* * * * *

[Illustration:  “AWEARY!  AWEARY!”

Miss Certainage (who has been studying Schopenhauer, and has come to the conclusion that there is nothing but sorrow in life, sadly).  “AH, MAJOR, I’M SURE I SHALL DIE YOUNG!”

Ethel. “OH NO, AUNT DEAR, I’M CERTAIN YOU WON’T!”]

* * * * *

THE GENERAL’S LITTLE FUND.

(SEE “TIMES,” MAY 11.)

[Illustration]

  Oh where, oh where is my little wee fund? 
    Oh where, oh where can it be? 
  With the pence cut short and the pounds cut long;
    Oh where, oh where can it be? 
  I’ve travelled about with my little wee fund—­
    It used to pay for me;
  But now it’s gone I’m lorn and lone;
    Oh where, oh where can it be?

  I want to stump through Switzerland;
    On the 24th proximo. 
  To Germany, Sweden, Norway, and
    To Denmark I want to go;
  I’ve held out my hat to every flat,
    And begged over land and sea,
  Humanity dunned, but I have no fund—­
  Oh where, oh where can it be?

  If ever you see a stray bawbee
    Whenever, wherever you roam,
  Oh, tell him the woe that troubles me so,
    And say that it keeps me at home. 
  I may mention that what you do, like a shot
    Must be done to be useful to me;
  At once send a cheque to save us from wreck,
    Or the Army will go to the D!

* * * * *

MR. PUNCH

TO

THE ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS.

ON THE HAPPY OCCASION OF THE JUBILEE OF THAT EXCELLENT JOURNAL, MAY 14, 1892.

  From Forty-Two to Ninety-Two! 
    A full half-century of story! 
  And now, our Century’s end in view. 
    May’s back once more in vernal glory,
  And with it brings your Jubilee,
    (Punch came to his one year before you!)
  “Many Returns,” Ma’am, may you see,
    And honoured be the hour that bore you!

  Good faith! it scarcely seems so long
    To us old boys, who can remember
  The tale, the picture, and the song
    We pored o’er by the wintry ember;
  And how our young and eager eyes
    Were kept from childhood’s easy slumbers
  By the awakening ecstasies
    Of cheery coloured Christmas Numbers.

  We loved great GILBERT, Glorious JOHN!—­
    Sir JOHN to-day, good knight, fine painter! 
  Our eyes dwelt lingeringly upon
    His work, by which all else showed fainter. 
  His dashing pencil “go” could give
    To simplest scene; a wondrous gift ’tis! 
  How his bold line could make things live
    In those far Forties and old Fifties!