For who can rightly read the change
    When, still’d the work-day traffic’s din,
  In best apparel, rich and strange,
    Thou passest weekly to thy kin!

  A silken gown, that bravely stands
    Environing thy form, or no;
  Stout gloves upon thy straining hands,
    For brooch, the breastplate cameo.

  Shod with the well-heeled boots, whose knell
    Afar along the pavement sounds,
  Blent with the tinkling muffin-bell,
    Or milkman, shrilling on his rounds.

  Nil tangis quod non ornas. Nay,
    ’Tis not alone the parsley sprig,
  The paper frill, the fennel spray,
    The Yule-tide’s pertly-berried twig;

  But common objects by thy art
    Some proper beauty seem to own;
  Thy chop is as a chop apart,
    Fraught with a grace before unknown;

  The very egg thou poachest seems
    Some work of deft orfevrerie,—­
  A yolk of gold that chastely gleams
    Through a thin shrine of ivory.

  From thee no pale and wilted ghost,
    Or branded by the blackening bar,
  But crisp and cheery comes the toast,
    And brown as ripening hazels are.

  Thy butter has not lost the voice
    Of English meads, where cowslips grow,
  And oh, the bacon of thy choice—­
    Rose-jacinth labyrinthed in snow!

  And mutton, colder than the kiss
    Of formal love, where loathing lurks
  Its deadlier chill doth wholly miss,
    Fired with the spirit of thy works.

  To true occasion thou art true,
    As upon great occasions great;
  Doing whatever Cook may do
    When PHYLLIS, neat, alone will wait,

  As when the neighbouring villas send
    Their modish guests to statelier fare,
  And PHYLLIS, neat, is helped to tend
    By that staid man the Greengrocer.

  Though thou art more than plain in look,
    Thou wieldest charms that never tire—­
  O Cook—­we will not call thee Cook,
    Thou Priestess of the Genial Fire.

* * * * *

LAYING A GHOST!

    PROSPECTIVE ARRANGEMENTS.—­Owing to the continued success of
    Hamlet, it has been decided (by arrangement with the Author)
    to postpone, &c.—­Extract from Advertisement in Daily Paper.

    SCENE—­Sanctum of Popular Actor-Manager of Theatre Royal
    Haymarket, Popular Actor-Manager dozing over a submitted
    Play.  He closes his eyes and slumbers.  When to him enter
    Master WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.

Master W.S. (shouting).  What ho, Sir Player!  Wake up, Sir, wake up!

P.A.-M. (rousing himself).  Delighted to see you, Mr. SHAKSPEARE.  I hope you have been in front and seen us?

Master W.S. Yes, I just had a glance.  Find you have put in some new business.  When will all you fellows leave me alone?