By the time that these lines were written the late Mr. J.K.  Stephen—­affectionately known by his friends as “Jem Stephen”—­was beginning to be recognized as an extraordinarily good writer of humorous verse.  His performances in this line were not collected till ten years later (Lapsus Calami, 1891), and his brilliant career was cut short, by the results of an accident, in 1892.  I reproduce the following sonnet, not only because I think it an excellent criticism aptly expressed, but because I desire to pay my tribute of admiration to one of whom all men spoke golden words:—­

    “Two voices are there:  one is of the deep—­
    It learns the storm-cloud’s thunderous melody,
    Now roars, now murmurs with the changing sea,
    Now bird-like pipes, now closes soft in sleep;
    And one is of an old, half-witted sheep
    Which bleats articulate monotony,
    And indicates that two and one are three,
    That glass is green, lakes damp, and mountains steep;
    And, Wordsworth, both are thine.”

I hope that there are few among my readers who have not in their time known and loved the dear old ditty which tells us how

    “There was a youth, and a well-beloved youth,
      And he was a squire’s son,
    And he loved the Bailiff’s daughter dear
      Who dwelt at Islington.”

Well, to all who have followed that touching story of love and grief I commend the following version of it.  French, after all, is the true language of sentiment:—­

    “Il y avait un garcon,
    Fort amiable et fort bon,
      Qui etait le fils du Lord Mayor;
    Et il aimait la fille
    D’un sergent de ville
      Qui demeurait a Leycesster Sqvare.

    “Mais elle etait un peu prude,
    Et n’avait pas l’habitude
      De coqueter, comme les autres demoiselles;
    Jusqu’a ce que le Lord Mayor
    (Homme brutal, comme tous les peres)
      L’eloigna de sa tourterelle.

    “Apres quelques ans d’absence,
    Au rencontre elle s’elance;
      Elle se fait une toilette de tres bon gout—­
    Des pantoufles sur les pieds,
    Des lunettes sur le nez,
      Et un collier sur le cou—­c’etait tout.

    “Mais bientot elle s’assit
    Dans la rue Piccadilli,
      Car il faisait extremement chaud;
    Et la elle vit s’avancer
    L’unique objet de ses pensees,
      Sur le plus magnifique de chevaux!

    “Je suis pauvre et sans ressource! 
    Prete, prete-moi ta bourse,
      Ou ta montre, pour me montrer confiance.’ 
    ’Jeune femme, je ne vous connais,
    Ainsi il faut me donner
      Une adresse et quelques references’

    “’Mon adresse—­c’est Leycesster Sqvare,
    Et pour reference j’espere
      Que la statue de Shakespeare vous suffira,’
    ’Ah! connais-tu ma mie,
    La fille du sergent?’ ’Si;
      Mais elle est morte comme un rat!’