Some girls repine, and some rejoice,
And some get bored, but I'm contented
To make my destiny my choice,—

I'll never dream that I've repented.
There's something sad in loved and cross'd,
For all the fond, fond hope that rings it;
There's something sweet in " loved and lost"-

And, oh, how sweetly Alfred sings it!

I'll own I'm bored with handicaps!

Bluerocks! (they always are "bluerock"-ing!)-With May, a little bit, perhaps,

And yon Faust's teufelshund is shocking!
Bang... bang...! That's Willy! There's his bird,
Blithely it cleaves the skies above me!

He's missed all ten! He's too absurd!-
I hope he'll always, always love me!
We've lost! To tea, then back to town;
The crowd is laughing, eating, drinking:
The moon's eternal eyes look down,—
Of what, I wonder, is she thinking!
Oh, but for some good fairy's wand,-
This pigeoncide is worse than silly,
But still I'm very, very fond

Of Hurlingham, and tea,—and Willy.

FREDERICK LOCKER.

CROQUET.

(To the tune of the "Great Sensation.")

(Symphony.)

OST croquet is cheating,
Most roquet mere folly,
And yet we know

M

Some belles and beaux

Who fancy it's most jolly.

(Solo, Soprano.)

"Come into the garden-mud."

(Tutti.)

Then come into the garden-mud;
To stop in-doors all bosh is ;
There is, 'tis true,

A heavyish dew,

But we've got on goloshes.

(Chorus.)

Pooh-pooh, bother the dew!

Balmoral and castor;

The more you try to stick in the dry It only rains the faster.

66

Now, Mr. Blue,

We're waiting for you,

And mind, don't miss your hoop, sir;
For Mrs. Pink

Plays next, I think,
And has you like a scoop, sir."

“Ah, there you go!

I told you so;

You'll make your side repent all;

Bats, balls, ready for squalls,
Nothing but disaster;

The more you try to go ahead,
You're only stopped the faster.

"So Mellon's dead"

"Yes, so it's said"

“Of course you're charmed with Lucca ?

I rather think —"

"Oh, hang that Pink!

Was ever such a fluker."

"Miss Black, your hoop
Resembles Cup-

66

id's bow, (or vice versâ) "

"Well spooned, Miss Red,
That's not so bad -

(As 'twould be if 'twere worser!)"

(Chorus.)

Fie, fie, spoon on the sly,
What turpitude is vaster?
The more you try to place yourself,
You're only croquéd faster.

66 So, as I said
(Green after Red),

Miss Dash was much admired,

And she was vext"

"Do I go next?

I'm actually wired

Thro' I declare!"

"No spooning there!" ""Twas nothing but a push, sir". "It's you to play"

"Where am I, eh?"—

Stuck in the holly-bush, sir!

(Chorus.)

Push, poke, spoon, fluke,
Squabbling Miss and Master,

The more one tries to save oneself,
One's only croquéd faster.

That sound each bosom crazes,

They scatter here,

And shatter there,

And knock their friends to blazes.

(Chorus.)

Flounce, pounce, nothing but bounce,
What folly can be vaster!

The more you try to finish it off,
It only sticks the faster.

Miss Green, the stout,
Who skips about

In Taglioni fashion

(So spirituelle !),
Trips in the bell

And flies off in a passion.

(Great Glee.)

"Lightly trip it, fairy Green."

Excited Black

Gives Red a crack

That bors de combat puts her;
And pretty Brown

Her bat brings down

Upon her pretty foot, sir.

(Disconcerted piece.)

"As Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to

throw,

He lets it fall, and drops it on his toe."

Now Red, I say

She's run away,

Such conduct most morose is;

And nought's been seen
Of gentle Green
Since her apotheosis.

There's Brown eloped,
And Orange sloped,
(The last flirtée of Yellow's)-
And scolded Black

Won't be called back,

Tho' Echo burst his bellows.

(Duette.)

"Can storied urn or animated bust?"

So Pink and Blue,

It's

you "to do,"

Since that's the way to put it ;

And if not quick

You reach

your stick,

Take my advice and-cut it!

(Chorus-as a Solo.)

Curt, pert, girls that flirt,
Cornet, pup, and pastor,
The more you try to call 'em back
They only go the faster.
(Final Chorus-as a Refrain.)

H. CHOLMONDELEY PENNELL.

L