As for you, rough Mr. HORSLEY,
Arguing so very coarsely,
May I say yours is a worse lie,--
Rhyming badly?
You, so skilled in vivisection,
Could cut up Miss COBBE's objection,
With your tongue in some subjection,
Not thus madly.

Why, LOMBROSO would despise you,
Though he is so rude. These "lies" you
Freely write make folks surmise you
An impostor,
Not the lady. You've not "licked" her.
(Slang to suit you) though you're VICTOR.
Since you stoop to contradict her
Like a coster.

* * * * *

[Illustration: MR. PUNCH'S SHOOTING-PARTY.]

* * * * *

SONGS OUT OF SEASON.--MY CARETAKER.

[Illustration]

A mysterious thing
For our commonplace day,