ascinating play.
Verses by a Lord!
Music by a Knight!
Just the thing in which
Democrats delight.
When the hearty praise
Bursts from Yankee lips,
"Pass and blush the news
Over glowing ships;"
What are "glowing ships"?
That I've never guessed,
"Pass the happy news,
Blush it thro' the West;"
This I simply quote
From the poet's muse;
Hang me if I know
How you "blush the news"!
Anyhow, you do,
If the lines will scan,
"Till the red man dance,"
Do you think he can?
"And the red man's babe
Leap beyond the sea."
Active sort of child,
Surely, that must be!
"Blush from West to East,"
Blush from left to right,
"Till the West is East,"
And the black is white,
DALY is the man!
Daily is the play,
"Dailies" puff it up,
In the kindest way.

* * * * *

MORE APPROPRIATE.--The Senate House, where the Degree Examinations
take place, might well be termed "The Spinning House." It is there
that unfortunate Candidates are "spun."

* * * * *

[Illustration: THINGS ONE WOULD RATHER HAVE LEFT UNSAID.

_Little Jones_. "YOU'LL GIVE ME A DANCE TO-MORROW NIGHT, WON'T YOU,
MRS. FOOTE?"

_Mrs. Foote_ (_who is anxious to show her matronly consideration for
Unmarried Girls_). "WELL, I CAN'T PROMISE, AND IF THE MEN RUN _SHORT_,
YOU KNOW, I SHAN'T DANCE AT ALL!"]

* * * * *

THE TELEPHONE CINDERELLA;

OR, WANTED A GODMOTHER.

["Far from taking up and developing the new mode of
communication thus given into its hands, it (the Post Office)
could not forget its attitude of hostility to the innovation,
or conceive any larger policy than one of repressing the
telephone in order to make people stick to the telegraph....
The result is that England lags far behind all other civilised
countries in the use of the telephone."--_Times_.]

AIR--"_Ulalume_."

_Cinderella_, you sit and look sober,
_Cinderella_, you mope and look queer--
You mope, and look dolefully queer;
As chill as JOHN MILLAIS' "_October_,"
As you have done, this many a year.
It is hard on you; MOZART or AUBER
Might fail your depression to cheer--
Had you taken the draught named of Glauber,
You could scarce look duller, my dear

II.

Our times, dear, are truly Titanic,
Perfection seems Science's goal--
Dim, dis