_A Farm-hand (encouragingly)._ Nay, Miss, he seems moor sensible nor surly-- He knows as how good children perish early! [_The Bull nods in acknowledgment that he is at last understood, and slaps his chest with his forelegs._ _Lydia._ Bull, I'll turn naughty, if you'll but be lenient! Goodness, I see, is sometimes inconvenient. I promise you henceforth I'll _try_, at any rate, To act like children who are unregenerate! [_The Bull, after turning this over, decides to accept a compromise._ _Jack._ And, LYDIA, when you ready for a lark are, Just give a chyhike to your friend--JACK PARKER! [_They shake hands warmly._ FINALE. _Lydia._ I thought to slowly fade away so calm and beautiful. (Though I didn't mean to go just yet); But you get no chance for pathos when you're chivied by a bull! (So I thought I wouldn't go just yet.) For I did feel so upset, when I found that all you get By the exercise of virtue, is that bulls will come and hurt you! That I thought I wouldn't go just yet! _Chorus._ We hear, with some regret, That she doesn't mean to go just yet. But a Bull with horns that hurt you is a poor return for virtue, And she's wiser not to go just yet! [_The Bull rises on his hindlegs, and gives a forehoof each to_ LYDIA _and_ JACK, _who dance wildly round and round as the Curtain falls_. [N.B.--Music-hall Managers are warned that the morality of this particular Drama may possibly be called in question by some members of the L. C. C.] * * * * * [Illustration: A RETIRING YOUNG MAN. (_Positively his Last Appearance._)] I linger on the same old stage Which I have graced so long, Though oft, when sick, or in a rage, I've sworn to give up song, Still somehow, like mellifluous REEVES, I flow, and flow, and flow. Stage-stars, though fond of taking leaves Are very loth to go. Teutons, once again, Greet me once again! Old songs I'm singing, Shall I sing in vain? Once more I front the same old House, And hear the same "_Encore!_" My rivals slink as slinks the mouse When Leo lifts his roar. I'll take my turn with potent voice, In solo or in glee. At my _rentrée_ my friends rejoice They only wanted ME! Teutons, once again! Greet me once again! Old strength is waking, Shall it wake in vain? * * * * * THE CRY OF THE CITY CHILDREN. (_For Playing Fields._) [A conference of delegates of various Athletic Clubs was held on March 4, in the Memorial Hall, Farringdon Street, for the purpose of considering the necessity for the further provision of Playing fields for the people of the Metropolis.]