OCTOBER. Now October! Back again to collar, Funds run low, reduced to last 'arf-dollar. Snip on rampage, boots a getting thin, 'Ave to try the turf to raise some tin. Evenings getting gloomy; high old games; Music 'alls! Look up the taking names. Proper swells them pros.! If I'd my choice, There's my mark. Just wish I'd got a voice; Cut the old den to-morrow, lots of cham., Cabs and diamonds,--ain't that real jam? Got the straight tip for the Siezerwitch, If I _honly_ land it, I'll be rich. Guess next mornin' wouldn't find me sober-- Allays get the blues about October. NOVEMBER. Dull November! Didn't land that lot. Fear my father's son is going to pot. Fan jest passed me, turned away 'er eyes, Guess she ranked me with the _other_ guys, Nobby larks upon the ninth, my joker; But it queers a chap to want the ochre. Nothing like a crowd for regular sprees, Ain't it fine to do a rush, and squeeze? Twig the women fainting! Oh, it's proper! Bonnet buffers when the blooming copper Can't get near yer nohow. Then the fogs! Rare old time for regular jolly dogs. If a chap's a genuine 'ot member, He _can_ keep the game up in November! DECEMBER. Dun December! Dismal, dingy, dirty. Still short commons--makes a chap feel shirty. Snip rampageous, drops a regular summons. Fan gets married; ah! them gurls is rum 'uns! After all the coin I squandered on 'er! Want it now. A 'eap too bad, 'pon honour, Snow! Ah, that's yer sort, though, and no error. Treat to twig the women scud in terror. Hot 'un in the eye for that old feller; Cold 'un down 'is neck, bust his umbreller. Ha! ha! Then Christmas,--'ave a jolly feast! The boss will drop a tip,--hope so, at least. If I don't land some tin, my look-out's queer. Well, let's drink, boys--"Better luck next year!" * * * * * [Illustration: STUDIES IN ANIMAL LIFE. The chick-a-leary cochin.] * * * * * [Illustration: _Swell (who won't be done)._ "H 'yars my kyard if you'd--ah--like to summon me." _Cabby (who has pulled up and heard the dispute)._ "Don't you take it, Bill. It's his ticket o' leave!"] * * * * * [Illustration: A LABOUR OF LOVE! _Benevolent Lady (who has with infinite trouble organised a country excursion for some over-worked London dressmakers)._ "Then mind you're at the station at nine to-morrow, Eliza. I do hope it won't rain!" "_Rine_, miss! I 'owp not, to be sure! The country's bad enough when it's _foine_, yn't it, miss?"] * * * * * [Illustration: ON EPSOM DOWNS "Get onto 'is neck, like me, Halfred, an' they'll take us for jockeys!"] * * * * *