Volume 146 — THE EPIDEMIC.
Reading edition
A French contemporary, commenting upon the fact that the sudden appearance of cold weather in London is accompanied by an equally sudden disappearance of cats, demonstrates the cause of this coincidence.
What boots it, Sir, to boggle at The truth? So be it said Quite candidly, our Thomas-cat, McCorquodale, is dead. When winds from East and North conspire To freeze the very breath, To you it means the mere desire To skate or sit too near the fire, To him 'twas sudden death. The cat that leaves the hearth and strays Abroad is over-bold; McCorquodale would go his ways, Despite the frost. To use a phrase Belittled in these careless days, He caught his death of cold. 'Twas not from native lack of fur That his demise was such. We did not see the end occur, But, though it be to cast a slur Upon humanity, infer (And you will catch our meaning, Sir) He had a coat too much.
And now, when Northern winds are bluff And veering to the East, And Beauty shuns their rude rebuff By hiding hands (and powder-puff) Inside her Russian sable muff, We tell ourselves, "Why, sure enough There goes, disguised as better stuff, McCorquodale deceased!"
Advice to Mothers.
"January 20, at Kenyon-road, Wavertree, to Mr. and Mrs. Oswald Unsworth, a son (bath well)."—Liverpool Echo.
"Artists in Gentlemen's Headwear."—Advt.
This always creates surprise. Somehow still expects to see them in sombreros.
THE HUNT BALL SEASON.
First Nut. "It's Miss Smith-Brown. She's all right—they're lookin' after her."
Second Nut (pulling up). "Good gracious, my dear chap, it's my Tango partner!"