DOMESTIC MELODIES.

(By Sancho Preston Panza.)
WINTER BATH-SONG.

FOR weeks the sun each morn arose
As 'tis his nature to,
But little difference he made
Sopp'd by the fog's asthmatic shade;
From day's beginning till its close
The day no brighter grew.
Above the sheets, the sleeper's nose
Peep'd shyly, as afraid,

While 'neath the dark and draughty flue
The burnt-out cinders meanly strew
The hearth, where now no firelight glows,
No waiting warmth is laid.

Full many a morn I sprang from bed,
As o'er the deadly brink
The wretch, with courage of despair,
Leaps from the slimy river-stair,
By hopeless hope unthinking sped,
Ere he can pause to think.
Cold as the efforts of the dead,
The needle-atom'd air,
Impinged upon the limbs that shrink,
On shivering shanks, and eyelids pink,
And bound its bands about the head,
And chill'd the underwear.

The frost that held us in its grip,

Would raise the prisoning paw,
And Nature, like a mouse set free,
Enjoyed delusive liberty,
While every water-pipe must drip
To greet the passing thaw.
Then rudely dashed from eager lip
The cup of joy would be,

And fingers numbed, and chattering jaw,
Owned unexpelled the winter's flaw,
And on the steps the goodmen slip,
And shout the major D.
Long like a fossil tipsy-cake

The sponge each morn appeared;
The bath, if plenished over-night,
Was frozen ere the morning light,
And more that frigid water-ache

Than unwashed days I feared.
Now while the milder zephyrs shake
Once more the winter's might,
My sponge, my bath, by loss endeared,
Shall dree no more a lonely weird;
And as young ducks to water take,
Shall be my bath ward flight.

Good Devon !

Mr. W. H. SMITH will return to Grosvenor Place
from Torquay on Monday, for the opening of Par-
liament.

'TIS pity of you, OLD MORALITY,
Back from your rest to loud banality.
After St. Stephen's shindy, Devon
No doubt appeared a very heaven;
But cream's as much like water chalky
As Torquay Torrs to Talky-Talky!

CHANGE OF INITIALS.

"OFTEN as I may have been invited," Mr. T. M. HEALY is reported to have said, in the course of a recent speech, "I never yet put a toe inside his house." Memorable words. Henceforth, name changed to ToxAND-HEALY, M.P.

A PIONEER IN PETTICOATS. [An American Lady is about to explore Africa, on humane principles.] Arrive in Africa.-Convinced that real way of taming the savage heart is by Feminine Tact. No need of brutal habits of male adventurers. Two negresses, from "Ole Virginny," with me, who said they would like to see Africa again"; a few Arabs, to carry our baggage. Intend to study home-life of African tribes, and to get them to talk into my phonograph.

66

Month Later.-Have had to exhibit more Feminine Tact than I expected. Got entangled in swampy forest on Zambesi (I think), and Arabs declined to extricate us unless their pay was doubled! Also one of negresses-horrid woman!-has deserted me come to place that she pretended to recognise as her native village, and said she meant to stay! Tact useless with females! On Lake Tanganyika-or if it isn't Lake Tanganyika, it's an entirely new lake,-which I have been the first to discover! Suffer a good deal from fever and queer diet. Am studying native home-life. Later.-Have left two Arabs and my remaining negress on Lake, and gone myself to look for STANLEY'S Dwarfs. Told that TIPPOO TIB is somewhere about. Also advised to be very careful not to fall in with the "man-eating Manyuema."

Still Later.-Did fall in with them! Also fell out with them. They made all preparations for using me as a side-dish at a cannibal banquet, when TIPPOO TIB arrived and released me.

A WORD TO MOTHERS.

[A well-known Dramatic Critic has recently spoken of a play as "just the play in which growing girls will delight."]

