“Fair weather, friend,” we’ve often heard
    Used as a term to throw discredit,
  Though clearly it were quite absurd
    If speaking of yourself one said it. 
  When skies are blue (a thing that’s rare)
    I in the coolest way forsake you,
  But when the Forecast tells me “Fair,”
    Or “Settled Sunshine,” then I take you.

  I like to think of one sweet day
    When cats and dogs it kept on raining,
  (Why “cats and dogs,” it’s right to say,
    Who will oblige me by explaining?)
  When someone, who had golden hair,
    And I were walking out together,
  And underneath your sheltering care,
    Were happy spite of wind and weather.

  One day I asked a friend to dine,
    The friend I most completely trusted. 
  We sat and chatted o’er the wine,
    He liked the port—­my fine old crusted. 
  At length we said “Good-night.”  He went
    But not alone.  For to my sorrow
  My mind with jealousy was rent,
    To find you missing on the morrow.

  You had eloped!  Yet all the same
    I felt quite sure you were his victim,
  When back a sorry wreck you came,
    I very nearly went and kicked him! 
  Did Love take wings, and fly away? 
    Grew my affection less?  No, never! 
  To tell the truth, I’m bound to say
    I fondly loved you more than ever!

  With him—­the man who was my friend—­
    It’s pretty clear you got on badly;
  Your ribs, somehow, seem prone to bend,
    Your silken dress seems wearing sadly. 
  It’s very hard, I know, to part,
    And sentimental feelings smother,
  But even though it break my heart,
    I’m going, next week, to get another.

* * * * *

EPITAPH ON A PLATE OF VENISON (a suggestion, at the service of those who collect menu cards).—­“Though lost to sight, to memory deer!”

* * * * *

HISTORY AS SHE IS WROTE!

Last week the St. James’s Gazette published an article proving that the Bastille, so far from being a gloomy prison, was the most delightful of hotels.  This historical record has, however, caused no surprise in 85, Fleet Street, because the following extract from a very old diary has for years been awaiting publication.  The time has now arrived for it to see the light.

GAY MOMENTS AT THE ANCIENT BAILEY.

[Illustration]

Newgate, September 29, 17—­.—­Got up with the assistance of my valet, and held my customary levee.  The Governor of the place asked my permission to enter my luxuriously furnished apartments, to show me an amusing set of irons that had been discovered in one of the cells used during the last two hundred years for the storage of fire-wood.  The droll things were called the “Little Ease,” and seemingly, were intended to create merriment.