THE SOMALIS AT SYDENHAM.

In the Stables.

Miss Simplicia Simpson (looking at the native saddles on brackets). I suppose those are what they put on the ostriches!

Her Companion. They don't ride ostriches.

Miss Simpson (in a tone of pity and reproof). That only shows you've never read your Swiss Family Robinson!

A Gobe-mouche. Well, I never see a white lamb with a black 'ed before; that is a curiosity, ain't it'?

His Phlegmatic Friend. Not arf such a curiosity as if it 'ad 'ad a black 'ed be'ind.

A Censorious Lady (before a row of baby elephants). Oh, aren't they horrid! Look at their horrid little eyes. (As one of them protrudes a predatory trunk.) Oh, get away, do! They are the most hideous creatures I've ever seen! Look at that one, all wrinkled and baggy like an old man. See, it's wagging its head about like a Chinese doll! I do think they're quite loathsome, don't you?

Her Companion (a more Tolerant Person). I daresay they would'nt look so bad if they were varnished up a bit.

In the Ostrich Farm.

The Keeper (who apparently considers his Show as moral as Artemus Ward's—to the Public generally). I've came over here From California, whose golden waters kiss The mouth of her Sunny Sands, and where there air strawberries all the year round. On the farm where I live there were only fourteen days in all of lasst year when we had no strawberries. The most Glorious climate In the World; and, if anyone don't believe it, all they've got to do is to die; and then, if they've been good, they'll go there, and find out for themselves. I'm not under Con-tràct To say a single word here, but I want to talk to you about these birds, because they're generally misunderstood. They walk en-tirely From the Toe, which gives them the graceful, springy action you see. They air all named after the greatest people now living on airth. This one close to the rails is called Jim Blake. Mark well the Peculiarities, Life, Habits, and Characteristics of the Ostrich, and you will all of you go away And lead A moral life. The only absolootly Purrfect Being on This ole Universe is the bird now passing in front of me. Her name is Gail Hamilton, and She has The Smallest Feet of anyone here present, and the Smallest Head. She has only one ounce of brains inside of it, and that is Sufficient for her requirements, and nobody would have any use for more if they did not suffer From swelled heads.... Yes, little girl, you're purrfectly right—the ostrich does run zig-zag, which is A Fact that is Unknown to many Scientific men. The kick of the ostrich is as quick as lightning—quicker 'n lightning, be-cause you can see lightning, but you cann't see an ostrich's kick, which is four kicks to the second, and kills a man every time. At certain seasons it is Impossible to go among these birds except On horseback, and pro-vided with a stout pole with a fork at the end for Self-defence. All of these birds are here on Sale, and there is a large demand for them for Gentlemen's Parks and Country seats.

A Suburban Humourist (to his Wife). What d'ye say to gettin' a pair on 'em fur our back-yard, eh?

His Wife. 'Ow you do tork, 'Enery! 'Oo do you suppose is goin' to 'ang the washing out with two o' them great houtlandish beasts lolloping around? Not me, and so I tell yer. I've enough work on my 'ands without no austridges!

[She fans herself violently with her programme, and 'Enery is reduced to explain that his suggestion was not seriously intended.

In the Stands—during the Native Display.

Mrs. Keyveve (to her brother, Mr. Frederick Frivell, as the Somalis are performing a marriage dance). It seems a curious kind of wedding, doesn't it, Fred? Can you make out which are the bride and bridegroom?

Mr. Frivell. Fancy that's the bride in red cotton, with her hair down, prancing with maidenly gaiety between the first bridesmaid and the best man, while the bridegroom, becomingly draped in a bath-towel, may be observed capering up and down clapping hands with the officiating clergy. A simple but impressive ceremony.

Mrs. Keyveve. Very. I wonder if they get any wedding presents.

Mr. Frivell. Rather. The sportsman in the rusty wig gave 'em Browning's poems and an afternoon tea-kettle, and the Johnny with the feathers in his wool presented her with a dressing-bag. The photo-frames, card-cases and carriage-clocks are all laid out in one of the huts, according to the savage custom of the country, guarded by a detective in the disguise of a wedding guest, armed with poisoned spears.

Mrs. Keyveve. How silly you are! Look, they're rolling along a great wicker-basket. What can they have in it—the bride's luggage, perhaps?... Why, it's an enormous snake! See, it's crawling out!

Mr. Frivell. It's the bride's going-away dress, that's all. Someone ought to tell her that boas aren't worn this season, though.

'Arriet (in the Sixpenny Promenade, to 'Arry). What are they miking all that row about—are they supposed to be torking, or what?

'Arry (vaguely). I expect they're declarin' war—against somebody or other.

'Arriet (reflectively). I wonder if that little bit of 'air stickin' up grows out of that feller's 'ed like that. Look at all them little nippers runnin' about—(with an air of discovery)—I expect they belong to some of 'em.

[The Somalis perform a war-dance, which seems to consist in squatting down opposite one another in a double row, chanting "Razza-Ho! Ho-hoâ-ho-ho!" or words to that effect, while two of the party dodge between the ranks and cluck like poultry, after which all rise, knock their wooden shields together until they lose further interest in the affair, and stroll away satiated.

Mrs. Keyveve. Is that really their war-dance? It's very much the same as the marriage dance, isn't it?

Mr. Frivell (a contented bachelor). Yes; subtle beggars, these Somalis.

"There they are, yer see—Comin' 'Ome from Southend!"

'Arry (during the Sham Fight). 'Ark at one on 'em 'owlin' "Oo-oo-oo!" he's took bad agen! Good ole Mop 'Ed got one in that time! "Olla-olla-olla!"—he's sayin' the other bloke 'it 'im on the jor.

'Arriet. There's one keeps sayin' "Pudd'n" as plain as possible. There agen—"Pudd'n!" d'jear 'im? They orter bring that young Shazarder chap to see this; he'd feel at 'ome 'ere, among all these Injians, wouldn' 'e?

'Arry. They ain't Injians—they're Afrikins, didn't you know that much?

'Arriet. Oh, you're so partickler, you are!

Mrs. Keyveve (during the Dromedary Race). How seasick one must feel on those wobbly camels!

Mr. Frivell. The Camel has been beautifully called the "Ship of the Desert."

A Husband (confidentially, to his neighbour). Yer know, the Missus ain't enjoyin' all this, she aint—you see. I'll arsk her, and you 'ear what she sez. (To his "Missus.") 'Ow d'yer like it, eh, Mother?

His "Missus" (with self-repression). Oh—middlin'.

Husband (insistently). Ah, I know what that means; yer don't care about it. Now, do yer?

His "Missus." It's well enough—in its way. (With irrepressible candour.) I'd sooner see the Mow'ork Minstruels.

Husband (to his neighbour, with a mixture of chagrin and complacency). Didn't I tell yer? That's where it is. I don't know a more severer criteek anywheres than what my ole woman is!

Miss Simpson. Look at those dear ostriches running after one another and opening their beaks. Now that's not imitation, you know!

'Arry (with his characteristic eye for analogy—as the entire caravan parades past in procession). There they are, yer see—Comin' 'Ome from Southend!

Small by Degrees and Beautifully Less.—Our excellent contemporary the Northern Whig allows a correspondent to call attention to the nuisance of cycling in Malone Park. Apparently our "fellow-subjects of the sister kingdom" have followed the lead of "the beginners of Battersea," and "made themselves a source of annoyance to the majority of people resident in the locality." If "the nuisance" is permitted, the correspondent suggests the Park will soon be deserted. When this happens, the cyclist can appropriately alter his ride (by cutting off a letter) around Malone to Alone.