Tom the Golfer's a wonderful man,
For though seventy-five, up to now, is his span,
At hitting a ball or at laying a plan,
He's a clipper is TOM the Golfer!
He can play the game, when not laying new links.
The Golf-world of a brave testimonial thinks,
And _Punch_ inquires, with his choicest of winks,
"Now, Golfing-world, what offer?"
* * * * *
"Cheer, Boys, Cheer!"
(_Ad Druriolanum, equitem gratias agens ad magistrum antiquum Henricum
Russellum_.)
"Cheer, boys, cheer! No more of idle sorrow. Courage, brave hearts,
will bear us on our way!" Tickets I've got for Drury Lane to-morrow.
Cheer, boys, cheer! I am going to see that play!
[Illustration: "What cheer, my hearties!"]
* * * * *
Ladies desirous of "trying their luck" in the matter of marrying a
title, had better turn their attention towards St. Petersburg, where a
French Count has made the novel proposal of starting a lottery--with
himself as the prize. A million tickets are to be issued at one rouble
each. The winner is to receive, in addition to an aristocratic husband,
the sum of 250,000 roubles; the Count himself will pocket a quarter of
a million; and the remaining half of the money is to be divided between
charity and the promoters of the "raffle." In the Parisian parlance of
the boulevards, this enterprising nobleman is decidedly a "roublard."
* * * * *