But it won't answer now for me, I darn't let you go, It's quietly, and aisily, and dacently, you'll come wid me, Yer dhrunk, an' yer incapable! I towld the sergeant so." Fitz-Binks fell plump in mire of doubt, 'twas shocking! thus to realize, Such treachery, and subterfuge, of ingrate sneak of sin, But 60 X was bigger in his figure, by a deal of size, And little Binks, was little, so the bobbie ran him in! The sergeant,--he who took the charge--was grave, and staid, particular! He entered Binks upon his book, and sent him to the cell, And Binks did forfeit half a sov., for standing perpendicular, Before the Beak, and leaving court, he cursed that bobbie well! He said the act was scandalous, and of the gutter order, he,-- That bobbie was, "Ah whisht! ye see, an' howld yer tongue, shut up It's fond of me, you ought to be, if I swore ye wor disordherly, It would have cost ye exthra, or you'd maybe be put up!" It used to be a sermonising habit, and methodical, To tag a moral story, with a warning at its end And bobbie entertainments in the midnight, might be quodical! So leave him to his duty, if you'd keep him as a friend. [Illustration: A FUGITIVE KISS.] I WAS on the carpet kneeling, And fondly, and with feeling, I pressed her metacarpus, To my osculating lip, When flexor, And extensor, Of stern Parental censor, Incontinent did greet me, And took me near the hip! I rolled into the fender, With broken silk suspender, And motive movement sharp, as Her Pater gave the tip! He didn't back the winner, For sport was not his grip. The above brief but touching confession of disastrous failure, recorded by Timothy Pipkins,--a sporting student of St. Jago's Hospital,--is indicative of the Nemesis from an offended fate, that frequently foils the improvident hunter of matrimonial adventure. [Illustration: THE BEDROOM CURSE AND THE MURDERED COCKATOO]