THANK GOODNESS!
"Off?" Thank goodness, yes!
Always was—confound it!—
An unsavoury mess,
Foulness reeking round it.
Resurrection pie
Not in it for nastiness.
Dished-up—who knows why?—
With unseemly hastiness.
Of the chef's poor skill,
Feeblest of expedients.
Sure we've had our fill
Of its stale ingredients.
Toujours perdrix? Pooh!
That is scarce delightful;
Toujours Irish Stew
Very much more frightful.
Thrice-cooked colewort? Ah!
That no doubt were tedious;
But this hotch-potch? Pah!
Thought of it is hideous.
It has been too long
Pièce de résistance;
Take its odour strong
To unsniffing distance.
Waiter's self looks sick
At the very thought of it.
Oh, remove it, quick!
Customers want nought of it.
Eh? One hungry sinner
Asks another plateful?
He should have his dinner
Snatched by harpies fateful.
Kitchen never yet
Knew a failure greater.
Few its end regret.
Surely not the Waiter.
He his finger had
In the pie—or gravy.
Did he? Well, 'tis sad.
He must cry "Peccavi!"
But whoever mixed,
Or whoever boiled it,
Our opinion's fixed,
He, or they, quite spoiled it.
'Tis the general scoff,
Butt of chaff and rudeness.
Irish Stew is "Off",
Finally—Thank Goodness!
Revised Version. "In Globo."—The author of Dixon's Johnsonary, who last week sent us a paragraph about the Globe Theatre (where, he said, it was pleasant to find the name of Shakspeare once more associated with that of his great contemporary, John Benson), was wrong in saying that Miss Dorothy Dene is taking the part of Hippolyta in The Midsummer Matinée's Dream. It is very kind of so conscientious an artiste to "take anybody's part." But, as a matter of fact, Miss Dorothy is appearing as Helena, La belle Hélène, in the same drama.
"Spring Hats for Ladies."—Are they going to adopt the gibus?