SATURDAY NIGHT IN THE EDGWARE ROAD. For over half a mile the pavement on the East side of the road is thronged with promenaders, and the curbstone lined with stalls and barrows, and hawkers of various wares. Marketing houseuires with covered baskets oscillate undecidedly from stalls to shops, and put off purchasing to the last possible moment. Maids-of-all-work perambulate arm in arm, exchanging, airy badinage with youths of their acquaintance, though the latter seem to prefer the society of their own sex. A man with a switchback skittle-board plays gloomy games by himself to an unspeculative group of small boys. The tradesmen stand outside their shops and conduct their business with a happy blend of the methods of a travelling

showman and a clown. Burlesque Butcher. Now then a o' you there! Buy, buy, buy! Jest give yer minds to spendin' yer money! (In a tone of artless wonder.) Where does the Butcher git this luverly meat? What

can I do fur you now, Marm? (Triumphantly, after selling the scrag-end of a neck of mutton.) Now we're busy!

Farcical Fishmonger (with two Comic Assistants). Ahar! (To crowd.) Come 'ere, you silly young snorkers! I've the qualitee! I've the qualitay! Keep takin' money!

First Comic Assistant. Ahye! Foppence a pound nice plaice! Kippers two fur three 'apence. We're the Perfeshnal Curers! What are yer all goin' to do? Sort 'em out cheap!

Second C. A. I don't mind. What care I? (Bursting into song.) "Ow, she rowled me 'ed, and rumbled in the 'ay!" On me word, she did, ladies!

[He executes a double shuffle, and knocks over several boxes of bloaters in the gaiety of his heart.

A Hawker of Penny Memorandum Books (to an audience of small boys). Those among you '00 are not mechanics, decidedly you 'ave mechanical hideers!

[He enlarges upon the convenience of having a note-book in which to jot down any inspirations of this kind; but his hearers do not appear to agree with him.

A Lugubrious Vendor. One penny for six comic pypers. Hevery one different!

A Rude Boy. You ain't bin a readin' o' any on 'em, 'ave yer, guv'nor?

A Crockery Merchant (as he unpacks a variety of vases of hideousness). I don't

it's self-sacrifice to give away! Understand, you ain't buyin' common things, you're buyin' suthin' good! It 'appens to be my buthday to-night, so I'm goin' to let you people 'ave the benefit of the doubt. Come on 'ere. I don't ask you to b'lieve me-ony to jedge fur: yerselves.

of deciding a wager. Some o' you may have noticed an advertisement lately in the Daily Telegrawf, asking for men to stand on Southwark Bridge and orfer arf-suverings for a penny apiece. You are equally well aware that it is illegal to orfer the Queen's coinage for money: and that is not my intention this evening. But I'ave 'ere several pieces of gold, guaranteed to be of the exact weight of arf a suvering, and 'all-marked, which, in order to decide the wager I 'ave spoken of, I shall now perceed to charge you the sum of one penny for, and no more. I am not allowed to sell more than one to each person

[Here a constable comes up, and the decision of the wager is postponed until a more favourable opportunity. First General" (looking into a draper's window). Look at them coloured felt 'ats-all shades, and on'y sixpence three-fardens!

Second" G." They are reasonable; but I've 'eard as felt 'ats is gone out o' fashion now.

66

First G." Don't you believe it, SARAH. Why, my married sister bought one on'y last week!

Coster (to an old lady who has repudiated a bunch of onions after a prolonged scrutiny). Frorsty? So would you be if your onion 'ad bin layin' out in the fields all night as long as these 'ave!

First Itinerant Physician (as he screws up fragments of candy in pieces of newspaper). That is Frog in your Froat what I'm doin' up now. I arsk you to try it. It's given to me to give away, and I'm goin' to give it away-you understand ?-that's all. And now I'm goin' to tork to you about suthink else. You see this small bottle what I 'old up. I tell you there's 'undreds layin' in bed at this present moment as 'ud give a shillin' fur one of these-and I offer it to you at one penny! It corrects all nerve-pains connected with the 'ed, cures earache, toothache, neuralgy, noomonia, 'art-complaint, fits, an' syhatica. Each bottle is charged with helectricity, forming a complete galvanic-battery. Hall you 'ave to do is to place the bottle to one o' your nawstrils, first closing the other with your finger. You will find it compels you to sniff. The moment you tyke that sniff, you'll find the worter comin' into your heyes-and that's the helectricity. You'll say, "I always 'eard helectricity was a fluid." (With withering scorn.) Very likely! You 'ave! An' why? Be-cawse o the hignirant notions prevailin' about scientific affairs! Hevery one o' these bottles contains a battery, and to heach purchaser I myke 'im a present a present, mind yer-of Frog in 'is Froat!

Susan Jane (to LIZERANN, before a stall where "Novelettes, three a penny," are to be procured by the literary). Shall we 'ave penn'orth, an' you go 'alves along o' me?

