Then the neighbours joined the cat’s meat men, To have their revenge upon Sally, And they set all their dogs at her, and then Sal slew all the dogs in the alley. The nan inspector came, said he, Whose to blame? The neighbours said, ’twas Sally! But the landlord quite calm, said hold out your palm, And never mind the alley. Then a fever came hot, and put an end to the plot, And Sal’s neighbours and parents, and Sally, And to complete the fun, when the mischief was done, The School Board took the alley. ―――― THE GAIETY BAR. Of all the days that’s in the week, Your actor loves but one day; And that’s the day that comes betwixt The Friday and the Sunday. For then he’s dressed all in his best, At Spiers and Pond’s he’ll dally; The ghost has walked, and he doth “part” Like a Prince in Prosser’s Alley. ―――― SHILLY-SHALLY. Of all the follies on _our_ part There’s none like Shilly Shally, A weakness that the Liberal cart Upsets continually. There’s not a cry,――Home-Rule, Church, Land,―― To which I will not rally, But there’s one thing I _cannot_ stand, That’s foreign Shilly-Shally. Of policies absurd and weak _The_ worst is Shilly-Shally. If Office we’re about to seek, I fear that principally. Put to the test, I’ll do my best Enthusiastically, And follow Gladstone like the rest, But oh! _don’t_ Shilly-Shally! Let “Pussy”[3] be allowed to purr, As Leader, musically; But _not_ as Foreign Minister, To play at Shilly-Shally! If at the F. O. we may see True nerve and _nous_, O Halle- Lujah! how happy we shall be Saved, saved from Shilly-Shally! _Punch._ February 6, 1886. ――――:o:―――― ALICE GRAY. She’s all my fancy painted her, she’s lovely, she’s divine, But her heart it is another’s, it never can be mine; Yet I have lov’d as man ne’er lov’d, a love without decay, Oh! my heart, my heart is breaking for the love of Alice Gray. * * * * * LORD GREY. “The poor Duke of Wellington has not yet got over his attempt to supplant Lord Grey’s ministry. The remembrance of his discomfiture still haunts him by day and night, and in the evenings, just before sun-set, he may be heard by the stranger passing underneath the windows of Apsley, to sing in pathetic tones, the following plaintive melody:―― It’s all my fancy painted it, It’s lovely, it’s divine; But, alas! it is another’s, It never can be mine.