OUR SUNDAY――(DOWN EAST). [N.B.――_Permission to include these lines in the Programme of any Sabbatarian Penny Reading may be obtained from Mr. Punch._] Which is the day that _should_ be blest, And to the weary, work-opprest, Bring wholesome pleasure, peace and rest? Our Sunday. Yet which the day of all the seven To our sour lives adds sourer leaven And leaves poor folk most far from heaven? Our Sunday. When gutter-brats of tender years, What filled our childish souls with fears Of father’s curses, mothers tears? Our Sunday. What makes the sound of prayer and praise, Heard ’mid our foul and filthy ways, Like echoes of an empty phrase? Our Sunday. What day down East,――where day’s half night, While West-End wealth enjoys the light―― Most feeds the public’s frowze and fight? Our Sunday. What, when the week’s toil stills its din, Proclaims each simple pleasure sin, And, preaching grace, provideth gin? Our Sunday. What, when we strive up from our sink, Our souls with nobler things to link, Bars all,――but one bar labelled _drink_? Our Sunday. And, when of this world we are clear, What is it, in another sphere, Won’t be flung at us, as ’twas here? Our Sunday. _Punch._ June 12, 1880. ――――:o:―――― THE EGYPTIAN BABY. (_As sung by the Khedive, Tewfik._) Who made affairs grow pretty hot About this Oriental spot? Who were a rather shady lot? My Pashas! Who put me in a dreadful fright, And wished to have me killed outright? Who vowed they were resolved to fight? My Army! Who with a fleet of iron came And stopped their naughty little game, And rescued this child from the same? My Beauchamp! Who first said nay, and next said yea, Asserting he would use his sway, Then waited for another day? My Abdul! Who led the British troops he’d brought, And with the rebels bravely fought Till Arabi was smashed and caught? My Garnet! Who now will raise me where I fell And kiss the place to make it well, And keep me happy ’neath his spell? My William! 1882. ――――:o:―――― WHAT THE SEASONS BRING. When comes the Southern summer breeze, That softly blows from tropic seas, Who lives in impecunious ease! The bummer.