(_Respectfully submitted for the consideration of Mr. Sims Reeves._)
My pretty Jane, my pretty Jane,
You still, you still are looking shy!
You never met me in the evening
When the bloom was on the rye.
The year is waning fast, my love;
The leaves are in the sere;
The fog-horns now are humming, love;
And the moonshine's "moonshine," dear.
But, pretty Jane, my dearest Jane,
I never will "say die";--
Come, meet me, meet me in our parlour,
Where the bloom is on the fly.
Just name your day, that mother may
Produce her best in china things,
And stop yon man in apron white,
Whose muffin-bell, whose muffin-bell now rings.
The year is waning fast, &c.
* * * * *
"A TRIPLE BILL."--"The Home Rule Bill," said Mr. CHAMBERLAIN to his
American friends, "is not scotched. It is killed." Of course our JOE
knows that were it "scotched" it would be only "half kilt." But the
idea of an Irish Bill being Scotched! Our only JOE might have added
that it was "Welsh'd" in the Lords.
* * * * *
PH[OE]BUS, WHAT A NAME!--Sir COMER PETHERAM, Chief Justice of Bengal,
is coming home. Welcome, Sir HOME-COMER PETHERAM. Or, why not Sir
HOMER PETHERAM for short?
* * * * *