"WELL--_NEIGH_ MEANS _NIGH_; THAT IS, _NEAR_, AND----" "OH, THANK YOU. I KNOW WHAT _BORE_ MEANS!" * * * * * Illustration: THE DIVORCE SHOP. PRIVATE INQUIRY AGENT. "WANT A DIVORCE, SIR?--CERTAINLY! ANY EVIDENCE YOU MAY REQUIRE READY AT THE SHORTEST POSSIBLE NOTICE!!" THE DIVORCE SHOP. "A NATION of Shopkeepers!" Well, that old jeer May fall with small sting on an Englishman's ear, For 'tis Commerce that keeps the world going. But _this_ kind of Shop? By his _baton_ and hunch, The thought of it sickens the spirit of _Punch_, And sets his cheek angrily glowing. The Philistines, Puritans, Podsnaps, and Prigs Of Britain play up some preposterous rigs, And tax e'en cosmopolite charity. But here is a business that's not to be borne; Its mead is the flail and the vial of scorn, Not chaffing or Christmas hilarity. The Skunk _not_ indigenous, Sirs, to our Isle? The assertion might well bring a cynical smile To the lips of a critical Yankee. The vermin is here; he has set up a shop, And seems doing a prosperous trade, which to stop Demands more than mere law's hanky-panky. Poor Law's tangled up in long coils of Red Tape, She's the butt for each Jeremy Diddler's coarse jape, Every filthy Paul Pry's ghoulish giggle. JOHN BULL, my fine fellow, wake up, and determine To stamp out the lives of the venomous vermin Who round your home-hearth writhe and wriggle. 'Ware Snakes! No, _Punch_ begs the ophidian's pardon! The slimiest slug in the filthiest garden Is not so revolting as these are, These ultra-reptilian rascals, who spy Round our homes, and, for pay, would, with treacherous eye, Find flaws in the wife e'en of CAESAR. Find? Well, if unable to _find_ they will _make_. No, the loathliest asp that e'er lurked in the brake To spring on the passer unwary, Was not such an _anguis in herba_ as this is, Mean worm, which of all warning rattles and hisses Is so calculatingly chary. The Spy sets up Shop! And what has he for sale? False evidence meant to weight Justice's scale, Eavesdroppings, astute fabrications, The figments of vile keyhole varlets, the fudge Of venal vindictiveness. Faugh! the foul sludge Reeks rank as the swamp's exhalations. Paul Pry, with a poison-fang, ready to bite In the pay of home-hate or political spite, Is a portent as mean as malignant. The villain is vermin scarce worthy of steel, His head should lie crushed 'neath the merciless heel Of honesty hotly indignant. * * * * * NOTHING NEW.--"Every Schoolboy" knows that scent was familiar to the Romans, and what scent it was. Will he not at once quote the line, _"Tityre tu patchouli recubans," &c_. * * * * * WINTER AT BURLINGTON HOUSE.