A Heathen—­of course!—­
    (Whilst the CZAR is a Saint)
  But a sign of remorse
    At the Christian’s complaint
  May be seen in the edict he’s issued,
    Which might make a great Autocrat faint.

  A Christian, ’tis true,
    To a Heathen Chinee
  Is as bad as a Jew
    Must undoubtedly be
  To an orthodox Christian of Russdom,
    Too “pious” for mere Char-i-tee.

  So one Emperor stones
    His poor Israelites,
  Whilst the other one owns
    Even Christians have “rights,”
  And, although they’re (of course) “foreign devils,”
    Their peace with good-will he requites.

  Which is why, I maintain
    (And my language is free)
  That the CZAR, though he’s vain
    Of his Or-tho-dox-y,
  Might learn from his Emperor cousin,
    Though he’s only a Heathen Chinee!

* * * * *

NEWS OF “OUR HENRY” (communicated by Mr. J.L.  T-LE).—­To our interviewer the eminent actor replied, “Yes, suffering from bad sore throat, but may talk, as it’s hoarse exercise which has been recommended.  A stirrup-cup at parting?  By all means.  My cob is an excellent trotter, so I pledge you, with a bumper well-in-hand.  Good-day!” And so saying, he gaily waved his plumed hat, and rode away.

* * * * *

“RATHER A LARGE ORDER.”—­“The Order of the Elephant” conferred on President CARNOT by the King of Denmark.  This should include an Order for the Grand Trunk, in which to carry it about.  The proper person to receive this Order is evidently the Grand Duke of Tusk-any.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  CONFIDENCES OF A MATURE SIREN.

“I ADMIT I’M NOT AS HANDSOME AS I USED TO BE; BUT I’M TWICE AS DANGEROUS!”]

* * * * *

THE UNHYGIENIC HOUSEHOLDER.

AFTER READING THE REPORTS OF THE CONGRESS.

[Illustration]

  Tell me not in many a column,
    I must pull up all my drains;
  Or with faces long and solemn,
    Threaten me with aches and pains. 
  Let me end this wintry summer,
    ’Mid the rain as best I may,
  Without calling in the plumber,
    For he always comes to stay.

  I appreciate the Prince’s
   Shrewd remarks about our lot;
  But the horror he evinces
   At our dangers, frights me not. 
  Science in expostulation,
   Shows our rules of health are wrong;
  But in days when sanitation
   Was unknown, men lived as long.

  If the air with microbes thickens,
    Like some mirk malefic mist,
  Tell me prithee how the dickens
    We can manage to exist. 
  From the poison breathed each minute,
    Man ere this had surely died;
  When we see the fell things in it,
    On the microscopic slide.

  I’m aware we’re oft caught napping,
    And the scientist can say,
  That our yawning drains want trapping,
    Lest the deadly typhoid stay. 
  Even with your house in order,
    If you go to take the air,
  So to speak, outside your border,
    Lo! the merry germs are there.