Tell me, now, where has _it_ departed, That fine old apple, the Ribstone Pippin, The rosy-coated, and juicy-hearted, I loved, when a "nipper," my teeth to slip in? Where is the Russet we boys thought rippin'? (Though its sharpness sometimes started the tears?) Oh! such-like often I've spent my "tip" in-- But where are the apples of earlier years? Where's the King Pippin, the sun-brown one? And where is the Catshead, light Spring green? (Which gave, while eating, such glorious fun, If--after munching--some dule and teen)? And where is the Golden Knob, whose sheen Would draw the wasps all about our ears? (Sometimes in our mouths, if they were not seen)-- But where are the apples of earlier years? White watery things from the land of the Yankee, And sugary shams from the Austral seas, They sell us--at sixpence per pound! No, thankee! I have no palate for frauds like these. There's not an apple that now could please Poor EVE so much as to waken fears. Ah, the luscious Pippins youth crunched at ease! But where are the apples of earlier years? Nay, never ask if your fruiterer's heard Of "a decent pippin" (the huckster sneers!) Except with this for, an overword-- But where _are_ the apples of earlier years? * * * * * RATHER MIXED.--In the sale of wines at CHRISTIE'S last week, Lot 136 is described as "3 dozen of sherry, 1842, been to West Indies, more or less." Now, why this mystery? Why not make a clean breast of it? Is it meant that the sherry called in at only one or two of the Indies? or did it only set half way on the voyage to the group? We should learn more or be told less. * * * * * [Illustration: FELINE AMENITIES. _Fair Visitor._ "Do Play something, Dear! I love to hear your Music!" _Fair Hostess._ "SORRY, DEAR, BUT THIS PIANO IS SO DREADFULLY OUT OF TUNE! THAT'S THE WORST OF LIVING IN APARTMENTS! MY MUSIC-MASTER SAYS THAT TO USE SUCH A PIANO AS THAT IS FATAL TO REAL PLAYING! BUT WON'T _YOU_ PLAY SOMETHING, DEAR?"] * * * * * THROUGH THE LOCK. Grand Old Puntsman pipes up:-- "_Lock! Lock! Lock!_" Heaven be thanked, we're through it! Spite of crush, and jam, and shock, _That's_ the way to do it! Now for a fair "flowing tide," Verdurous banks and shady! Yes, we're through. _I_'m glad, aren't _you_, Eh, my little lady? "_Lock! Lock! Lock!_" Trim the punt, sweet, prythee! You look nice in your new frock! Fresh as osier withy. How they strove your togs to tear; Hinder, or capsize us! But, hurroo! we've scrambled through! Nought need now surprise us!