_Both._ And that's what they mean when they say, or they sing, "He's as green as a man who buys flowers in the Spring," Tra la la la la la, &c. _Mater._ The flowers that bloom in the Spring, Tra la! Are a sell, my dear hub, in _our_ case. I bought _this_ with a "suit"--there's the sting, Pa-pa! Which _he_ said was "a worn-hout hold thing," (O-la!) Just fancy his having the face! Now 'tis shrunken, and shrivelled, and that's why I sing, Oh, bother the flowers that bloom in the Spring! Tra la la la la la, &c. _Both_ (_to Servant_). So tell the next rascal who ventures to ring, _We_'ll buy no more flowers that bloom in the Spring! [_Dance, and exeunt, determined never again to be diddled by the howling "A-a-blowing and a-growing!" impostors, who, at this season, hawk heat-forced or illrooted pot-plants about the streets of the suburbs._ * * * * * HOW IT WOULD LOOK IN ENGLISH. (_An adaptation from the French._) _Anyone._ Let us accuse the Ministry of misappropriating twopence-halfpenny. _The Entire Press._ Certainly, why not? _The Opposition._ The Ministry are thieves. _The Government._ After this insult we resign _en masse_. _One of the Public._ It is said that Mr. BRIEFLESS JUNIOR has accused the First Lord of having stolen the Horse-Guards clock. _First Lord._ Please, LORD CHIEF JUSTICE, request Mr. BRIEFLESS JUNIOR to keep a civil tongue in his head. _L. C. J._ The Attorney-General is the proper person to offer a remonstrance. _Sir Charles._ Can't undertake rows since I have restricted my private practice. _Ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer._ I accuse the LORD CHANCELLOR. _Lord Chancellor._ Why, and of what? _Those Concerned._ Never mind that. What does it matter _who's_ accused, so long as everybody forgets _us_. _Someone._ And now everything's completely mixed, does anyone know what the row's about? _Everybody Else_ (_after a short silence_). Don't know, and don't care! * * * * * "PUTTING OFF." _Old Aquatic Hand, loquitur:--_ LOOK here, bonny boys! As we're launching our ship, And stringing our energies up for the tussle, Allow your old Stroke to suggest the straight tip! This is not a mere matter of Milo-like muscle. You are all looking fit, we've the pull in the weights-- Not _much_, to be sure, forty pounds, say, or thereabout. Still, that much should tell 'gainst the smartest of eights; It should give us the race, which is all that we care about.