That whole day long the Taylor pup
    This way and that did hie
  Upon his mad, erratic course
    Intent on getting dry.

  That night when Mr. Taylor came
    His vesper meal to eat,
  He uttered things my pious pen
    Would liefer not repeat.

  Yet still that noble Taylor pup
    Survives to romp and bark
  And stumble over folks and things
    In fair Buena Park.

  Good sooth, I wot he should be called
    Buena’s favorite son
  Who’s sired of such a noble sire
    And damned by every one.

LONG METER.

  All human joys are swift of wing
    For heaven doth so allot it
  That when you get an easy thing
    You find you haven’t got it.

  Man never yet has loved a maid,
    But they were sure to part, sir;
  Nor never lacked a paltry spade
    But that he drew a heart, sir!

  Go, Chauncey! it is plain as day
    You much prefer a dinner
  To walking straight in wisdom’s way—­
    Go to, thou babbling sinner.

  The froward part that you have played
    To me this lesson teaches: 
  To trust no man whose stock in trade
    Is after-dinner speeches.

  TO DE WITT MILLER.

  Dear Miller:  You and I despise
    The cad who gathers books to sell ’em,
  Be they but sixteen-mos in cloth
    Or stately folios garbed in vellum.

  But when one fellow has a prize
    Another bibliophile is needing,
  Why, then, a satisfactory trade
    Is quite a laudable proceeding.

  There’s precedent in Bristol’s case
    The great collector—­preacher-farmer;
  And in the case of that divine
    Who shrives the soul of P.D.  Armour.

  When from their sapient, saintly lips
    The words of wisdom are not dropping,
  They turn to trade—­that is to say,
    When they’re not preaching they are swapping!

  So to the flock it doth appear
    That this a most conspicuous fact is: 
  That which these godly pastors do
    Must surely be a proper practice.

  Now, here’s a pretty prize, indeed,
    On which De Vinne’s art is lavished;
  Harkee! the bonny, dainty thing
    Is simply waiting to be ravished!

  And you have that for which I pine
    As you should pine for this fair creature: 
  Come, now, suppose we make a trade—­
    You take this gem, and send the Beecher!

  Surely, these graceful, tender songs
    (In samite garb with lots of gilt on)
  Are more to you than those dull tome? 
    Her pastor gave to Lizzie Tilton!

FRANCOIS VILLON.