"
Thus thou, my hosier, profferest me a pair
Of these, the latest style of slumber-wear.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "AWEARY! AWEARY!"
_Miss Certainage_ (_who has been studying Schopenhauer, and has come
to the conclusion that there is nothing but sorrow in life, sadly_).
"AH, MAJOR, I'M SURE I SHALL DIE YOUNG!"
_Ethel._ "OH NO, AUNT DEAR, I'M _CERTAIN_ YOU WON'T!"]
* * * * *
THE GENERAL'S LITTLE FUND.
(_SEE "TIMES," MAY 11._)
[Illustration]
Oh where, oh where is my little wee fund?
Oh where, oh where can it be?
With the pence cut short and the pounds cut long;
Oh where, oh where can it be?
I've travelled about with my little wee fund--
It used to pay for me;
But now it's gone I'm lorn and lone;
Oh where, oh where can it be?
I want to stump through Switzerland;
On the 24th proximo.
To Germany, Sweden, Norway, and
To Denmark I want to go;
I've held out my hat to every flat,
And begged over land and sea,
Humanity dunned, but I have no fund--
Oh where, oh where can it be?
If ever you see a stray bawbee
Whenever, wherever you roam,
Oh, tell him the woe that troubles me so,
And say that it keeps me at home.
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