ON A KLEPTOMANIAC.

Ah, Violin Cremonian! 
Ah, Pussy-cat of Ispahan! 
Moo-cow that dost outmoon the moon! 
Yes, dainty poodle, laugh away,
And mock the pranks poor mortals play
Who spoon the dish and dish the spoon!

* * * * *

TO THE QUEEN OF MAYS.

  Give me an elfin, frolic MAY,
    No Queen with hoarse cadenzas,
  Who pipes a frozen roundelay
    Of spiteful influenzas.

  My MAY shall air no voices crude. 
    No chained and chilly dances—­
  With wordless harmonies endued
    And pirouetting fancies.

  She’ll draw us round no Northern Poles
    With crowns of mimic roses. 
  That mock our sad sepulchral souls
    And counterfeit our noses.

  But white as hawthorn blossom, free
    As air to shed her pleasures,
  My mute, melodious MAY shall be
    The soul of wayward measures.

  To put it plainly, while the ban
    Of Spring on us and gales is,
  I’ll bask and smile and worship JEANNE
    Within the Prince of Wales’s.

* * * * *

CONSERVATIVE COMMENT ON A RECENT ELECTION (after Mr.
Middlewick).—­“Humph!  Inferior Dosset!”

* * * * *

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