AH me! the times decay, and rent-rolls fall, The farmers weep the burden of moist ground, The men that back the field are out of luck. For during such a summer where's the coin? For me a wreath, prize of verbosity Was made: it withers still in Tracy's hands. For what to me this quiet Western world, While shadows flit before me, like a dream Of princely visits to the far-off East, And costly gifts, and Empire's badges worn? Alas for these gray tresses, once so black, When, glorious in my youth, I was thy choice, Britannia, and I seemed no vulgar clod To thee, who taught'st me my verbosity. Then, though the dull roughs met where'er they would, Beat the Park palings down, and marred the flowers, They could not end my rule; but left me still To sit 'neath shade of thy Imperial shield-- Imperial locks beside Imperial shield-- Though all things else were ashes. Thy rich gift, The Garter, made amends; but, Tracy, go; I pray thee go; take back thy vulgar gift: Why should the honest working man desire To vary from the spendthrift race of men, And part with hard-earned quarts of "fourpenny," Which good Sir Wilfrid calls the curse of all? * * * * * In the _The Shotover Papers_, page 181, will be found, _Tithonus in Oxford_. "The men come up, the men come up, go down. The mighty Proctor prowls along the streets. Dons come and plough the men, and let them through, The unattached at length becomes B.A. The only envious moderators Will never pass. I linger through the terms Here in the quiet Tavern's classic shades, A bearded undergraduate, well nigh bald, Roaming along the High, the Broad, the Corn, Amidst new men, strange faces, other minds." * * * * * THE LAWYER'S SOLILOQUY. "I hold it clear, as one who sings The party song in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping stones Of brazen speech to higher things." This is the first of sixteen verses contained in the _St. James's Gazette_, of June 18, 1881. * * * * * A TENNYSONIAN LYRIC. I hold this truth with one who sings That when a donkey will not go, The kick, the curse, the brutal blow Should be exchanged for milder things. But who that sees the donkey's ears Droop downward, and his hind legs rise, While from the creature's back he flies, Can spare the lissom switch he bears? Or who can smile when crowds condemn, And ragamuffin imps deride, Advising him to "get inside" That product of Jerusalem? Had I the brute that would not stir, Despite "Gee-woa!" or "Kim-up, Ned!" I should, methinks, use arts instead Of supplemented provender. From _Funny Folks_. * * * * *