town is
one in ten thousand, and that we should have had _no death-rate at
all last week_, if the one person referred to had not met with an
unfortunate accident. All the Shutmouth doctors are starving.

Yours, THE MAYOR OF SHUTMOUTH.

P.S.--Ought not something to be done to check the mortality at
Curdsmouth? It is disgraceful!

* * * * *

TO THE RIGHT WHEEL, BARROW!

CAINE'S action shakes the Unionists' dominion;
Against it piteous appeals seem vain;
But 'tis, in his late colleagues' pained opinion,
_Not_ "the nice conduct of a clouded CAINE!"

* * * * *

"THE SEA! THE SEA!"

A BUSINESS-LIKE BALLAD.

(_PENNED BY MR. PUNCH ON BEHALF OF "NOBODY'S BOYS."_)

"We propose soon to take our rescued Street-Arabs for
'A Fortnight's Holiday under Canvas'--_by the sea, if
possible."--Appeal of Mr. J.W.C. Fegan, of the Boys'
Home, Southwark_.

[Illustration]

_Thalatta! Thalatta_! Not XENOPHON'S Greeks, O benevolent Public, but
"Nobody's Boys,"
Wild Arabs of London, by tenderness tamed, at the sight of the sea vent
exuberant joys
In vociferous shoutings! Imagine the rapture of wrecks from the gutter
and waifs from the slum,
When first on their ears falls the jubilant thrill of the sky-soaring
lark, or the wild bee's low hum!
Imagine the pleasure of plunging at will into June's leafy copses of
hazel and lime,
Of scudding through acres of grasses knee-high, and of snuffing the
fragrance of clover and thyme.
But what is all this to the dumb-stricken wonder, swift followed by
outbursts of full-throated glee,
Which fancy can picture, when London's pale outcasts from some grassy
cliff catch first sight of the Sea!
_Thalatta! Thalatta_! There's many a lad who has never before had a
glimpse of the wave;
For these are of those who, from London's dark wastes 'tis the aim of
their leaders to rescue and save.
"Nobody's Boys," the lost waifs of the city, foredoomed, but for aid,
to debasement and crime,
Possible gallows-birds,--they with wan faces late cleansed from the
rookery's hideous grime,
Snatched from the gutter whilst boyhood bears hope with it, gathered and
tended with vigilant care.
Servants of soul-thrift their volunteer champions! Weeds of the slum,
with fresh soil and sweet air,
Grow into grace and fair fruitage. These pariahs, "Sout