Volume 102 — "OFF HIS FEED!"

Stable-help (anxiously). Why, he used to be a stunner, and a safe and steady runner, And we trusted him, most confident, for landing us the Stakes. Now, what can the cause of this be? He's a-looking queer and quisby; And his off fore leg seems shaky, and the rest ain't no great shakes. Groom (sharply). Not too much of it, you HARRY! You are here to fetch and carry, And not to pass opinions in the presence of the Vet. But he does look dicky, Mister; I've tried bolus, I've tried blister, But I haven't got him up to his old form by chalks, Sir, yet! Vet. (dubiously). You're a bit new at the "biz.," lad, and I tell you what it is, lad,— These thoroughbreds aren't managed like a dray-horse, don'tcher know. They want very careful feeding, and Sangrado purge or bleeding Won't suit our modern strain—of man or horse. Steady, lad! Woa! [Examines him. Groom (rather sulkily). Well, Sir, what do you make it? Vet. Off his feed? Groom. Well, he don't take it. Not voracious, so to speak, Sir, as he do when cherry ripe. Vet. Ah-h-h! May want a change of diet. Eye is neither bright nor quiet, And his coat seems dull and roughish, though he's sound in pulse and pipe. Stable-help. Don't take kindly to his fodder, and, what I thinks even odder, With a temper like a hangel, gits a bit inclined to kick. Landed 'Art Dyke a fair wunner! Groom (testily). Well, you are an eighty-tonner At superfluous patter, HARRY! Stable-help (aside). Lor! His temper's gitting quick! What has been and popped the acid in his style so prim and placid? Doesn't shine like what he thought to as head-groom. Yus, there's the rub! Vet. (looking at sieve). Seem to shy that feed! Groom. I mixed it with the greatest care, and fixed it With an eye to tempt his appetite, but there, he's off his grub! Vet. (to Stable-help). Takes your green stuff better? Stable-help. True, Sir! Groom. But too much o' that won't do, Sir. Can't live on tares entirely! (Aside.) This here boy's too full of beans. Vet. Ah! I see the whole position. He's a bit out of condition, Wants a tonic and skilled treatment. Yes, no doubt that's what it means. With an appetite that's picksome comes a temper tart and tricksome, But a pick-me-up—I'll send one—will, I'm sure set all that square. And if there's further wasting, then, without too headlong hasting, Give him, as soon as possible—a little Country Air!

She's as bad as can be, but she's "Precious" to me, Though her conduct cannot be called free from a flaw; For in spite of blackmail, I have vowed ne'er to fail In the duty I owe to my Mother-in-law. There have been flippant sneers and conventional jeers, At a worthy relation that I hold in awe; Though it angers my wife, all the joy of my life Comes from drawing big cheques—for my Mother-in-law. Peccadilloes she had, but she isn't all bad, And the folks who have sneered shall their libels withdraw; To our dance she shall come, and the world be struck dumb At the way that I've whitewashed my Mother-in-law. She shall rise from the slime of what people called crime, To a virtuous height, for I always foresaw 'Twould be wise to proclaim to all ages the fame Of that much-maligned female—a Mother-in-law.