When London’s wrapped in filthy fogs, When seized are my unmuzzled dogs, When full and fierce the east winds blow, I wish myself in Jericho! When all night long the howling cad Disturbs my sleep and drives me mad, And milk-carts rattle to and fro, I wish myself in Jericho. When snow and slush block up the street, And “slides” send skyward both my feet, And bang upon my back I go, I wish myself in Jericho. When County Council cranks disgust, When schemes that drew my coin go bust, When bigots harass every show, I wish myself in Jericho. When frost gives way to sudden thaw, And all my pipes have got a flaw, And through my house the waters flow, I wish myself in Jericho. When for next Sunday’s _Referee_ I have to do my M. and C. While in dyspepsia’s direst throe, I wish myself in Jericho. The Song of Heredity. My father was a madman, do you wonder I’m insane? My mother wasn’t pretty, do you wonder I am plain? My father was consumptive, and my hollow cheeks you see; Can you wonder I’m a drunkard when my mother had d.t.? Science speaks out pretty plainly on “hereditary taint,” And the sinner breeds a sinner, as the saint begets a saint; Then why call me Ananias, and reproach me, since, forsooth, My papa was such a liar that I _cannot_ tell the truth? When his ancestors for ages by their own mad acts have died, Do you wonder that a fellow has a taste for suicide? When a nose for generations is the feature of a race, And you know a fellow’s surname just by glancing at his face,-- When this modern law of nature throughout all creation runs, And it’s odds on roaring racers having only roaring sons, Do you think that Ananias you should dub a luckless youth Whose papa was such a liar that he _cannot_ tell the truth? Scotch’d, not Kilt. (THE KAISER’S SONG.) AIR.--“_I winna gang back to my mammy again._” I winna gang back to auld Bizzy again, I’ll never gang back to auld Bizzy again; I’ve held by his coat-tails this aught months and ten, But I’ll never gang back to auld Bizzy again. I’ve held by his coat-tails, etc. Caprivi came down i’ the gloaming to woo, He lookit sae bonnie and honest and true; “Oh, com’ awa’, Willie, ne’er let Bizzy ken;” And I made young Caprivi the best o’ my men, Oh, com’ awa’, Willie, etc. He told me whatever I would I might do, And pressed hame his words wi’ a smile on his mou’, So I fell on his bosom, and said, “Ye maun reign, For aiblins ye’ll leave me a will o’ my ain.” So I fell on his bosom, etc.