Who is prone to catch chills, like all old Bengalese : 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; F is the Fan, whence it peeped so demurely; G is the Glove of superlative kid; H is the Hand which it spitefully hid; L is the Lace which composed the chief part; P is the Partner who wouldn't keep time; C. S. CALVERLEY. FLIGHT. O MEMORY! that which I gave thee Thus basely-hath gone from thee clean! Gone, fled, as ere autumn is ended The yellow leaves flee from the oak— I have lost it forever, my splendid Original joke. What was it? I know I was brushing 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 Of the moment, that masterly pun. I had fancied young Titterton's chuckles, Have all been about? I know 'twas the happiest, quaintest I think it was somehow connected With something I'd recently read— 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 fine— So playfully, subtly suggestive As that joke of mine. Did it hinge upon "parting asunder "? It was something a deal more recondite: Of that I am certain enough; And of nothing beyond it. |