_Old Gentleman (returning from City festivity)._ "Pleashm'n, where'sh M'sht'r Brown live?"

_Constable (recognising him)._ "Why, dear me, sir, you are Mr. Brown!"

_Mr. B._ "Aw right! Bu'--where do I live?"!]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Cheap Jack._ "I will make a present of this genooine gold watch--none of your carrots--to henny lady or gentleman for fifteen shillings an' sixpence. Why am I doin' this? To hencourage trade, that is why I am givin' it away for fourteen shillings an' sixpence. Look at it for yourselves, for fourteen shillings! If yer don't believe it's gold, _jump on it_?"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: AT THE DIAMOND JUBILEE.--_First Doubtful Character._ "My eye, mate, this is a squash!" _Second D. C._ "Squash! Why, s'elp me, if I ain't 'ad my 'and in this cove's pocket for the larst twenty minits, an' can't get it out!"]

BACK TO TOWN

Back to town, and it certes is rapture to stand, And to hear once again all the roar of the Strand; I agree with the bard who said, noisy or stilly, By gaslight or daylight, he loved Piccadilly; The wanderer's heart with emotion doth swell, When he sees the broad pavement of pleasant Pall Mall.

Some folks like the City; wherever they range, Their hearts are still true to the Royal Exchange; They've beheld alpine summits rise rank upon rank, But the Matterhorn's nothing compared with the Bank; And they feel quite rejoiced in the omnibus ride, As that hea.r.s.e for the living rolls up through Cheapside.

The mind of a man is expanded by travel, But give me my house on the Kensington gravel: The wine of the Frenchman is good, and his grub, But he isn't devoted to soap and the tub; Though it may be my prejudice, yet I'll be shot, If I don't think one Englishman's worth all the lot!

With Germans I've no disposition to quarrel, Though most of their women resemble a barrel; And, as for myself, I could never make out The charms of their _schnitzel_ and raw _sauer-kraut_; While everyone owns, since the last mighty war, Your average Teuton's too b.u.mptious by far.

I think it's been stated before, that you roam To prove to yourself that there's no place like home, Though lands that are lovely lie eastward and west, Our "tight little island," believe me, 's the best; Through Paris, Berlin, and Vienna you've pa.s.sed, To find that there's nothing like London at last!

[Ill.u.s.tration: _New a.s.sistant (after hair-cutting, to Jones, who has been away for a couple of weeks)._ "Your 'air is very thin be'ind, sir.

Try singeing!"

_Jones (after a pause)._ "Yes, I think I will."

_N. A. (after singeing)._ "Shampoo, sir? Good for the 'air, sir."

_Jones._ "Thank you. Yes."

_N. A._ "Your moustaches curled?"

_Jones._ "Please."

_N. A._ "May I give you a friction?"

_Jones._ "Thank you."

_N. A._ "Will you try some of our----"

_Manager (who has just sighted his man, in stage whisper)._ "You idiot!

_He's_ a subscriber!!"]

MRS. R. was in an omnibus lately. The streets were so badly paved, she says, that the osculations were most trying to elderly people, though the younger ladies did not seem to object to them.

MORE COMMERCIAL CANDOUR.--"Suits from 35s. to order. Beware of firms that copy us."

SIGNS OF A SEVERE WINTER IN LONDON.--Early departure of swallows from Swallow Street.

Poet's Corner covered with rime.

Wild ducks on the Stock Exchange.

Coals raised.

CYNIC'S MOTTO FOR KELLY'S DIRECTORY (_by the kind permission of the Author of "Dead Men whom I have known."_)--Living men whom I don't want to know.

MONEY MARKET--Shares, in Ascension Island Company, going up.

CITY INTELLIGENCE.--Should the proposed asylum for decayed bill brokers, jobbers, and others on 'Change be ultimately built, it will probably be at Stock-holm.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CONVENIENT.--_Lodger (who has been dining)._ "D' you have any 'bjecks'n t' my 'shcaping up into my rooms shec'nd floor? F'got my la'ch-key!!"]

ADVICE TO SMOKERS.--Cut Cavendish.

FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE.--A new club, composed entirely of aristocratic literary ladies, is in course of formation; it is to be called "The Blue Lights."

NURSERY RHYME FOR THE TIME

Bye baby bunting, Daddy's gone a hunting On the Stock Exchange, to catch Some one who is not his match; If he has luck, As well as pluck, A coach he'll very likely win To ride his baby bunting in.