THE LEGEND OF THE MUTTON BONE.
(By Our Newly-Married Poetess.)
When the world is full of flowers and of butterflies at play,
I could sit beneath the roses eating chocolates all day;
But my heart is very heavy as I ponder with dismay
On the Mutton Bone a-lying in the Larder!
For GEORGE has squandered sixpence on a telegram from town,
To say that he has come across "that dear old chappie—BROWNE,"
And to dine with us this evening he means to bring him down—
And the Mutton Bone is lying in the Larder!
I have just been down to see it, and my courage sinks a-new,
Though Cook has kindly promised me her very best to do—
Which means that she'll convert into an appetising stew
The Mutton Bone a-lying in the Larder.
But I suddenly remember, with a blush of rosy pink,
That Cook—alas! is given to the frequent use of drink,
And if she once gets muddled up—perhaps she'll never think
Of the Mutton Bone a-lying in the Larder!
As the western sun is gilding all the heather of the moor,
Down the basement stairs I'm creeping—till a widely open door
Shows me Cook in heavy slumber on her cherished kitchen floor—
And the Mutton Bone is lying in the Larder!
O GEORGE, there'll be no dinner, dear, for you and BROWNE to-day!
I picture to myself the pretty words that you will say—
And I seize my guinea bonnet—and I wander far away
From the Mutton Bone a-lying in the Larder!
MOTTO FOR A SOAP CO.—"Nothing like Lather."
NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.