And scoot to country, the cripples? St. Paul's to my tarrier pup,
They'd git a 'ot 'iding this journey. Let Rosebery cut the thing short,
Chuck 'Arcourt and pal on with Gentleman Joe, like a gent, and a Sport!
Then 'Arry will talk to 'im, Charlie! Ah, well, I ain't got no more room,
Though I ain't done the Season arf justice. The last pale laburnum's in bloom,
But it ain't bin washed brimstone with rain-bursts. Our Sarah is hover from Parry,
Sir Orgustus is fair on the toot, so 'Ooray for the Season! Yours, 'Arry.
New Book and Query.—"Women's Tragedies. By H. D. Lowry." Is the tragic history of That Lass of Lowrie's included? "But that is another story."