Any hungry "Unemployed." Cakes--and, if you like it, Ale-- Oh, Gorilla, will not fail; GUNTER'S you may sack at will, Or, if you prefer to fill Otherwise your dainty maw Than with sweeties and stick-jaw, Like the indiscriminate bear, You may choose your Bill of Fare. Toys? Ah, bring them, baby, quick; Will a monkey on a stick Touch a sympathetic chord? Well, let's hope you won't be bored, Baby Ape, by BARTLETT'S love, And the crowds who'll stare and shove; Long for Afric wild but free, And a station "up a tree," Watching, with prehensile thumb, For--whatever food may come. * * * * * [Illustration: "HERE'S ANOTHER GUY!" OR, THE BABY GORILLA AT THE ZOO. _Nurse Bartlett._ "HE SHALL HAVE A FIFTEEN-SHILLING PINE, HE SHALL! AND FINEST ENGLISH HOT-HOUSE GRAPES, HE SHALL! AND GOLD-DUST TOO, IF HE CRIES FOR IT, THE LITTLE DARLING!"] * * * * * VOCES POPULI. SCENE--_The People's Palace; In Building set apart for Poultry, Pigeon, and Rabbit Show. Stream of Visitors inspecting animals in zinc and wire pens._ _Amandus Milendius (to Amanda Milendia: coming to a halt before cage containing "roopy"-looking fowl, with appearance of having been sent out on pair of legs several sizes too tall for it)._ They've 'ighly commended _'im_, yer see. _Amanda M. (who does not converse with facility)._ Um! [_Looks at bird without seeing it._ _Amandus._ Yes, they must ha' thought 'ighly of 'im before they'd commend him like that, yer know! _Amanda (wishing she was readier of response)._ Ah! (_The fowl winks slowly at her with his lower eyelid_). Come away--I don't like him! [_They move on._ _The Exhibitor (coming up and inspecting his bird with pride)._ 'Ere--JOE! (_Fowl shuts both eyes with a bored expression_). B'longs to _me_--that bird, Sir! (_To Bystander._) _Visitor (from the West; anxious to be agreeable)._ Ha, a fine bird--magnificent! _Exhibitor._ Bred 'im myself, Sir--he's a bit sleepy just now. (_Apologetically_). Wake up, ole chap! (_Fowl half opens one eye, and closes it immediately on perceiving proprietor._) _Knows_ me, yer see! _Visitor (with fatal rashness)._ A--a Brahma, isn't he? [_Wonders what made him say that, and tries to think what Brahmas are like--when they are not locks._ _Exhibitor (in tone of pitying reproach)._ _No,_ Sir--no.--Black Red _Bantam_, Sir! _Visitor (wishing he had remained vague)._ Oh--ah, just so--good evening. _A Cock (derisively)._ Crorky--rorky--roo! AT THE RABBIT PENS. _Another Exhibitor (accompanied by Friend with Catalogue)._ I ain't come across my Buck yet. He took a prize, I heerd. (_Stops at Cage._) Ah, this looks like him.... Third Prize, yer see--not so bad, eh? [_Chuckles._ _The Friend._ Hold on a bit! (_Refers to Catalogue._) "Number seven 'underd and two. PARTON. Buck. Eight months." _Your_ name ain't PARTON.