* * * * *
[Illustration: SCENE--_A Restaurant near Leicester Square._
_Jones._ "OH--ER--GARSONG, REGARDEZ EECEE--ER--APPORTEZ-VOO
LE--LA----"
_Waiter._ "BEG PARDON, SIR. I DON'T KNOW FRENCH!"
_Jones._ "THEN, FOR GOODNESS' SAKE, SEND ME SOMEBODY WHO _DOES!_"]
* * * * *
'ARRY ON DERBY DAY.
DEAR CHARLIE,--Are _you_ going down? What a pooty blarmed world
this 'as got,
With its CHANTS, and its Anti-Sport Leagues, Local Hoption, and
other dashed rot.
Wot _is_ Libberty comin' to, CHARLIE? 'Ere's 'ARRY leg-lagged to
his stool,
Because his new Gaffer's a Hawkeite, as means a old-fossilised fool.
The young 'un whose crib I succeeded to skinned the old bloke's
petty cash
In backing of wrong 'uns last year, as of course was most reckless
and rash.
But wy should _I_ suffer along of it? Wy must he drop upon _me_
Who wanted the Derby Day off--for cremating my poor uncle G.?
Smelt a rat, the old Smelfungus did, and he lectured me, too, like
old boots,
Saying, Sport wos a Youpass tree, CHARLIE, and lying wos one of
its fruits.
He's a reglar front-row Anti-Gambler, a foe of Mirth, Music, and
Malt,
As would 'ave them lay Tattersall's level, and sow Hepsom
race-course with salt.
I'd arranged with a sporting greengrocer, and BOODLE a smart local
Bung,
To tool down by road with a trotter. Us three would 'ave gone a
rare splung,
And _I_ ain't missed a Derby this five year. And now all along of
old hunks
Instead of sweepstaking for winners, I'm making out bills for
hair-trunks.
It's beastly, dear boy, and no bottles. I landed on _Ladas_ last
year,
And I've got such a cert. for to-day, as I _couldn't_ go wrong
on--no fear!
Oh, laylocks and lemonade, CHARLIE! it do give yours truly the 'ump
To think I must miss such a treat, all along of that precious old
pump.
The whizz o' the wheels makes mad music, old man, in this dingy
old den,
Where only the tick of the clock, and the scrape of my spiky steel
pen,
Measure hout the monotonous 'ours, while friend Bung and young
Greens are agog.
'Midst the clatter and clink of the course, and the yelp of the
old Derby Dog.
I can smell the sweet whiff of their baccy, can taste the cold
chickin' an' 'am,
And see the fine salmon-hued sparkle of Bung's Jerryboam of Cham.
I _know_ Greens will do it to rights; I am _sure_ a safe winner
I'd spot,
And my anti-gambling old Gaffer 'as spiled the whole splurge!
_Ain't_ it rot?
Them plaguey philanterpists, CHARLIE, are turning the world
upsidown!
A cove musn't lap arf-a-pint, and a cove mustn't lay arf-a-crown!
It's Weto all over the shop, CHARLIE! But wot _I_ always remarks,--
Philanterpy seems to shine mostly in Wetoing _other_ folks larks!
Well, I'm off down the road, mate, to Clapham, or wot not, to see
'em return.
My cert. 'asn't come off, I 'ear, so I've dropped arf the screw as
I earn
By my six days of nose-to-the-grinstone of Gaffer. He'd larf if he
knowed.
But if it ain't _his_ bloomin' fault for his sport-'ating 'umbug,
I'm blowed.
_Sport?_ Sport's in the blood of a gentleman! Cocktails ain't fly
to the fun
Of landing a bit off a pal. Lor! a bet, on a 'orse or a gun,
Mykes friendship and life reglar flavoursome! 'Ow could your true
sportsman care
For a drive through green lanes to the Derby without a small
flutter when there?
Too late for the flutter to-night, but the Clapham laburnums are
out;
There are plenty of pubs on that road, to the Wetoist's 'orror, no
doubt.
I am sure to meet lots of old pals, full of fun and good stuff as
they'll carry,
And if we don't 'ave Derby larks, spite o' Gaffers and HAWKES, I
ain't, 'ARRY.
* * * * *
Derby Dampers.
Having no invitation to join a company on a drag. Having no money to
pay for a railway ticket to the course. Having no friends rich enough
or rash enough to advance a trifle on account. Having no notion of
the betting and no knowledge of the horses engaged. Having no time, no
money, and last, but not least, no inclination.
* * * * *
"ALL NODDIN'."--The _Western Daily Mercury_ records that the New Woman
has broken out in a new place--as A Lady Auctioneer. Woman at all
times has known how to go it hammer and tongs. Advanced Femininity
drops the tongs, but sticks to the hammer. Formerly man was often gone
on fair woman--rather expected of him. The lady now prefers to do the
"Going, going, gone," herself. Awful vistas opened up. Will a wink be
as good as a nod to the Lady Auctioneer? Will "dinner eyes" have to
yield to "auction winks"? A for-bidding prospect.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A DOUBTFUL "STAYER."