I '_ave_ saved lives by a hopportune hurry-up; so I imagine 'ave most of my mates. 'Ansoms are everywhere, like London sparrers, and five minutes' start sometimes dodges the fates. Gratitude don't grow on every gooseberry bush, and to 'ave just saved a life _or_ a leg _Mayn't_ mean a fiver, or even a fare, but wot flaviour it gives your next corfee and hegg! I 'ave one "regular," crippled but rich, as I saved--so _'e_ says--from a fur worser fate. Only a fluke, as I tell 'im each Christmas, but somehow 'e won't wipe that job off the slate. Many a nice little extry it lands me; and as for 'is daughter, a brown-eyed young dove, Well, she is a fare as I'd not lose for somethink, _though_ bob-less; I'd much sooner drive 'er for love! [Illustration: "She is a fare as I'd not loose for somethink."] * * * * * At the Aquarium the highly trained and well-educated horse, _Alpha_, finishes a wonderful performance by being dressed up as a nurse, and wheeling a pony, _Little Beta_, about in a perambulator. Clever _Alpha_ shouldn't be allowed to end by making such a donkey of himself. One of these days he'll be beaten by little _Beta_. * * * * * Mrs. R.'s nephew writes from Harrow that his aunt on returning from Homburg, observed cheerfully, "My dear, I feel as jolly as a sandbag." * * * * * [Illustration: SMALL SOCIAL AGONIES. _Hostess._ "IT'S BUT A POOR LUNCH I CAN GIVE YOU! BUT MY COOK HAS GOT INFLUENZA!" _Enfant terrible._ "OH, MUMMY, YOU _ALWAYS_ SAY THAT!"] * * * * * NOW AND THEN. _A Morality (after Morris) in Hyde Park._ "O, give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall!" Sang Captain CHARLES MORRIS. But he was a swell, Filled with cockney, no doubt anti-democrat, spleen, At "an ass on a common, a goose on a green." But what had he said had he lived in our days Of the scenes that Hyde Park in the season displays? Where the "goose on the green" is a Socialist scamp, And the "pig on the dunghill" a somnolent tramp. O sweet _rus in urbe_, our London delight! A Ghetto by day, a Gehenna by night! Who cares for the meaningless trill of a lark, When the shriek of the spouter is heard in Hyde Park? "In London the spirits are cheerful and light," O MORRIS, your lyre is not up-to-date--quite. You knew not how coarse _Boanerges_ can bawl, Saw not on the turf filthy vagrants asprawl. In Liberty's name what strange license is shown To the scoundrels who swear, and the zealots who groan; On turf that is tender, 'midst leaves that are green, The sights are repulsive, the sounds are obscene. Yes, MORRIS, that's what we now make of our Park; And as to the deeds that go on after dark, They would be far too gross for _your_ liberal Muse, And to sing them e'en satirists now must refuse.