THH MliMIU'.RS. 87 



hi:a(;.li:rs at bicicstox. 



(U. CHKISTIK.) 



All ! tluTo's bland Christie, with his winniiij; smile, 



In (."liristeiidoni you'll find few better faces, 

 But, by the holy Moses ! that profile 



Smacks of sham spectacles and shagreen cases. 



(W. WATSON.) 



.\nd, shure, that's Mister Watson sitting there ! 



And mighty handsome is his picture drawn, 

 I ^\■ish you saw him follow hound and hare, 



I wish you heard him singing '* Molly Bawn." 



(W. BOWNfAN.) 



.\nd who arc you, my little broad brim, pray ? 



That look as if you'd led these sporting people ! 

 Who'd think that you'd been sitting through the day. 



Smoking your pipe, on Bunbury church steeple ? 



(W. FOSTER.) 



Why smile so pensively, I beg to ask ? 



You're always foremost in the jocund laugh, 

 I fear you're coveting that empty flask, 



You dog ! you wish you'd had the " premier " quaff. 



(T. A. BUSIIBV.) 



But see ! that brow of pride and eye of fire, 



Actaeon treading in the covert shades. 

 (His trowsers turned to keep them from the mire) 



Seeking the goddess and her sylvan maids. 



(W. LVOX.) 



And you, my merry, joking punchincllo. 



You think a Beeston " meet " is only a burletta. 

 You'll find there's more to do, m}- jovial fellow, 



Than cross your legs and whiff your cigaretta. 



(ALFRED WALFORD.) 



By Jupiter I but that's a splendid chap. 



On hardest days he's never known to yield. 

 He's got the certain token in his cap. 



That he's the boy to lead the beagle field. 



(r. tinlev.) 

 That's you. Bob Tinley ! that I swear by jingo. 



You've laid yourself most gracefully at ease. 

 That eye belies you, or you've sucked all the stingo, 



And thrown the bottle to the R.R.B.'s. 



(henry WALFORD.) 



Behold Old Noll ! the painter could not draw liim. 



He said " he seemed so like a midnight rake," 

 But I, and these green coats, that better know him, 



Declare in him, there can be " no mistake." 



Last in the group, but first in every heart, 



On thee the pen and pencil strive in vain, 

 Thy perfect picture is beyond their art, 



We'll never, never sec thy like again. 



