Produce" miscalled "Fine"!O haunt of all blue-flies that blow,There on show, there on show, Margarina!I fled along that gloomy street, Margarina!Disgusted, sickened, sad, dead-beat, Margarina!Yet still I see that dingy slab,That oleaginous pale, pale dab.And thou art still on sale I know,Where soot-flakes all, and blue-flies blow, Margarina!But every night at my snug tea, Margarina!Over my toast I muse on thee, Margarina!I sniff that smell, I see that dab,That greasy, grimy, marble slab.And thou art still the same I know,The slum's strange love, the slum's strange love.The poor man's "Butter," there on show! Margarina!
I passed along a dim back-street, Margarina!In search of something good to eat, Margarina!O pallid tripe! O "faggots" queer!Was ever such strange human cheer?And O my heart, I loathed thee so,There on show, there on show, Margarina!
I passed along a dim back-street, Margarina!
In search of something good to eat, Margarina!
O pallid tripe! O "faggots" queer!
Was ever such strange human cheer?
And O my heart, I loathed thee so,
There on show, there on show, Margarina!
I saw thee in a sallow dab, Margarina!Upon the grubby marble slab, Margarina!O sickening stodge! O greasy shine!O "Dairy Produce" miscalled "Fine"!O haunt of all blue-flies that blow,There on show, there on show, Margarina!
I saw thee in a sallow dab, Margarina!
Upon the grubby marble slab, Margarina!
O sickening stodge! O greasy shine!
O "Dairy Produce" miscalled "Fine"!
O haunt of all blue-flies that blow,
There on show, there on show, Margarina!
I fled along that gloomy street, Margarina!Disgusted, sickened, sad, dead-beat, Margarina!Yet still I see that dingy slab,That oleaginous pale, pale dab.And thou art still on sale I know,Where soot-flakes all, and blue-flies blow, Margarina!
I fled along that gloomy street, Margarina!
Disgusted, sickened, sad, dead-beat, Margarina!
Yet still I see that dingy slab,
That oleaginous pale, pale dab.
And thou art still on sale I know,
Where soot-flakes all, and blue-flies blow, Margarina!
But every night at my snug tea, Margarina!Over my toast I muse on thee, Margarina!I sniff that smell, I see that dab,That greasy, grimy, marble slab.And thou art still the same I know,The slum's strange love, the slum's strange love.The poor man's "Butter," there on show! Margarina!
But every night at my snug tea, Margarina!
Over my toast I muse on thee, Margarina!
I sniff that smell, I see that dab,
That greasy, grimy, marble slab.
And thou art still the same I know,
The slum's strange love, the slum's strange love.
The poor man's "Butter," there on show! Margarina!
Mrs. Ram, who had been listening to a conversation among golf-players, and now flatters herself on knowing something about the game, observed—"I suppose, in the Season, instead of Five-o'clock Teas, the fashion at Hurlingham and those places will be to have Golf Teas." She didn't know that it was spelt 'Tees.'
House of Commons, Tuesday, Jan. 31st.—Back again in old place, withSpeakerin Chair, Mace on table, and Serjeant-at-Arms on guard. Nothing changed except the Government. Some old familiar faces gone; others replace them. Same old bustle, hearty greeting, and effusive hand-shaking.
"There's only one thing," saysErskine, of Cardross, "that equals the hilarity of the opening of a New Session, and that is the joy with which the boys go off on the day of Prorogation."
Erskinebeen in the Chair by the cross-benches some years now. Naturally growing philosophical; insensibly cultivates habit of sententious speech.
"Wonder you can be so garrulous,Toby," he says, "considering the number of Speeches you hear in a Session. We take in eloquence at the pores, and I for one have no tendency toward exudation."
"Ah," I said, "perhaps that's the lack of exercise. Dear oldGosset! he was better off in that respect. Remember how he used to waltz up and down between doorway and table withBradlaugh? A heavy partner, too, especially taken after dinner. But, on score of health, not by any means an undesirable variation on sedentary life."
"Well, well," saidErskine, whose forbears were out in '45, "we must hope for the best." And the gallant Scot's hand involuntarily sought the hilt of his sword as his keen eye roved over the Clan gathered below the Gangway.
A little odd at first to see Mr. G. on the Bench to the right ofSpeaker, PrinceArthurfacing him on Opposition Bench. They seem to assume altered position quite naturally. Mr. G. looks pretty much as he has done any time these two years back. Eager, straight-backed, bright-eyed, smiling gaily in response to cheer that greets him from at present undivided majority.
"Pretty well, thank you,Toby. Only one thing the matter with me, and that, you know, doesn't mend as the years pass. Looking overMcCullagh Torrens'book the other day, I noted whatDizzysaid when that genial statesman, the former Member for Finsbury, inquired after the health of LadyBeaconsfield. 'They tell me she is better, but you know what better is at 83.' I'm as well as can be expected going o' 84. I must admit it's pretty well. I'll undertake to walk a mile, run a mile, eat a meal, and make a speech with any fellow ten years my junior."
