For I see you in the pulpit, and I dote upon your word, And I listen to such eloquence as rarely I have heard; But at times there comes a whisper, like the flutter on the wind, Were you always, little curate, such a pattern of your kind? When a schoolboy, young and noisy, did you never tell a fib, Or use a KELLY'S literal "key" (ah, call it not a crib!)? Did you never, at a season when your age was hardly ripe, Encircle with your rosy lips a surreptitious pipe? And when you went to Cambridge was your 'Varsity career As spotless as your surplice, and as uniformly clear From a vestige of a blemish? Oh, you _properest_ of men, Were you never, never proctored--were you _always_ in at ten? * * * * * THE NEW LORD MAYOR ELECT.--A congratulatory chorus to the New Lord Mayor elect, Sir WALTER WILKIN, should be at once written, composed, and rehearsed in order to be sung on November 9, to the accompaniment of the "trained bands." The words may be selected from SHAKSPEARE and MILTON; the solos, consisting of a verse apiece, may "Amaze the Wilkin with their broken staves." While some military poet could be fitly employed to celebrate the glorious deeds of the New Lord Mayor, Sir WALTER WILKIN, Wictorious Wolunteer, telling how "With feats o arms From either end of London the Wilkin burns!" * * * * * Pardonable Error in Orthography. DEAR SIR CRŒSUS,--Mamma begs me to tell you that EMILY is to be married on the 20th at Hanover Square, and hopes she may count on your presents. Yours truly, JEMIMA SMITH. _To_ Sir CRŒSUS DIVES, Bart., _Goldacre, Mintshire_. * * * * * [Illustration: "GOOD DOG!" L-RD S-L-SB-RY. "VERY USEFUL DOG THIS--I MAY WANT HIM AGAIN!" "THE UNSPEAKABLE" (_over the wall--aside_). "OH, LOR!!"] * * * * * [Illustration: _Coster_ (_to acquaintance, who has been away for some months_). "WOT ARE YER BIN DOIN' ALL THIS TIME?" _Bill Robbins_ (_who has been "doing time"_). "OH I'VE BIN WHEELIN' A BIT, OLE MAN--WHEELIN' A BIT!"] * * * * * SCRAPS FROM CHAPS. HAPPY LOTS FOR HAPPY SCOTS.--The _Glasgow Herald_ has been making fun of the Scotch--no, we mean the Scottish--no, we don't, we mean the Scots--Professor. Here is its description of him:-- He, and he alone, can lead a perfectly groomed life. He has an income of between £600 and £2,000 a year. At the outside his work, after he has fairly got settled down to it, means four hours a day for five days a week during six months of the year.... The modern Scotch professor in fact is, or ought to be, that "model man of the world," of whom all of us poor slaves of business and convention stand secretly in awe.