When I talk and you are heedless,
I will show no anger needless.

V

When your speeches are absurd,
I will ne'er object a word.

VI

When you furious argue wrong,
I will grieve and hold my tongue.

VII

Not a jest or humorous story

Will I ever tell before ye:

To be chidden for explaining,

When you quite mistake the meaning.

VIII

Never more will I suppose,

You can taste my verse or prose.

IX

You no more at me shall fret,

While I teach and you forget.

X

You shall never hear me thunder,
When you blunder on, and blunder,

ΧΙ

Show your poverty of spirit,
And in dress place all your merit;
Give yourself ten thousand airs:
That with me shall break no squares.

XII

Never will I give advice,

Till you please to ask me thrice:
Which if you in scorn reject,

'T will be just as I expect.

Thus we both shall have our ends

And continue special friends.

Dean Swift.

ALL-SAINTS

IN a church which is furnish'd with mullion and gable,
With altar and reredos, with gargoyle and groin,
The penitents' dresses are sealskin and sable,
The odour of sanctity's eau-de-Cologne.

But only could Lucifer, flying from Hades,

Gaze down on this crowd with its panniers and paints, He would say, as he look'd at the lords and the ladies, "Oh, where is All-Sinners', if this is All-Saints'?" Edmund Yates.

HOW TO MAKE A MAN OF CONSEQUENCE

A BROW austere, a circumspective eye.
A frequent shrug of the os humeri;
A nod significant, a stately gait,

A blustering manner, and a tone of weight,
A smile sarcastic, an expressive stare:
Adopt all these, as time and place will bear;
Then rest assur'd that those of little sense
Will deem you sure a man of consequence.
Mark Lemon.

Paradise

281

ON A MAGAZINE SONNET

SCORN not the sonnet," though its strength be sapped, Nor say malignant its inventor blundered; The corpse that here in fourteen lines is wrapped Had otherwise been covered with a hundred.

Russell Hilliard Loines.

PARADISE

A HINDOO LEGEND

A INDOO died—a happy thing to do
When twenty years united to a shrew.
Released, he hopefully for entrance cries
Before the gates of Brahma's Paradise.
"Hast been through Purgatory?" Brahma said.
"I have been married," and he hung his head.
"Come in, come in, and welcome, too, my son!
Marriage and Purgatory are as one."

In bliss extreme he entered heaven's door,
And knew the peace he ne'er had known before.

He scarce had entered in the Garden fair,

Another Hindoo asked admission there.
The self-same question Brahma asked again:

"Hast been through Purgatory?" "No; what then?" "Thou canst not enter!" did the god reply.

"He that went in was no more there than I."

"Yes, that is true, but he has married been,

And so on earth has suffered for all sin."

"Married? 'Tis well; for I've been married twice!" Begone! We'll have no fools in Paradise!"

George Birdseye.

THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY
I AM a friar of orders gray,

And down in the valleys I take my way;
I pull not blackberry, haw, or hip;
Good store of venison fills my scrip;
My long bead-roll I merrily chant;
Where'er I walk no money I want;

And why I'm so plump the reason I tell:
Who leads a good life is sure to live well.
What baron or squire,

Or knight of the shire,

Lives half so well as a holy friar?

After supper, of heaven I dream,
But that is a pullet and clouted cream;
Myself by denial I mortify-

With a dainty bit of a warden-pie;
I'm clothed in sackcloth for my sin-
With old sack wine I'm lined within;
A chirping cup is my matin song,

And the vesper's bell is my bowl, ding-dong.
What baron or squire,

Or knight of the shire,

Lives half so well as a holy friar?

OF A CERTAIN MAN

John O'Keefe.

THERE was (not certain when) a certain preacher
That never learned, and yet became a teacher,
Who, having read in Latin thus a text

Of erat quidam homo, much perplexed,

He seemed the same with study great to scan,
In English thus, There was a certain man.
"But now," quoth he, "good people, note you this,
He said there was: he doth not say there is;
For in these days of ours it is most plain
Of promise, oath, word, deed, no man's certain;
Yet by my text you see it comes to pass
That surely once a certain man there was;
But yet, I think, in all your Bible no man
Can find this text, There was a certain woman."
Sir John Harrington.

Clean Clara

283

CLEAN CLARA

WHAT! not know our Clean Clara?

Why, the hot folks in Sahara,

And the cold Esquimaux,

Our little Clara knows!

Clean Clara, the Poet sings,

Cleaned a hundred thousand things!

She cleaned the keys of the harpsichord,
She cleaned the hilt of the family sword,
She cleaned my lady, she cleaned my lord,
All the pictures in their frames,

Knights with daggers and stomachered dames-
Cecils, Godfreys, Montforts, Graemes,

Winifreds-all those nice old names!

She cleaned the works of the eight-day clock,
She cleaned the spring of a secret lock,

She cleaned the mirror, she cleaned the cupboard,

All the books she India-rubbered!

She cleaned the Dutch tiles in the place,
She cleaned some very old-fashioned lace;
The Countess of Miniver came to her,
"Pray, my dear, will you clean my fur?"
All her cleanings are admirable,

To count your teeth you will be able,

If you look in the walnut table.

She cleaned the tent-stitch and the sampler,

She cleaned the tapestry, which was ampler;

Joseph going down into the pit,

And the Shunammite woman with the boy in a fit.

You saw the reapers, not in the distance,

And Elisha, coming to the child's assistance,

With the house on the wall that was built for the prophet,

The chair, the bed and the bolster of it.

The eyebrows all had a twirl reflective,
Just like an eel: to spare invective

There was plenty of color but no perspective.