Certainly no one on Treasury Bench exceeds Mr. G. in vivacity or overflowing energy.Squire of Malwoodlooks very fit, but there's a massivity about his mirthful mood that becomes a Chancellor of the Exchequer with a contingent surplus. Is much comforted by consciousness that, whilstSage of Queen Anne's Gateviews composition of Ministry with mixed feelings, and will not commit himself to promise of fealty till he is in possession of full details of their policy, he unreservedly approves theSquire.
On other side, Her Majesty's late Ministers in state of almost boisterous hilarity. Evidently inclined to regard deposition as a joke. PrinceArthurbeaming with delight. Something curiously like a smile wreathes stolid countenance of SirJames Fergusson.
"It's their turn now," says PrinceArthur, gleefully rubbing his hands, "and I wish them joy of it. As for me, I shall live my Saturday to Monday in peace, and shall go to the Opera every Wednesday night in the Season."
"You can go oftener if you like," saidEllis Ashmead-Bartlett(Knight). "You may depend on my remaining here. I've thought of a good many things to say during the last six years."
"Ha," said PrinceArthur, thoughtfully, "then perhaps I may absent myself through portions of other nights of the week."
Business done.—Address moved.
PARLIAMENTARY SHOOTING BEGINS, JANUARY 31.PARLIAMENTARY SHOOTING BEGINS, JANUARY 31.
Opening the Case.Opening the Case.
Opening the Case.
Briscoe, having lost one suit, gains another.Briscoe, having lost one suit, gains another.
Briscoe, having lost one suit, gains another.
Mr. Lestocq's amusing farce,The Sportsman, now being played at the Comedy Theatre, must inevitably recall to the experienced play-goer the plot and situations ofThe Serious FamilyandThe Colonel,Truth,The Candidate,Artful Cards, and it may be some others of the same extensive dramatic family. In this piece the husband, under pretence of joining a shooting-party, is accustomed to absent himself from home, in order to indulge his propensity for gambling, and he invariably brings home to his wife the hares and rabbits he has shot. This is "his little game." Just so did the husband inThe Serious Family, whenAminadab Sleekremarks that he has seen something very like them at a neighbouring poulterer's. In the Second Act the police make a raid on the gambling Club, and the husband escapes in any coat he can lay hold of, following the example of the unfortunate hero ofArtful Cards, only that the situation at the end ofthatSecond Act was far stronger in that play than it is inThe Sportsman. InArtful Cardsthe unfortunate hero escaped, carrying a trombone, which turned up in evidence against him when he was inventing plausible explanations to his wife. In fact,The Sportsmanis concocted out of excellent old material cleverly worked up, with only one new point in it, to which, as it has escaped the eye of the English adapter, it would be useless to draw his attention; yet, had he seen it, he might therefrom have developed a really original sequence of perplexing situations. The dialogue is not particularly brilliant; jerky, not crisp. But such is the "go" of the principals, and especially of Mr.Hawtrey, who is the life and soul of the farce, that the laughter is hearty and continuous.
(As we expect to see it.)
["The Inns of Court and the Volunteers.—A Meeting was held yesterday afternoon in the Banqueting Hall of Lincoln's Inn for the purpose of taking such steps as might be deemed necessary to revive the former numerical strength of the Inns of Court Corps of Volunteers, now sadly below its proper strength."—Daily Paper.]
["The Inns of Court and the Volunteers.—A Meeting was held yesterday afternoon in the Banqueting Hall of Lincoln's Inn for the purpose of taking such steps as might be deemed necessary to revive the former numerical strength of the Inns of Court Corps of Volunteers, now sadly below its proper strength."—Daily Paper.]
Frequent Meetings in the Banqueting Hall will soon rectify the "reduced condition," and, after a few gatherings, a gallant and learned Q. C. will don his ancient tunic, and present himself at Head Quarters.
(By a candid—if capricious—Conjugator.)
Amo, amas—All love a lass!Amamus, amatis—Churls cry,jam satis!Amat, amant—But that's masculine cant!Amem, ames—We wish to please.Amemus, ametis—'Cos love so sweet is.Amet, ament—Man's never content!Amavissem—We yearn to kiss 'em.Amavisses—They accept our kisses.Ama, amato—Lips like a tomato.Amate, amanto—Move many a canto.Amare, amavisse—We Marry sweet Missy.Amans, amaturus—Her charms to secure us.Amandum, amandi—As wives they come handy.Amando, amandum—But we don't understand 'em.Amandum, amando—Their novels are grand, oh!Amatum, amatu—Cries male critic, "I'll slate you!"Amor, amaris, amatur—Woman goes like thunder when a starter!Amamur, amamini, amantur—And she swears she'll lick us in a canter!Amemur, amemini, amentur—And 'twill take us all our time to prevent her!
