_
_Chorus of Ladies._
Not yet the consolation
Of manicure and cream;
Not yet the barber dresses
Our dusty tousled tresses;
The thought of titivation
Is still a distant dream;
Not yet the consolation
Of manicure and cream.
Still, still, with vim and vigour,
'Tis ours to scour and scrub;
With rag and metal polish
The dirt we must demolish;
Still, still, with toil-bowed figure,
Among the grates we grub;
Still, still, with vim and vigour,
'Tis ours to scour and scrub.
CURTAIN.
* * * * *
A TALE OF A COINCIDENCE.
"Coincidences," said the ordinary seaman, "are rum things. Now I can tell
you of a rum un that happened to me."
It said Royal Naval Reserve round his cap, but he looked as if he ought to
be wearing gold earrings and a gaudy handkerchief.
"When I was a young feller I made a voyage or two in an old hooker called
the _Pearl of Asia_.
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