_Hostess of the Village Inn._ "_ILE_, SIR? WE'VE NANE IN THE HOOSE, BUT CASTOR ILE OR PARAFFINE. WAD ONY O' THEM DAE, SIR?"] * * * * * "HOUSE OF REST FOR ACTORS." Beneath the spreading BEERBOHM TREE The Resting Actor stands, And grateful takes the _£ s. d._ From Active Actors' hands. No more he'll strut upon the stage Where he has done his best, Nothing he'll need, while active men Are doing _all the rest_. * * * * * Classical and Cockney. _Hal._ It was a Greek play at Bradford College. _'Arry_ (_to Tom_). I told you it was a Greek fake. _Tom_ (_to 'Arry_). How do _you_ know? _'Arry_ (_giving Hal as his authority_). 'Cos it's' _Al-sez-'tis_. * * * * * The New Women. They dress.... like men. They talk..... like men. They live..... like men. They don't.... like men. * * * * * INTELLIGENCE FROM (AND AT) HAMBURG.--"Mr. G." was unable to go to the Zoo at feeding-time. He was conspicuous by his absence, as all the other lions were there. * * * * * NEW AND APPROPRIATE NAME FOR THE AFTER-DINNER CRUMB-AND-FRAGMENT BASKET.--"The Morsel-eum." * * * * * 'ARRY ON THE SEASON. Dear CHARLIE,--The pypers all tell us the Season is now at its 'ight; Don't mean one o' THOMSON'S, my pippin. _That_ josser is now out of dyte. When I was a bit of a kiddie, dad 'ad a old brown-covered book Into wich now and then, on a Sunday, 'e thought it the right thing to look. _Such_ sloppy saloop, my dear CHARLIE, "embellished" with rummy old cuts, Drawn stiff and old-fashioned, by STOTHARD. On one on 'em though, I was nuts, Musi---- somethink or other I fancy. But as to the cackle, Great Scott!-- "The sun rolling bounteous from Aries," and reams o' such molly slop rot. Now if JEMMY 'ad sung of _our_ Season, not Nature's old merry-go-round, But London's pertikler, for swells, it 'ud suit me right down to the ground. But as JEMMY has shirked it for tosh on "ethereal mildness," and such, Wy 'ARRY must 'ave a cut in, and all London is fly to _his_ touch. Wot a Summer we're 'aving this Season! All Nature seems trim and in tune; Ripe strorberries picked out o' doors, though we've 'ardly yet dropped into June; The parks jest like bloomin' peraries, the water supply going queer, And a general 'urrying up for stror 'ats, lemon squoshes, and beer. It seems only yesterday, CHARLIE, the standpipes wos up in our street, And "Are _you_ froze off?" wos _the_ question of every poor pal you might meet. And now there's a new "water famine" along o' the 'eat, not the cold, And ginger-pop's sellin' as fast as it can be unbottled and sold.