"Oh! but to catch that face Which health and beauty deck-- That hat posed on her head, And the curl that falls on her neck; For only a minute or two To sketch as I could when I tried To take off the Vice as he passed one day, And the Prince in my hat by his side. "Oh! but for a minute or two! A moment which soon will have gone! No blessed second for fair or brunette, Nor even to copy a don! A little sketching would bring some brass, But in its musty case, My scissors must lie, for I have but one eye With which to look out for a face!" With finger cunning and firm, With one eye and a crooked back, An old man clad in an old pair of bags, Was carving a profile in black. Snip! snip! snip! Cold, wet, or whatever the day, And, still with a voice of a ludicrous crack, Would I could describe its cadaverous knack-- He croaked the "Wirer's Lay." ARTHUR-A-BLAND. This parody appeared in _The Shotover Papers_ for May, 1874 (J. Vincent, High Street, Oxford), it will certainly appeal more to old Oxford men, from its allusions, than to the general reader. * * * * * THE SONG OF LOVE. With bosom weary and sad, With eyelids heavy and red, A maiden sat, in maidenly grace, Thinking o'er pleasures dead. Sigh! sigh! sigh! In misery, sorrow, and tears, She sang, in a voice of melody, The plaintive song of her fears. Love! love! love! Whilst the birds are waking from rest; And love! love! love! Till the sun sinks in the west; It's oh! to be in the grave, Where hope's false dream is not, Where doubts ne'er rise to bedim the eyes, If this is woman's lot! Here follow nine more verses in an equally plaintive style, and of no particular interest. From _The Figaro_, February 28, 1874. * * * * * THE SONG OF THE CRAM. With fingers trembling and warm, With eyelids heavy and red, A schoolboy sat, in true schoolboy style, His hand supporting his head. Throb! throb! throb! With frantic excitement and dread, And still with a look of dolor and pain, He sat on the side of his bed. "Throb! throb! throb! In my chamber next the roof; And work! work! work! From my friends I must keep aloof; French and German and Greek, Greek and German and French, Till my brow grows damp, and my breath comes hard, And my agonised hands I clench. "Work! work! work! While my cousins are laughing beneath, And work! work! work! Till I scarcely can draw my breath; It's oh! to prepare! prepare! My head with knowledge to cram, Not a word to say! not a moment to spare! I'm going in for Exam!