May be Lydia had her betters; Anyway, this man of letters Took that charmer as his pick; Glad--yes, glad I am to know it! I, a fin de siecle poet, Sympathize with Lydia Dick! Often in my arbor shady I fall thinking of that lady And the pranks she used to play; And I'm cheered--for all we sages Joy when from those distant ages Lydia dances down our way. Otherwise some folks might wonder With good reason why in thunder Learned professors, dry and prim, Find such solace in the giddy Pranks that Horace played with Liddy Or that Liddy played on him. Still this world of ours rejoices In those ancient singing voices, And our hearts beat high and quick, To the cadence of old Tiber Murmuring praise of roistering Liber And of charming Lydia Dick. Still, Digentia, downward flowing, Prattleth to the roses blowing By the dark, deserted grot; Still, Soracte, looming lonely, Watcheth for the coming only Of a ghost that cometh not. THE TIN BANK. Speaking of banks, I'm bound to say That a bank of tin is far the best, And I know of one that has stood for years In a pleasant home away out west. It has stood for years on the mantelpiece Between the clock and the Wedgwood plate-- A wonderful bank, as you'll concede When you've heard the things I'll now relate. This bank was made of McKinley tin, Well soldered up at sides and back; But it didn't resemble tin at all, For they'd painted it over an iron black. And that it really was a bank 'Twas an easy thing to see and say, For above the door in gorgeous red Appeared the letters B-A-N-K! The bank had been so well devised And wrought so cunningly that when You put your money in at the hole It couldn't get out of that hole again! Somewhere about that stanch, snug thing A secret spring was hid away, But _where_ it was or _how it_ worked-- Excuse me, please, but I will not say. Thither, with dimpled cheeks aglow, Came pretty children oftentimes, And, standing up on stool or chair, Put in their divers pence and dimes. Once Uncle Hank came home from town After a cycle of grand events, And put in a round, blue, ivory thing, He said was good for 50 cents! The bank went clinkety-clinkety-clink, And larger grew the precious sum Which grandma said she hoped would prove A gracious boon to heathendom! But there were those--I call no names-- Who did not fancy any plan That did not in some wise involve The candy and banana man. Listen; once when the wind went "Yooooooo!" And the raven croaked in the tangled tarn-- When, with a wail, the screech-owl flew Out of her lair in the haunted barn-- There came three burglars down the road-- Three burglars skilled in arts of sin, And they cried: "What's this? Aha! Oho!" And straightway tackled the bank of tin.