"We sadly miss old CHARLEY's line;"
But were we mute, Neptune would hiss
His sons degenerate off the brine.
Old "CHARLEY" spins his yarns no more!
He's dead, as _Scrooge_ declared old _Marley_.
What then? Wake up, from shore to shore,
And--send your guineas to _Young_ CHARLEY!

* * * * *

"GREAT SCOT!"

[Extorted, by circumstances beyond his control, from a stolid
but unsuccessful Saxon Shootist at Bisley and Wimbledon, after
the match at the latter place between picked twenties of the
London Scottish and the London Rifle Brigade, won easily by
the former team.]

Oh! the Scot lot are all cracks at a shot,
And extremely successful at Hunting the Pot.
This particular "Saxon" the hump has got,
Being licked by a team which is Picked _and_ Scot.

* * * * *

[Illustration: SETTING THEIR CAPS AT HIM; OR, AN AUTOCRAT IN ODD
COMPANY.

["Never," said the CZAR, at the Imperial dinner to which
the Officers of the French Fleet were invited, "could I have