O ANXIOUS Mothers, come and listen
To what just now I've got to say.
If I'm not wrong, your eyes will glisten
Before the end of this my lay.
With strong affection overflowing-

Your children are indeed your pearls-
You can't help feeling pleased at knowing
The play's the thing-for growing girls!
The pages of a lady's journal

I've very often read with care,
The news, the gossiping eternal,
You're always sure of getting there.
Of how you ought to bind your tresses,
The latest styles, the tint in hair,
And there I've seen the kind of dresses
It's right for growing girls to wear.
But never once the slightest mention
Of what they'd better go and see,
And yet it's clear that some attention
To such a thing there ought to be.
For sentiment and love they're frantic,
They're fond of knights and belted earls,
A play that's just the least romantic-
Yes, that's the play for growing girls.
A crowing child, who loves to prattle,
Can easily be kept at rest.
You've only got to get a rattle,

Or p'raps a dolly would be best.
A bouncing boy will blow a bubble,
And want no more the livelong day;
But if a growing girl gives trouble,

You've got to take her to the play!

THE AMUSING RATTLE'S TOPICAL NOTE-BOOK. (For the Use of Professional Diners-out and other Amateur Entertainers.) The Meeting of Parliament.-This is not a very promising subject, but mild mirth may be produced in outlying districts (say Southend or Honiton, Devon) by observing, that the rock upon which the Irish Party went to pieces was a happy one-in fact, a GLAD-STONE. This, strictly speaking, is not a new jest, and therefore must be helped out by a burst of self-supplied laughter. You might add, that as Members of Parliament are obliged, by the rules of the House, to address their colleagues standing, there would be little chance of a seated discussion. But you must, however, take care to cough when you say seated, so that those on the look-out for a brilliant bon-mot may know that you mean heated.

The Revolt in Chili.-The name of the place in which the disturbances have occurred will help you effectively to remark that the outbreak is seasonable during the present inclement weather. As the Army sympathises with the Government, and the sister service with the rioters, you can suggest "that knaves would, of course, be supported by the Navy!" This may lead up to a really magnificent burst of waggery in the assertion that the dissentients must of necessity be all at sea."

The New Archbishop of York.-Insist that his Grace is a Scotchman, and not an Irishman, and prove your proposition by declaring that the road to success was MACGEE's (pronounced MAGGIE's) secret!" This really splendid flash of humour will bear polishing-as written it seems a little in the rough. You may refer to the Primate's universally acknowledged partiality for quiet sarcasm, by saying that "ever since he joined the eeclesiastical Bench he has been known as an arch Bishop!" These entertaining quibbles, delicately handled, should be received with enthusiasm at a five o'clock tea in a Deanery. The New Play at the Haymarket.-As the plot turns upon the doings of the Society of Friends, you may extract a jest by saying

duction-in fact, were quakers!" The name of the Manager of the Haymarket has frequently been the subject of a quip, if not a crank; still it may yet serve as a peg for slyly observing that, "At the fall of the Curtain, TREE, naturally enough, appeared with a bough!"

Tanganyika again!-Back here safe and sound! TIPPOO TIB turned out most unsatisfactory. Wanted to marry me!-with a hundred other wives already! Not prepared for this sort of homelife. Managed to get away by describing to him a Remington type-"that many of the characters trembled with anxiety before its prowriter, and promising if he let me go, to bring one back at once. Find that my "rear-guard"-the negress and Arabs-have been up to fearful pranks during my absence. Negress killed and ate one of Arabs, and then other Arab killed and ate negress! Tell remaining Arab I shall have him punished when I get to Coast. Arab says he'll get there first, and publish a book showing me up! Latest.-Left alone in middle of Africa, with a phonograph, several bales of baggage, and a diary. Question now is-will Feminine Tact show me road to Zanzibar ? UNIVERSITY HONOURS.-" SMITH'S Prizeman"-ARTHUR BALFOUR. The "Senior Wrangler" (for several years past)-Mr. GLADSTONE.

The Weather. Of course you must introduce this subject, and as everything that can be said has been said about it, you may quote SYDNEY SMITH as your authority for observing, that the only possible sport for M. F. H.'s at this time of the year must be "hunt -the slipper!" If the point of this "good thing" is not immediately obvious, the fault will be with SYDNEY SMITH, and not with you. And this quaint oddity should satiate your audience with mirth and merriment until next week-and even longer!