MRS. BIGGS, of Brunswick Square, On me you shall no more impose. You said I wanted change of air; My books, my desk, you bade me close; You raved about my "precious 'elth." Has conscience, Mrs. B., no twinges? You wouldn't lose me for the wealth, You told me "not of all the Injies." Mrs. Biggs, of Brunswick Square, Though I had work upon my hands, I grew alarmed: oppressed with care, I sought repose on Ramsgate sands. Returned at last, I chanced to cast A glance into my chiffonier. Oh, Mrs. B., your dodge I see!-- While I've been gone you've drunk my beer! Mrs. Biggs, of Brunswick Square, You put strange memories in my head,-- That currant jam!--I'd almost swear I'd half-a-dozen pots of red. Oh, your sweet child! On him I smiled Benignly; but it seemed to me That he had smears across his face Which I was hardly pleased to see. Mrs. Biggs, of Brunswick Square, You've used up all my choice Pekoe; My sherry's gone; and where, oh where Is that half-flask of curaçoa? Of brandy, too, I'm quite bereft: The bottle's dry, and--oh, my stars! This ends what patience I had left-- You've smoked up all my best cigars! Mrs. Biggs, of Brunswick Square, Some meeker lodger you must find; Though good apartments may be rare, To quit you I've made up my mind. You held your course without remorse, To make me trust you with my keys, But when on you my back was turned, You needs must play such pranks as these. Mrs. Biggs, of Brunswick square, If rooms be vacant on your hands, If footsteps sound not on your stair, And tenantless your mansion stands, Go, teach that orphan girl you call Eliza,--she who cleans the boots,-- The awful fate which waits for all Who steal their lodgers' best cheroots. A. P. SINNETT. From _Tom Hood's Comic Annual_, 1871. * * * * * A parody of the May Queen, entitled _The Premier's Lament_, appeared in _The Evening News_, of February 18, 1884, ridiculing Mr. Gladstone for his policy in Egypt, and foretelling defeat as probable in the then pending vote of censure. The parody had no literary merit. * * * * * TIT FOR TAT. WE were two children in one house, She was as meek as the mildest mouse, The time had come for a midnight spree! When we were over our jokes and wine, She scattered horse-hair chopped up fine. O! the girl was fair to see! She laughed well-pleased with what she'd done, She played the dreadful trick for fun. The time had come for a midnight spree! I lay awake! and struck a match, For didn't the horrible horse-hair scratch. O! the girl was fair to see!