All hail, O hosier; deem me not absurd That I should thank thee for so apt a word. 'Tis thus that Modesty our language trims: Where men say "legs" she softly whispers "limbs." And, while they fume and rage in angry pother, Stills the big D---- and substitutes a "bother." Speaks not of "trousers"--that were sin and shame; "Continuations" is the gentler name. Turns "shirts" to "shifts," and, blushing like the rose, Converts the lowly stocking into "hose." Thus thou, my hosier, profferest me a pair Of these, the latest style of slumber-wear. * * * * * [Illustration: "AWEARY! AWEARY!" _Miss Certainage_ (_who has been studying Schopenhauer, and has come to the conclusion that there is nothing but sorrow in life, sadly_). "AH, MAJOR, I'M SURE I SHALL DIE YOUNG!" _Ethel._ "OH NO, AUNT DEAR, I'M _CERTAIN_ YOU WON'T!"] * * * * * THE GENERAL'S LITTLE FUND. (_SEE "TIMES," MAY 11._) [Illustration] Oh where, oh where is my little wee fund? Oh where, oh where can it be? With the pence cut short and the pounds cut long; Oh where, oh where can it be? I've travelled about with my little wee fund-- It used to pay for me; But now it's gone I'm lorn and lone; Oh where, oh where can it be? I want to stump through Switzerland; On the 24th proximo. To Germany, Sweden, Norway, and To Denmark I want to go; I've held out my hat to every flat, And begged over land and sea, Humanity dunned, but I have no fund-- Oh where, oh where can it be? If ever you see a stray bawbee Whenever, wherever you roam, Oh, tell him the woe that troubles me so, And say that it keeps me at home. I may mention that what you do, like a shot Must be done to be useful to me; At once send a cheque to save us from wreck, Or the Army will go to the D! * * * * * MR. PUNCH TO THE ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS. ON THE HAPPY OCCASION OF THE JUBILEE OF THAT EXCELLENT JOURNAL, MAY 14, 1892. From Forty-Two to Ninety-Two! A full half-century of story! And now, our Century's end in view. May's back once more in vernal glory, And with it brings your Jubilee, (_Punch_ came to his one year before you!) "Many Returns," Ma'am, may you see, And honoured be the hour that bore you! Good faith! it scarcely seems so long To us old boys, who can remember The tale, the picture, and the song We pored o'er by the wintry ember; And how our young and eager eyes Were kept from childhood's easy slumbers By the awakening ecstasies Of cheery coloured Christmas Numbers.