PICKED UP OUTSIDE THE LYCEUM. You must wake and call me early――call me early mother dear, Our Irving, as you’ll recollect, does now once more appear, And so I’m bound, ere yet ’tis dawn, my humble couch to quit, For I have to book for the pit, mother――I have to book for the pit. _Funny Folks._ LYCEUM――Special Notice――With a desire to increase the comfort of the people, all seats in the pit and gallery of this theatre may, during Mr. Irving’s management, in the future be booked, and the pit and gallery will be reseated for this purpose by Mr. J. C. Phipps.――_Advertisement in the Daily Papers_, April, 1885. [This arrangement did not meet with general approval, and was soon abandoned.] [Illustration] WAGES. Hundreds of sovereigns, hundreds of sterling, hundreds of cash, Paid with a cheerfulness, eager to gain a poem from me; Hundreds of sterling to write, to utter, to make a dash―― Nay, but the Editor aim’d not at poetry, no lover of poetry he: Give me the pleasure of going on for the £ s. d.! The wages of rant is great: if the wages of merit be just Would the publishers scramble who should be first to bargain with me? I desire them not to come hither, unless it be with the “dust,” To make me a golden grove, or to add to my stock of gree; Give me the pleasure of going on for the £ s. d.! _Judy_, February 19, 1868. ――――:o:―――― GIVE ME NO MORE, (_With apologies to_ LORD TENNYSON.) Give me no more: a man might drink the sea―― If it were drinkable, and yours to give―― Might drink while Heaven allowed him grace to live And not exhaust your hospitality; Give me no more. Give me no more: I’m nearly tight already, Behold my flaming cheek and bloodshot eye; Yes, O my friend, ’tis time to say good bye, My tongue feels thick, my knees are far from steady Give me no more. Give me no more: ofttimes I might be glad To drink with you all night, and glass for glass, But not just now――my honest word I pass―― _Your liquor is so execrably bad_, _Give me no more!_ ――――:o:―――― THE ONION-EATERS. “Courage!” she said, and pointed with one hand (A hand that held a heavy metal spoon), “Ere dies the day ye all will understand The solemn myst’ry of this afternoon, The luscious dish will ready be full soon!” Above the cauldron rose a fragrant steam, Through which her face gleam’d like a misty moon: The boiling broth, with energy extreme, Within the pot to bubble up did seem.