, free gratis, and the most
likely victim to _drop upon_ for any further nourishment they may
require. Their acquirements in the musical world are rendered clear, by
the important information that "Harry Phillips knows what he's
about"--"Weber was up to a thing or two." A _baritone_ ain't the sort
of thing for tenor music: and when _they_ sung with some man (nobody
ever heard of), they showed him the difference, and wouldn't mind--"A
cigar?" "Thank you, sir!--seldom smoke--put it in my
pocket--(_aside_) that makes a dozen! Your good health, sir!--don't
dislike cold, though I generally take it warm--didn't mean that as a hint,
but, since you _have ordered it_, I'll give you a toast--Here's--THE
PROFESSIONAL SINGER!"

FUSBOS.

* * * * *

AN AN-TEA ANACREONTIC.

[Greek: EIS TO LEIN PINEIN.]

Bards of old have sung the vine
Such a theme shall ne'er be mine;
Weaker strains to me belong,
Paeans sung to thee, Souchong!
What though I may never sip
Rubies from my tea-cup's lip;
Do not milky pearls combine
In this steaming cup of mine?
What though round my youthful brow
I ne'er twine the myrtle's bough?
For such wreaths my soul ne'er grieves.
Whilst I own my Twankay's leaves.
Though for me no altar burns,
Kettles boil and bubble--urns
In each fane, where I adore--
What should mortal ask for more!
I for Pidding, Bacchus fly,
Howqua shall my cup supply;
I'll ne'er ask for amphorae,
Whilst my tea-pot yields me tea.
Then, perchance, above my grave,
Blooming Hyson sprigs may wave;
And some stately sugar-cane,
There may spring to life again:
Bright-eyed maidens then may meet,
To quaff the herb and suck the sweet.

* * * * *

A CONVERSATION BETWEEN TWO HACKNEY-COACH HORSES.

KINDLY COMMUNICATED BY OUR DOG "TOBY."

DEAR SIR,--I was a-sitting the other evening at the door of my kennel,
thinking of the dog-days and smoking my pipe (blessings on you, master,
for teaching me that art!), when one of your prospectuses was put into my
paw by a spaniel that lives as pet-dog in a nobleman's family. Lawk, sir!
what misfortunes can have befallen you, that you are obleeged to turn
author?

I remember the poor devil as used to supply us with _dialect_--what a
face he had! It was like a mouth-organ turned edgeways; and he looked as
hollow as the big drum, but warn't half so round and noisy. You can't have
d