ROBERT.

* * * * *

A TIP-TOP TIPSTER.

    [In some spirited verses that appeared in the Sportsman, on
    the morning of Derby Day, Mr. JOHN TREW-HAY, alone amongst the
    prophets, selected Sir Hugo as the winner.]

  Ye Gods, what a Prophet!  We thought ’twas his fun,
  For the horse that he picked stood at fifty to one,
  And we all felt inclined in our pride to say, “You go
  To Bath and be blowed!” when he plumped for Sir Hugo. 
  But henceforth we shall know, though the bookies may laugh,
  That this HAY means a harvest, and cannot mean chaff. 
  Though it lies on the turf, there’s no sportsman can rue
  That he trusted such HAY when he knew it was TREW!

* * * * *

“RESIGNATION OF AN ALDERMAN.”—­He had had two basins of Turtle.  He asked for yet another.  “All gone, Sir; Turtle off!” was the Waiter’s answer.  The Alderman said not a word; he smiled a sickly smile.  There was no help for it, or “no helping of it,” as he truthfully put it.  He would do his best with the remainder of the menu.  The resignation of the Alderman was indeed a sight to touch the heart even of ROBERT the City Waiter.

* * * * *

BRER FOX AND OLE MAN CROW.

(A FABLE SOMEWHAT IN THE FASHION OF “UNCLE REMUS,” BUT WITH APPLICATIONS NEARER HOME.)

[Illustration]

  Ole Man Crow he wuz settin’ on der rail,
    Brer Fox he up en he sez, sezee,
    “Dis yer’s a sight dat yo’ otter see!”
  En he show him der tip of his (Ulster) tail. 
  “Eve’y gent otter have a lick at dis yer,
  So’s ter know w’at’s w’at; en yer needn’t fear!”
          “Oho!  Oho!”
          Sez Ole Man Crow. 
  “But der Irish butter I’ve a notion dat I know!”

  Brer Fox he boast, and Brer Fox he bounce,
  But Ole Man Crow heft his weight to an ounce. 
  “Wat, tote me round der Orange-grove?”
      Sez Ole Man Crow, sezee;
  “Tooby sho dat’s kyind, but I radder not rove
    Wer der oranges are flyin’ kinder free;
  Wer One-eyed RILEY en Slipshot SAM
  Sorter lam one ernudder ker-blunk, ker-blam! 
  Tree stan’ high, but honey mighty sweet—­
  Watch dem bees wid stingers on der feet! 
  Make a bow ter de Buzzard, en den ter de Crow,
  Takes a limber-toe’d gemman for ter jump Jim Crow!”

  Den Brer Fox snortle en Brer Fox frown. 
  Sezee, “You’re settin dar sorter keerless-like,” sezee. 
    “But yer better come down,
    Der is foes a broozin’ roun’
  W’at will give yer wus den butter in der North Countree. 
  You’ll get mixed wid der Tar-Baby ef inter der North yo’ pitch,
  For der North ain’t gwinter cave in, radder die in der las’ ditch!”