Who is prone to catch chills, like all old Ben

galese : But at bedtime I trust he'll remember to

grease The bridge of his nose, and preserve his

rupees From the premature clutch of his fond lega

tees; Or at least have no fees to pay any M. D.'s For the cold his niece caught sitting under the trees.

C. S. CALVERLEY.

A, B, C.

A is an Angel of blushing eighteen;
B is the Ball where the Angel was seen;
C is her Chaperon, who cheated at cards;
D is the Deuxtemps, with Frank of the Guards;
E is her Eye, killing slowly but surely;
F is the Fan, whence it peeped so demurely;

G is the Glove of superlative kid ;
H is the Hand which it spitefully hid;
I is the Ice, which the fair one demanded;
J is the Juvenile, that dainty who handed;
K is the Kerchief, a rare work of art;
L is the Lace which composed the chief part;
M is the old Maid who watched the chits dance;
N is the Nose she turned up at each glance;
O is the Olga (just then in its prime);
P is the Partner who wouldn't keep time;
Q is a Quadrille, put instead of the Lancers;
R the Remonstrances made by the dancers ;
S is the Supper, where all went in pairs;
T is the Twaddle they talked on the stairs ;
U is the Uncle who “thought he'd be goin'”;
V is the Voice which his niece replied “No” in;
W is the Waiter, who sat up till eight;
X is his Exit, not rigidly straight;
Y is a yawning fit caused by the Ball;
Z stands for Zero, or nothing at all.

C. S. CALVERLEY.

FLIGHT.

O MEMORY! that which I gave thec

To guard in thy garner yestreenLittle deeming thou e'er couldst behave

thee Thus basely-hath gone from thee clean! Gone, fled, as ere autumn is ended

The yellow leaves flee from the oakI have lost it forever, my splendid

Original joke.

What was it? I know I was brushing

My hair when the notion occurred: I know that I felt myself blushing

As I thought, “ How supremely absurd ! How they'll hammer on floor and on table

As its drollery dawns on them-how They will quote it”—I wish I were able

To quote it just now.

I had thought to lead up conversation

To the subject—it's easily doneThen let off, as an airy creation

Of the moment, that masterly pun. Let it off, with a flash like a rocket's;

In the midst of a dazzled conclave, While I sat, with my hands in my pockets,

The only one grave. I had fancied young Titterton's chuckles,

And old Bottleby's hearty guffaws As he drove at my ribs with his knuckles,

His mode of expressing applause: While Jean Bottleby-queenly Miss Janet

Drew her handkerchief hastily out, In fits at my slyness—what can it

Have all been about?

I know 'twas the happiest, quaintest

Combination of pathos and fun: But I've got no idea-the faintest

Of what was the actual pun.

I think it was somehow connected

With something I'd recently readOr heard-or perhaps recollected

On going to bed. What had I been reading ? The “Standard":

“Double Bigamy";“ Speech of the mayor." And later-eh? yes ! I meandered

Through some chapters of “ Vanity Fair.” How it fuses the grave with the festive!

Yet e’en there, there is nothing so fineSo playfully, subtly suggestive

As that joke of mine.

Did it hinge upon “parting asunder"?

No, I don't part my hair with my brush. Was the point of it “ hair"? Now I wonder!

Stop a bit-I shall think of it-hush! There's hare, a wild animal.--Stuff!

It was something a deal more recondite: Of that I am certain enough;

And of nothing beyond it.