Lazerann. Not me. I ain't got on 'em, 'ave yer, guv'nor?' no time to go improvin' o' my mind, whatever you 'ave! A Vendor of "Ore'ound Tablets" (he is a voluble young man, with considerable lung-power, and a tendency to regard his coughlozenges as not only physical but moral specifics). I'm on'y a young feller, as you see, and yet 'ere I am, with my four burnin' lamps, and a lassoo-soot as belonged to my Uncle BILL, doin' wunner ful well. Why, I've took over two pound in coppers a'ready! Mind you, I don't deceive you; you may all on you do as well as me; on'y you'll 'ave to git two good ref'rences fust, and belong to a temp'rance society, like I do. This is the badge as I've got on me at this minnit. I ain't always bin like I am now. I started business four year ago, and was doin' wunnerful well, too, till I got among 'orse-copers an'

NOT DONE YET.

A SONG OF ST. STEPHEN'S SCHOOL. (To the Air of the Harrow Song, "Fairies.")

WHEN in the Springtime cold and bleak,
In spite of wind and weather,
The Blues and Buffs, the strong and weak-
Throng out of school together;
Off to their homes alert and gay
From long sederunts risen,
Majors and minors rush to play,
Live lags let loose from prison.
There you behold "Big BILL," the bold!
Hear how his heart rejoices-
Ho ho ha ha! Tra-la-la-la!"-
Booms his most bass of voices.

He cocks a snook at slate and book.
He's had his work this term, boys,
But has contrived, by hook or crook,
To keep his footing firm, boys.

had to fight, like DIBDIN's tar,
'Gainst many a would-be boarder.
It needed wit as well as war
To keep the school in order.
But he has shown both wit and grit,
And patience linked about it.
"Ho ho! ha ha! Tra-la-la-la!".

Young ARTY hears him shout it.

ARTY had hoped he could have coped
With BILL, and licked him hollow;
That JACK had kicked, and SANDY moped,
And PAT refused to follow.
But BILL has proved a dodgy one,
As well as a hard hitter;
And that has somewhat marred the fun,
And disappointment's bitter.
What wonder then BILL'S Tra-la-la
Sets ARTY shouting shrilly,
"Boohoo and pah! Yah-boo-yah-bah!
You wait a bit, Big BILLY!

"With spur and rein, whip-stroke and strain,

Jehu plus artful jockey,

You've kept your team in tow again,
And you look blessed cocky,
Wait till the way shows sludge and clay,
And you the pace would quicken!
Over you'll roll long ere the goal,

And then the fun will thicken!"-
BILL cocks his chins, and skips and grins
Like any Jumping-Jingle.
His loud Ha, ha! Tra-la-la-la!
Sets ARTY's blood a-tingle.
"Bah! You've done fairly well this half:
Think you'll survive another
As the school's 'Cock,' you great fat calf?
Look out for my Big Brother!
When he gets hold of you, my eye!-
You won't look quite so jolly.
Think you've licked me! Wait till you try
A round or two with SOLLY!
He's waiting for a turn at you!

You think you're a smart smiter? 'Tra-la-la-la"? Yah! bully! yah! He'll show you who's cock fighter!"

To Tara, My (Un-)Fair Neighbour.
("Moore"-where this comes from.)
"THE harp that once through TARA's walls"
Poor me disturbed in bed,

Is nightly twang'd to feline squalls
That wrack my aching head.

I sleep not as in former days,
Her voice cries "Sleep no more!"
Ah, would she hadn't got this craze,
And did not live next door!

A NEW LITERARY VENTURE.-In distinct opposition to the "Key-note series" will be started a "Wed-lock-and-Key note series."

"PRIDE AND PREJUDICE." ["Canada, unlike the mother-country, has the sense to be proud of its minor poets."-Mr. Le Gallienne in The Realm."]

REALLY this bitter and bold accusation of
Conduct so culpable cannot be borne;
Are we indeed but a barbarous nation of
Philistines treating our poets with scorn?
Are we contemptuous, then, in reality,

Of the effusions our lyricists writeSinging sweet songs of the Modern Morality, Praising each other from morning to night? Modesty, clearly, is somehow availing to Burke them of glory which should be their own,

Modesty, morbid, excessive-a failing to
Which, it's notorious, poets are prone.
Only, he tells us, in Canada's latitude
Honour to singers is duly allowed:
Nay, how can Britons be backward in grati-
tude,

Having LE GALLIENNE, are they not proud? Yes, when we Englishmen boast of our national

Glories and deeds, though the scoffers deride, This is the greatest and really most rational Source of supreme and legitimate prideNot in the struggles or deeds of iniquity Wrought by our sires in desperate fray, Still less in SHAKSPEARE, or bards of antiquity,

But in the poets amongst us to-day!

Might we suggest, though, if, in the opinion of Mr. LE GALLIENNE, England's to blame, He and his comrades should seek the Dominion of

Canada, where they'll be certain of fame?