You will, I
think, agree with me that I am giving the new treatment a fair trial.
Yours truly,
TABITHA NUPKINS.
* * * * *
[Illustration: UNLUCKY COMPLIMENTS.
_Shy but Susceptible Youth_. "ER--_COULD_ YOU TELL ME WHO THAT YOUNG
LADY IS--SKETCHING?"
_Affable Stranger_. "SHE HAS THE MISFORTUNE TO BE MY WIFE!"
_Shy but Susceptible One_ (_desperately anxious to please, and losing
all presence of mind_). "OH--THE MISFORTUNE'S ENTIRELY _YOURS_, I'M
_SURE_!"]
* * * * *
THE BAMSGATE SANDS.
It's hey for the sands, for the jolly Ramsgate Sands,
Where the children shout and tumble, spade and bucket in their
hands.
Where sandy castles rise in scores, I trow a man might float
A fleet of six-inch pleasure-skiffs on many a deep-dug moat.
Where, while the banjos discord make, the German bands make noise,
And nursemaids by the hundred shepherd flocks of girls and boys.
Where the boys tuck up their trousers, and the girls tuck up their
frocks,
A paddling tribe who scorn their shoes and customary socks.
Pages:
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36