"Harmony Hall," or the "Hullaboo Brothers," as chippers will call us when chaffy or teasy, Was O. K. last night. Missis CHUFFING 'ad given a tittivate-up to our own Free-and-Easy. CHUFFING'S the Bung, and 'is wife is a wonder; a sort of a woman as straight as they make 'em, Yet jolly as June. _They_'re the helpmeets for men; and my tip is whenever you find 'em _you take 'em!_ Bless 'er blue ribbings! She beams like a sunflower in a back yard to a chap lyin' seedy, Women like 'er _is_ the sunshine of life, and make up for the swarms as are grubby and greedy. Touched up our room for Benevolence Night till the sandy-floored back parlour warmed our old noses. Wonderful wot female fingers can do with a green branch or two and a few paper roses. "BARNEY THE BARD" 'ad been "Wooing the Mooses" agen--so 'e put it--and faked up some patter For our "Extry-Speshul," and, set to a tune free and fetchin', it went with a good clitter-clatter. _I_'ad to pipe it this time, and I tell you I'd stood lots o' chipping from chums, and lost fares, too, Whilst mugging the words on my box at odd moments, to be "letter-puffeck" as all our chaps cares to. "You _do_ break down," says B. B., "and I'll bash you!" The smart "little mush," five foot nix in 'is 'igh-lows, Emagines 'isself quite a small pocket-Samson, and swears 'e 'as got knotty muscles, "like MILO'S." "MILO?" sez I; "no, nor yet a arf-MILO!" "Oh, cheese it," sez BUSTER. "Don't show you've _no_ knowledge." BUSTER'S a bit of a scholard, no doubt, and 'e swears--when well on--that 'e once went to College. Anyhow, _'e_'s a good sort, and _can_ patter. 'E gave the poor Growler a look-in this journey, Seein' as how our whip-round was for one, and B. B. is as wide-oh as WICKS, our attorney. Old BUNGO, our chairman, called on me. I rose, and got such a reception, a regular squealer. And soon as the loud sisserary was over, I tipped 'em, _kon bryo_, the BUSTER'S "_Four-wheeler!_" HI! FOUR-WHEELER!! "Hansom up!" may be the cry when the day is fine and dry, But wait till it comes night, and a fair drencher. Then they lead me a rare dance, and don't give me arf a chance, Of a doss, a peck, a pipe, or modest quencher. Then through dark, and frost, and wet, there's another cry, you bet, From the mouth of shiverin' swell, or shoutin' Peeler. Toffy dames drag cloak and skirt round damp hankles from the dirt, As they shrink from the chill wind, and the shower's sputtery squirt, And the cry is then--_Four-wheeler! Hi!! Four-wheeler!!!_