When the hostess at a party says, 'You must not go away,' All the time hopes entertaining that you will no longer stay. When all these things come to pass, in honour bright, and no mistake, Then, my pretty gentleman, the railways will your fortune make." [Illustration] DIVERS INTERESTING QUESTIONS FOR MY READERS TO CONSIDER. What do you generally think— 1. When you ask if any one is at home, and the servant tells you he don't know, but will go and see; asking your name: and then comes back and answers in the negative? 2. When a man at an evening party says he does not waltz, "because his head won't stand it?" 3. When you find a broken dish behind the dresser, and the cook says, "the cat did it?" 4. When a friend presses you to "come and see him very soon—any day—he always dines at five;" but won't state a time? 5. When a married couple are more than usually affectionate, and use endearing terms, in public? 6. When a lady, holding out her glass for some wine at a supper, says, "Oh, really; the least drop in the world, Mr. Smith: stop, stop?" 7. When the clown, a sweep, and a milk-pail, are all on the stage together, in a pantomime? 8. When, at a small country party, the lemonade and negus get gradually weaker towards the end of the evening? 9. When you see a gentleman vandyking between the area railings and the lamp-post, addressing vague words to imaginary peeple? [Illustration: PISCES—Too deep! ] THE ZODIAC.—FEBRUARY. PISCES.—THE FISHES. THE SONG OF THE UNSUCCESSFUL ANGLER. I cannot tell the reason,—it is really very odd,— My tackle is first-rate, and I've a most expensive rod, Bought at the _Golden Perch_, the shop that's always selling off; And yet, with all my outlay, I've got nothing but a cough. I think the fish are altered since old Walton wrote his book; They shun the simple gentle, and suspect it "with a hook." I think I mayn't be deep enough: in vain I move the quill, For fish as deeply as I choose, the fish are deeper still. No pike I've seen; the only one was that unpleasant wicket, Where threepence I was forced to pay, and now I've lost the ticket; Nor yet a single perch, for which my lucky stars to thank, Except the perch I've taken on this damp, rheumatic bank. I can't pick up a chub, though on the lock all day I stick; They say it is impossible a lock of Chub to pick: A flounder would be welcome; but unfeeling wags remark, I shall get lots of them to-night returning in the dark. Upon that bobbing quill, all day I have done nought but gloat, Till I've almost become one; as the song says, _I'm a float!_ Come soles, brill, flounders, fresh or salt; however flat ye be, Be sure you will not fail to find a greater flat in me. THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN FEBRUARY.