Shame to the callous French, who goad The horse that pulls a heavy load! Shame to the Spanish bull-fight! Shame To those who make of death a game! We English are a better race: We love the long and solemn face; We fly from any cheerful place,-- On Sunday. But, other days, we like a show. There may be danger, as we know; We put the thought of that aside, For noble sport is England's pride: We'd advertise a railway trip, To see a wretched tamer slip And die beneath the lion's grip,-- On Monday! * * * * * A REALLY EXCEPTIONALLY REMARKABLE AND NOTEWORTHY FACT.--_To-day, Thursday, March_ 17.--Fine Spring weather. Have sat for over half-an-hour at a window looking on to the street, between 3·30 and 4·15 P.M., _and have not once heard either the whole or any portion of the now strangely popular "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!"_ ... As I write this ... ha!... The grocer's book!... "Boom-de-ay" without the "Ta-ra." The spell is broken! N.B.--As this delightful song has now a certain number of Music-"hall-marks," the places where it is sung can be spotted and remembered as "Ta-ra's Halls." * * * * * TO THE YOUNG CITY-MEN. TO MAKE MUCH OF (LUNCHEON) TIME; OR, A COUNSEL TO CLERKS. (AFTER HERRICK.) Gather ye fish-bones while ye may, The luncheon hour is flying, And this same cod, that's boiled to-day, To-morrow may be frying. The handsome clock of ormolu A quarter past is showing, And soon 'twill be a quarter to, When you must think of going. That man eats best who eats the first, When fish and plates are warmer, But being cold, the worse and worst Fare still succeeds the former. Then be not coy, but use your lungs, And while ye may, cry "_Waiter_!" For having held just now your tongues, You may repent it later. * * * * * [Illustration: FANCY PORTRAIT. THE HUMBUG-HUNTING FERRET. (_VIVERRA LABOUCHERIENSIS_.) _The Times_ (_loq._). "AH! WONDERFUL INSTINCT, AND OCCASIONALLY USEFUL. BUT I'M NOT PARTICULARLY PARTIAL TO HIM!"] * * * * * PONSCH, PRINCE OF OLLENDORF. (_M. MAETERLINCK'S VERY LAST MASTERPIECE._)