_She._ "WHAT'S THE GOOD OF SPENDING ALL OUR SUNDAY AFTERNOONS IN WALKING ROUND THE SQUARE, WHERE THERE'S NEVER A SOUL AND HARDLY A TREE TO SPEAK OF, AND WHEN THERE'S THE PARK CLOSE BY?" _He._ "WHAT'S THE GOOD OF HAVING TO PAY A GUINEA A YEAR FOR THE USE OF THE SQUARE, IF WE DON'T USE IT AS OFTEN AS WE CAN, I SHOULD LIKE TO KNOW?"] * * * * * THE NEW, AND BAD, "HATCH." _Mr. Punch loquitur_:-- WELL, PARTLET, old hen, here's a pretty fiasco The Poultry profession seems going to pot. You might search the whole kingdom, from Greenwich to Glasgow, And never encounter an uglier lot. They're crooked, and cranky, and wry-neck'd, and lanky; I cannot discover one point that is good. What, join in your cackle of triumph? No, thankye! We can't accept _this_ as a Jubilee brood. I did expect something a little bit better From one some crack up as the pride of the House. Of decentish broods you have been a begetter, And, though you are dowdy, I thought you had _nous_. But these scraggy scramblers, ill-fledged and ill-fashioned? By Jingo, old bird, they're a perfect disgrace. No wonder the public disgust grows impassioned; They simply degrade a respectable race. Just think of the beauties, the silver and gold chicks, That often have left that identical coop! I'm sure there's not one of those comely, plump, bold chicks That would not despise _this_ contemptible troop. They look like the work of a villanous vamper. Just take a glance at 'em, my PARTLET, I beg; They've too much top-hamper, they scarcely can scamper. A shabbier brood, PARTLET, never chipped egg. Pray how do you think that the Fancy will class them, So scraggy, and leggy, and bandy, and bald? You'll find it most difficult, PARTLET, to pass them; In fact, 'tis a pity they can't be recalled. I'm really ashamed of 'em; so, Ma'am, should you be. The kindliest hen-wife would banish the batch. What? Say one word for 'em? Now, don't be a booby: You must be aware they're a precious Bad Hatch! * * * * * RALEIGH TOO BAD.