SAPPHICS OF THE CABSTAND.* Friend of Self-Government. SEEDY Cab-driver, whither art thou going? Local self-government yielding to the gripe of Centralization. Victim of FITZROY! little think the M.P.s, PUNCH. Lording it o'er cab, 'bus, lodging-house, and grave-yard, Of the good times when every Anglo Saxon's House was his castle. Say, hapless sufferer, was it Mr. CHADWICK- Was it the growth of Continental notions, Or was it the Metropolitan police-force Prompted this blow at Laissez-faire, that free and Easiest of doctrines? Have you not read Mr. TOULMIN SMITH's great work on Centralization? If you have n't, buy it; Meanwhile I should be glad at once to hear your View on the subject. Cab-driver. View on the subjeck? jiggered if I've got one; Whereby if we gives e'er a word o' cheek to * See page 384. As for Mr. ToULMIN SMITH, can't say I knows him- Perhaps you're goin in 'ansome style to stand a Shillin' a mile, sir? Friend of Self-Government. I give a shilling? I will see thee hanged firstSixpence a mile-or drive me straight to Bow-street-Idle, ill-mannered, dissipated, dirty, Insolent rascal! JUSTICE TO SCOTLAND.* [AN UNPUBLISHED POEM BY BURNS.] COMMUNICATED BY THE EDINBURG SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CIVILIZATION IN ENGLAND. PUNCH. O MICKLE yeuks the keckle doup, For wae and wae! the crowdies loup And blithesome poortith toomed the loof, But blaws in ilka jinking coof. The routhie bield that gars the gear And aye the stound is birkin lear Where sconnered yowies wheeped yestreen, Nae mair the howdie bicker whangs, Nor weanies in their wee bit claes Glour light as lammies wi' their sangs. Yet leeze me on my bonnie byke! My drappie aiblins blinks the noo, In this poem the Scottish words and phrases are all ludicrously misapplied. An' leesome luve has lapt the dyke An' cleek my duds for auld lang syne. THE POETICAL COOKERY-BOOK. THE STEAK. AIR." The Sea." Or Steak-of Steak-of prime Rump Steak A slice of half-inch thickness take, Without a blemish, soft and sound; In weight a little more than a pound. Who'd cook a Stake-who'd cook a Steak- With the red above and the red below, In one delicious genial glow. If a coal should come, a blaze to make, Have patience! You must n't put on your Steak, First rub-yes, rub-with suet fat, The gridiron's bars, then on it flat And when 'tis brown'd by the genial glow, Both sides with brown being cover'd o'er, And add of butter a slice of the best; When seasoned quite, upon the fire PUNCH. For nothing drives me half so wild As a nice Rump Steak in the cooking spiled. ROASTED SUCKING-PIG. AIR" Scots wha hae." Cooks who'd roast a Sucking-pig, See that he is scalded well (That is done by those who sell), Sage and bread, mix just enough, With the whole combined. Cloth, with butter lined. Dredge with flour o'er and o'er, 'Tis for serving fit. Then scrape off the flour with care; Then take out and mix the brains While it on the spit remains, Chop the sage, and chop the bread When it in the dish appears, Who can offer such a dish May dispense with fowl and fish ; BEIGNET DE POMME. AIR" Home, Sweet Home." 'MID fritters and lollipops though we may roam, And a half pound of butter the mixture will bear. Pomme! Pomme! Beignet de Pomme! Of Beignets there's none like the Beignet de Pomme! A Beignet de Pomme, you will work at in vain, Some beer, just to thin it, may into it fall; Stir up that, with three whites of eggs, added to all. Pomme! Pomme! Beignet de Pomme! Of Beignets there's none like the Beignet de Pomme! Six apples, when peeled, you must carefully slice, And you I'll have in six minutes your Beignet de Pomme. Pomme! Pomme! Beignet de Pomme! Of Beignets there's none like the Beignet de Pomme! |