After another lapse I found among the carillon of Calverley,-- “No, mine own, though early forced to leave you, Still my heart was there where first we met; In those 'Lodgings with an ample sea-view,' Which were, forty years ago, 'To Let.'” The _Bab Ballads_ are full of whimsical rimes; but put all these that I have named together and you will find that they are easily outjingled by Sir Owen Seaman. The first “copy of verses” in _Punch_ any week is a masterpiece in its way, and assuredly some of his brethren of Bouverie Street are not very far behind him in the merry dance in which he sets the _pas_. A good many years ago--I think it was shortly after the capitulation of Paris--there was a correspondence in _The Graphic_ about the English words for which no rime could be found. One was “silver,” the other “month.” It was, I think, Burnand who, contrived,-- “Argentum, we know, is the Latin for silver, And the Latin for spring ever was and is still, ver.” But then purists shook their heads and said that Latin was not English, and the challenge was for English rimes. As for “month,” Mr. Swinburne did not hesitate to write a whole volume of exquisite poems to a child to bring in his rime for month: it was millionth but the metre was so handled by the master that it would have been impossible for even the most casual reader to make the word a dissyllable. In the same volume he found a rime for babe in “astrolabe.” (With regard to my spelling of the word “rime,” I may here remark that I have done so for years. I was gratified to find my lead followed in the _Cambridge History of English Literature._)