He.—"What a dreadful noise there is down there with those cabs and things! You can hardly hear yourself speak."
She.—"Yes; almost as bad as being at the opera, isn't it?"
Poor Prowse died at the early age of thirty-four. Hood, in a short memoir, says:
"Prowse, as a writer, was gifted with a great charm of style; with a fertile imagination he possessed a logical mind. The amount of work he has done is astonishing, writing often two or even three leaders a day; and yet amid this constant and fatiguing trial he found time to write poems and essays, papers for the magazines, the annuals, and for Fun."
A Drap o' the Best. By William Small. From Fun.
First Hielan'man.—"She'll pe ta pest wusky I shall have tastit for efermore."
Second Hielan'man.—"So tit I, neither!"