At Scarborough.—'Arriet (pointing to postillions of pony-chaises). Why do all them boys wear them jackets?
'Arry. There's a stoopid question! Why, they're all jockeys a-training for the Ledger, of course!
Egging Him on.—Knowing old Gentleman. Now, sir, talking of eggs, can you tell me where a ship lays to?
Smart Youth (not in the least disconcerted). Don't know, sir, unless it is in the hatchway.
Retreat for Cockney Idlers.—Earn nil.