POISON IN THE BOWL.--_Hot weather._--Advice by our own Cockney. Don't put ice in your champagne. It's pison. How do I know this? Because it comes from Venom Lake. * * * * * SEASONABLE.--_'Arry's friend._ What's the proper dinner for Ash Wednesday? _'Arry._ Why, 'ash mutton, o' course. * * * * * [Illustration: SELF-RESPECT. _The Missus._ "Oh, Jem, you said you'd give me your photergrarf. Now, let's go in, and get it done." _Jem._ "Oh, I dessay! an' 'ave my 'Carte de Wisete' stuck up in the winder along o' all these 'ere bally-gals an' 'igh-church parsons! No, Sairey!"] * * * * * [Illustration: THE TRIALS OF OUR ARTISTIC FRIEND, LEONARDO DA TOMPKINS (_Who lives in an unappreciative Suburb_) _'Arriet (nudging her lidy friend, and in an ostentatious stage-whisper)._ "'Amlet!"] * * * * * [Illustration: _Tenor (singing)._ "Oh, 'appy, 'appy, 'appy be thy dreams----" _Professor._ "Stop, stop! Why don't you sound the H?" _Tenor._ "It don't go no 'igher than G!"] * * * * * [Illustration: _First Newspaper Boy._ "Hullo, Bill! Who's 'e?" _Second Newspaper Boy._ "I suppose 'e's the North Pole as 'as just been discovered!"] * * * * * [Illustration: _Gorgeous-looking Individual._ "Most 'strordinary weather, ain't it? First it's 'ot, then it's cold. Blow me, if one knows 'ow to dress!"] * * * * * [Illustration: "I say, Bill, wot 's a Prodigal?" "Why, a Prodigal's a sort o' cove as keeps on coming back!"] * * * * * [Illustration: NOT WHAT SHE EXPECTED SCENE--_Canal side, Sunday morning_ _Lady._ "Do you know where little boys go to who bathe on Sunday?" _First Arab._ "Yus. It's farder up the canal side. But you can't go. Girls ain't allowed!"] * * * * * 'ARRY ON 'APPINESS DEAR CHARLIE, A 'Appy New Year to yer! That's the straight tip for to-day, So I'm bound to be in it, old chip, though things don't _look_ remarkable gay. I inclose you a card--a correct one, I 'ope, though it strikes one as queer That such picters is thought _apprypo_ this perticular time of the year. You'll observe there's a hangel in muslin a twisting 'erself all awry, With some plums, happle-blossoms, and marigolds, backed by a dab o' blue sky. Dekkyrative it's called, so the mivvy informed me who nobbled my tanner; _I_ call it a little bit mixed, like the art on a Odd-Fellow's banner. But, bless you, it's all of a piece, Charlie--life is so muddled with rot That it takes rayther more than a judge or a jury to tell yer wot's wot. Whether knifing a boy 'cos one's peckish means murder if lyings are libels, Seem questions as bothers the big wigs, in spite of their blue books and Bibles.