flag,
And a ramping like tiger-cats tipsy around a rediklus red rag.

[Illustration]

There wos patriots playing the clown, there was magistrates playing the
fool;
There wos jugginses teaching the trombone to kids at a bloomin' Board
School.
"This is Free Hedgercation in Shindy," sez I. "They're as mad as March
hares,
All these Limboites, dear Miss DIANNER. We do it _much_ better
downstairs!"

She smiled kinder scoffish, I fancied, and give 'er white shoulders a
hunch.
Says she; "I've no comments to make. It's along of my friend _Mr. Punch_
Whom the whole Solar System obeys, and the Court of Olympus respects,
That I wait on you 'ere, Mister ARRY. Pray what would you like to see
next?"

"Well," sez I, with a glance at her gaiters, "I've heard you're a whale,
Miss, at Sport.
Do you 'know anythink' wuth my notice?" She gave me a look of a sort,
As I can't put in words, not exactly, a sort o' cold _scorch_,
dontcherknow.
That's a bit of a parrydocks p'raps; anyhow, it hurt wus than a blow.

But we went on the fly once agen--can't say 'ow it wos managed, but soon
We 'ad passed to a rum-looking region--the opposite side of the Moon,
Where no mortal afore had set foot, nor yet eyes, Miss DIANNER declared.
"Here's a Region of Sport!" sez the lady. Good Gracechurch Street, mate,
'ow I stared!

Seemed a sort of a blend-like of Hepsom, and Goodwood, and Altcar, mixed
up
With the old Epping 'Unt and new Hurlingham, thoughts of the Waterloo Cup,
Swell Polo and Pigeon-match tumbled about in my mind, while the din
Was like Putney Reach piled on a Prizefight, with Kennington Oval chucked
in.

There wos toffs, fair top new 'uns, mixed hup with the welcher, the froth
with the scum;
There wos duchesses, proud as DIANNER, and she-things as sniffed of the slum;
There was "champions" thick as bluebottles, and plungers as plenty as peas,
With stoney-brokes, pale as a poultice, and "crocks," orful gone at the knees;

I see a whole howling mix-up of "mug" booky, dog-owner and rough,
A-watching of snaky-shaped hounds pelting 'ard 'after bits o' brown fluff,
I see--and the Sportsman within me began for to bubble and burn,
And I yelled, "O my hazure-horbed Mistress, can't you and me 'ave jest
a turn?"

We _did_, and my "Purdey Extractor" made play, though it ain't me to brag,
But somehow her