AT LINCOLN APRIL FAIR.
Poor Little Gent (about to purchase “Screw”).—But surely there’s something wrong with those Hock Joints—“Curbs,” are they not?
Dealer.—“Curbs?” Lor’ bless yer, no! There’s where All ’is jumping power is—prop-hellers, I calls ’em.
UP WITH THE YEOMANRY.
Trooper Stubbles (who has been repeatedly reprimanded by Officer for riding in advance and breaking the line).—Oi can’t help it, Squire. It’s all th’ hould Mare. Hiver sin’ oi lent ’er to a Chap to roide at th’ Easter Munoovers, she’s bin that howdacious an’ waliant oi can do nought with ’er. She weant ploo, an’ she kicks t’ pieces ivery blooming Cart she’s put to; an’ noo she weant do Soldiering unless she’s fust. Yer’ll ’ave to foind me another ’Oss by Review Day, or else mak’ a Hossifer on me.
