Comes a Broker outsider-- Who chanced to have spied her, And "Options" and "Pools" he extols-- When he pictures the profit (Commission small off it), She cheerfully sells her Consols. Then she starts operations With fierce speculations In Stocks of all manner and shape; But whatever she chooses Her "cover" she loses, And sees it run off on the tape. So alas! for Miss MUFFIT-- She now has to rough it, And never gets jam with her tea; While the Bucket-shop Dealer Employs a four-wheeler, Regardless of _L._ _S._ and _D._ * * * * * "THE FROGS" AT OXFORD. SCENE--_Parlour of Private House, Oxford._ TIME--_Quite recently. Cook wishes to speak to her Mistress._ _Cook._ Please, 'm, I should like to go out this evening, 'm, which it's to see them Frogs at the New Theayter. _Mistress._ But it's all Greek, and you won't understand it. _Cook._ O yes, 'm. I once saw the Performin' Fleas, and they was French, I believe, leastways a Frenchman were showin' of 'em, and I unnerstood all as was necessary. [_After this, of course she obtains permission._ * * * * * Mrs. Ram's Uncle (on the maternal side) has recently joined the religious sect known as the Plymouth Brethren. This has greatly distressed the good Lady. "If it had been anything else," she says, "a Moravian Missionary, or a Christian Brother-in-law, I wouldn't have minded. But to think that an Uncle of mine should have become a Yarmouth Bloater is a little hard on a poor woman no longer in her idolescence." * * * * * [Illustration: WILFUL WILHELM. _An Imperial German Nursery Rhyme. (From the very latest Edition of "Struwwelpeter.")_ _Wilful Wilhelm._ "TAKE THE NASTY _PUNCH_ AWAY! I WON'T HAVE ANY _PUNCH_ TODAY!"] Young WILHELM was a wilful lad, And lots of "cheek" young WILHELM had. He deemed the world should hail with joy A smart and self-sufficient boy, And do as it by _him_ was told; He _was_ so wise, he _was_ so bold. If anyone dared stop his play, He screamed out--"Take the wretch away! Oh, take my enemy away! I won't have any foes to-day!" His old adviser WILHELM swore Was a pig-headed senile bore. _He_ meant to try another tack, So his Old Pilot got the sack. Nay more, one day, in a fierce squall, He smashed his picture on the wall; Tore up the papers when they said He was a little "off his head." He yelled, in his despotic way, "Not any Press for me," I say! "Oh, take that nasty _Punch_ away I won't have any _Punch_ to-day!"