drat him!
I'd comb his scant wool, the old fox, could I only get at him.
_I_'d pamphlet the wily old word-spinner.

_Mr. Bill_. Ah! I've no doubt;
But wot can we do when his flunkey assures us he's out?

_Miss Sarah. We_'re out, anyhow.

_Mr. Bill_. Ah! you see you ain't never got _in_.
But me, his old pardner and pal! It's a shame, and a sin!
He's throwed lots of cold water of late. I am blowed if I likes
His wobbleyfied views about Payment of Members, and Strikes.
And then that HOOD bizness! Long rigmarole--cheered by the Tories!
I fear it's all Ikybod now with our G.O.M.'s glories.

_Miss Suffrage_. I never _quite_ liked him--at heart. Mrs. FAWCETT,
_she_ warned me.

_Mr. Bill_. Well, now, I _did_ love him! You see, he so buttered and
yarned me;
And now--he won't see me! O WILLYUM, I carn't understand it.

_Miss Suffrage_. I've asked him politely this time. P'raps next time
I'll _demand_ it.
Unsex me? Aha! I am willing to wager Stonehenge
To a pebble, when canvassing's wanted, I'll have my revenge!

_Mr. Bill_. And though he seems cocksure the Gen'l Election he'll win,
Maybe if he's _out_ to me always, _he_ may not get _in_! [_Exeunt._

_Grand Old Voice_ (_within_). Look nasty! Now have I done wisely this
time--on reflection?
One must be so careful--"in view of the General Election!"

* * * * *

RECOLLECTIONS OF (COCKNEY) "ARABIAN" DAYS AND NIGHTS.

[Mr. MONTAGU WILLIAMS, Q.C., is about to publish, in the
pages of _Household Words_, a series of descriptive articles,
embodying his more than Wellerishly "extensive and peculiar"
knowledge of London, and entitled "Round London, Down East, Up
West."]

When the breeze of romance in my youth blew free,
"A Welcome Guest" I was wont to see.
It was a right good time with me,
A joyful, book-devouring time.
Far about London I was borne,
From night to night, from morn to morn;
From Street to Park, from Tower to Dock.
I was conveyed "Twice Round the Clock."
True Sala-ite was I and sworn,
For it was in the golden prime
Of graphic GEORGE AUGUSTUS:
And now I find me revelling through
A magazine of saffron hue,
Called "_Sala's Journal_," and I swim
Once more in London's rushing tide,
Piloted as of old by him
Through "London Up to Date." With pride,