It may be that luck--bright Angel!--
May inspire me once more with that stroke,
But I fear me 'tis only in Limbo
I shall light on my great Lost Joke!
* * * * *
MRS. R., who has been busy with her juniors, tells us that she has
been horrified to learn from her Nephew, who has been fighting the
Slave-hunters on the Congo, that in that country they "preserve" the
bodies of their enemies. He writes to her--"I have 'potted' several
Arabs."
* * * * *
[Illustration: "AU REVOIR!"
SCENE--_NO. 10, DOWNING STREET. EXTERIOR._
S-L-SB-RY AND B-LF-R. "TA! TA! TAKE CARE OF THE HOUSE, OLD MAN! BACK
AGAIN SOON!"
[_Exeunt_ "B. _and_ S."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: FROM THE PARTICULAR TO THE GENERAL.
"I SAY, OLD CHAPPIE--WHAT TREMENDOUS HIGH CHAIRS YOU'VE GOT--ONE'S
FEET POSITIVELY DANGLE!"]
* * * * *
THE SONG OF THE BAR.
Work, work, work!
Sang HOOD, in the "_Song of the Shirt_,"
Of the seamstress slave who worked to her grave
In poverty, hunger, and dirt.
Work, work, work!
The Bar-maid, too, can say,
Work for ten hours, or more;
Oh, for "eight hours" a day!
Is she a happier slave
Where gilding and mirrors abound?
Of what can she think when eternal drink
Is the cry of all around?
Stand, stand, stand!
Serving sots from far and near;
Stand, stand, stand!
More whiskey! More brandy! More beer!
Possibly some one may say,
"What can that matter to us?
She is frail, frivolous, gay;
She is not worth a fuss.
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