["The atmospheric envelope of the Globe is at present in a baccilophil humour."—ProfessorPettenkoferon Microbes, quoted byJames Payn.]
["The atmospheric envelope of the Globe is at present in a baccilophil humour."—ProfessorPettenkoferon Microbes, quoted byJames Payn.]
Is that the humour o 't, O learned Nym?Well, these be days of mad and morbid whim,When would-be wits strain wildly at a jokeAs an o'erladen ox against the yoke.But "a baccilophil humour"!—in the air!Science does love the unlearned soul to scare,But what does this thing mean? With fear to fill us?Can aught thus love and cherish the Bacillus?O "atmospheric envelope"thyhumourIs worse than—Blank's—if we may trust this rumour.Since microbe "humour" fills both air and earth,Farewell to honest fun and wholesome mirth!Adieu to genialDickens, gentleHood!Hail to the peddling pessimistic broodWhose "nimini-pimimi" mouths, too small by halfTo stretch themselves to a Homeric laugh,Mince, in a mirror, to the "Paphian Mimp!"Momusis dead, and e'en that tricksy impPreposterousPuckhath too much native gritTo take the taste ofOsrickturned a wit.Humour baccilophil, microbic merriment,Might suit him better. He will try the experiment.His mirth's a smirk and not a paroxysm;"Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes and prism"Do not disturb the "plie" of his prim lips,Neither do cynic quirks and querulous quips.Mirth would guffaw—when hearts and mouths were bigger,Osrickwould shrink from aught beyond a snigger,Such as is stirred by screeds of far-fetched whim.Ay! that's the humour o't, sententious Nym.Let's hail a dying century's latest birth,—The Newest Humour—purged from taint of Mirth!
Is that the humour o 't, O learned Nym?Well, these be days of mad and morbid whim,When would-be wits strain wildly at a jokeAs an o'erladen ox against the yoke.But "a baccilophil humour"!—in the air!Science does love the unlearned soul to scare,But what does this thing mean? With fear to fill us?Can aught thus love and cherish the Bacillus?O "atmospheric envelope"thyhumourIs worse than—Blank's—if we may trust this rumour.Since microbe "humour" fills both air and earth,Farewell to honest fun and wholesome mirth!Adieu to genialDickens, gentleHood!Hail to the peddling pessimistic broodWhose "nimini-pimimi" mouths, too small by halfTo stretch themselves to a Homeric laugh,Mince, in a mirror, to the "Paphian Mimp!"Momusis dead, and e'en that tricksy impPreposterousPuckhath too much native gritTo take the taste ofOsrickturned a wit.Humour baccilophil, microbic merriment,Might suit him better. He will try the experiment.His mirth's a smirk and not a paroxysm;"Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes and prism"Do not disturb the "plie" of his prim lips,Neither do cynic quirks and querulous quips.Mirth would guffaw—when hearts and mouths were bigger,Osrickwould shrink from aught beyond a snigger,Such as is stirred by screeds of far-fetched whim.Ay! that's the humour o't, sententious Nym.Let's hail a dying century's latest birth,—The Newest Humour—purged from taint of Mirth!
Is that the humour o 't, O learned Nym?
Well, these be days of mad and morbid whim,
When would-be wits strain wildly at a joke
As an o'erladen ox against the yoke.
But "a baccilophil humour"!—in the air!
Science does love the unlearned soul to scare,
But what does this thing mean? With fear to fill us?
Can aught thus love and cherish the Bacillus?
O "atmospheric envelope"thyhumour
Is worse than—Blank's—if we may trust this rumour.
Since microbe "humour" fills both air and earth,
Farewell to honest fun and wholesome mirth!
Adieu to genialDickens, gentleHood!
Hail to the peddling pessimistic brood
Whose "nimini-pimimi" mouths, too small by half
To stretch themselves to a Homeric laugh,
Mince, in a mirror, to the "Paphian Mimp!"
Momusis dead, and e'en that tricksy imp
PreposterousPuckhath too much native grit
To take the taste ofOsrickturned a wit.
Humour baccilophil, microbic merriment,
Might suit him better. He will try the experiment.
His mirth's a smirk and not a paroxysm;
"Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes and prism"
Do not disturb the "plie" of his prim lips,
Neither do cynic quirks and querulous quips.
Mirth would guffaw—when hearts and mouths were bigger,
Osrickwould shrink from aught beyond a snigger,
Such as is stirred by screeds of far-fetched whim.
Ay! that's the humour o't, sententious Nym.
Let's hail a dying century's latest birth,—
The Newest Humour—purged from taint of Mirth!
Mrs. Ram's practical knowledge of French is not marvellous. She was discussing the question as to whether the French Working-classes cared for malt liquor as brewed in England. The excellent Lady observed—"I don't think so, because, if I remember rightly, when I was in Paris, I was told always to give the coachman money for drink, and this they called 'poor beer.' So they couldn't care for 'strong ale,' such as ours."
☞NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.