WHY THE DUES WERE THEY DONE AWAY WITH?--Under the beneficent influence of the early coal dews--subsequently spelt coal dues--which have existed from the earliest times, City and Metropolitan Improvements have sprung up into existence. Now, thanks to ignorant, but well-meaning County Councillors, the coal dues being abolished, up goes the price of coal, up go the rates, and there is no surplus for improvement of any sort. If those ancient days of coal dues were considered "hard times," then sing we, in chorus, "Hard times, come again once more!" * * * * * [Illustration: PRIG-STICKING. _Little Prigson_. "OH! AS FOR GRIGSON, HE'S DISTINCTLY THE MOST OBJECTIONABLE LITTLE PRIG IN ALL ENGLAND; BUT HIS SISTAH'S _QUITE_ THE NICEST GIRL I EVER MET." _Aunt Eliza_. "DEAR ME! WHAT SWEEPING ASSERTIONS! YOU _MIGHT_ HAVE HAD THE DECENCY JUST TO MAKE THE TRADITIONAL EXCEPTION IN FAVOUR OF _PRESENT COMPANY_!" _Cousin Maud_. "YES; IN _BOTH_ CASES, YOU KNOW!"] * * * * * "A HAPPY NEW YEAR!" _Mr. Punch, loquitur_:-- A Happy New Year? I should think so, my boy, Tossed thus in the arms of your PUNCHY right cheerily, 'Midst all that a youngster should love and enjoy, At least, you're beginning most merrily. Under the Mistletoe Bough You make a good start, anyhow. With a kiss from the lips that can never betray, There's many a girl would be greeted _that_ way! You're welcome, my lad! It is _Punch's_ old style To hail with stout heart all such annual new-comers; In winters of chill discontent he'll still smile, _His_ warmth seems to turn 'em to Summers! Under the Mistletoe Bough All doldrums are bosh and bow-wow. He doesn't mix rue in his big New Year Bowl, Whose aim is to cheer up the national soul. _Sursum corda_! That motto's the best of the bunch; Make it yours, young New Year, and 'twill keep up your pecker. Giving way to the Blues, you may take it from _Punch_, Never helped one in heart or exchequer, Under the Mistletoe Bough You cannot do better, I vow, Than make that same maxim your boyhood's first rule, As your very first tip in your very first school. Don't look like a pedagogue, do I, my lad? And indeed I am not an Orbilius Plagosus, Like him who made juvenile FLACCUS so sad. How well the Venusian knows us! Under the Mistletoe Bough _He_ never kissed maid, but somehow Our Dickensish Season he seemed to divine With his fondness for friendship, and laughter, and wine.