’Tother WILLIAM’S style
    Rather spoiled this pup.
  Steady!  Wait awhile! 
    H-RC-RT’s like a Krupp. 
  I can stroll, and smile—­
    Till the birds get up.

  Half-bred dogs—­well, well,
    Mustn’t talk like that! 
  Else they’ll call me “swell.”
    Down!  What are you at? 
  Scurry and pell-mell
    Do not ‘bell the cat.’

  Sport is not a mere
    Game of “Spill and pelt”
  Patience!  End is near.
    Down!  Brute wants a welt! 
  Modern breed runs queer;
    That I long have felt.

  ’Tother WILLIAM snorts,
    L-BBY only grins;
  But at most all sports
    It is judgment wins. 
  Breed, though, now consorts
    With mongrels—­for its sins!

  Long the sport I’ve loved,
    Mean to try again,
  I should be reproved
    Did I speak too plain: 
  But—­are dogs improved
    By that Irish strain?

  Steady, my lad, steady! 
    Nearly slipped me then! 
  You’re too hot and heady—­
    (Like no end of men!—­)
  Near!—­but not quite ready. 
    Steady! I’ll say when!

* * * * *

VESTRYMEN CLIMBING DOWN.—­Say the unfortunate Nonconformist Vestrymen of St. George’s, Southwark,—­“We won’t pay the Rector’s Rate; but we won’t go to prison, at any rate.”

* * * * *

PRUDES AND NUDES.

    [An “Officer of high rank” has written to Truth, complaining of the
    naked statues and pictures he saw at Londonderry House, at a sale on
    behalf of Irish Home Industries.]

  ATTEND and hear the story of a most uncommon militaire,
    Whom the sight of naked statues caused to tingle to his boots,
  Who was seen to beat his breast, and (which was far more flat and silly)
      tear
    His hair by blushing handfuls from its shocked and modest roots.

  It was dreadful!  There were Duchesses (Heav’n bless their handsome
      faces!)
    And a host of pretty Countesses, and Maidens by the score,
  And they sold some Irish Industries—­embroideries and laces—­
    And MADGE described to AMY all the pretty frocks they wore.

  But the statues and the paintings didn’t seem at all to worry them,
    Having work to do they did it just as quiet as a mouse,
  Though this soldier took his daughter and his wife, and tried to hurry
      them
    In the cause of outraged virtue far from Londonderry House.

  So when next he goes where statues are, we’ll do our best to hide them,
    Since to prudes all things are prudish, lest his modesty take hurt. 
  Though some one else, perhaps, may write, and say he can’t abide them,
    When Apollo stands in trousers, or when Venus wears a skirt.

* * * * *