slink away. I hear "_Viva_!" "_Hoch_!" and clinking glasses. Then
ADOLF hurries up surreptitiously, and whispers, "Tell you vat, Sare:
to-morrer you shoost dine on de terass; dere, plenty breeze, hein?"
"Plenty breeze!"--and you pay three francs extra, and catch a cold.

* * * * *

SIGH NO MORE, LOTTIE.

["The disinfecting process has ruined all the dresses of Miss
COLLINS."--_New York Telegram_.]

Sigh no more, LOTTIE, sigh no more,
Those gowns have gone for ever;
You've cut some capers on that shore
That you expected never;
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
To Tarara--boom--de nonny.
Sing that vile ditty yet once more,
And win almighty dollars
From Yankees who have spoilt your store
Of frocks, frills, cuffs and collars;
The air will run in their heads like one
O'clock, till it makes the same ache.
While on you shines prosperity's sun.
Your Tarara-boom-de hay make!

* * * * *