And leave me here to take in washing--eh? You wretch! take that, and that, and that, and that!" Each "that" being followed by a sickening thud. PART III. The curtain falls on this delightful scene, As space is precious and will not permit Of further details; but this goes to show That things don't always turn out just the same As those we read about in poets' yarns. Another thing it shows--that Susan Ann Had learned a trick when playing at being wed Upon the seashore in her youthful days That stood her in good stead in after years-- The wielding of the broomstick here is meant. _Scraps_, August 1884. * * * * * AFTER TENNYSON'S "GRANDMOTHER." And Willy, with Franchise horn, is gone to blow in the North! Sturdy, though white, and strong on his legs, bravely holding forth; And Willy's wife is with him--she ever was true and wise, Always a wife for Willy--he often takes her advice. For madame, you see, is clever; she loves her Franchise Bill, And he can talk so ready, and manage the Scots with skill. Pretty enough, very pretty! I won't say against it for one. Eh! but my Lords shall fear him--when Willy his task has done. Willy, my beauty, my chieftain true, the flower of the flock, Never a lord can move him, for Willy stands like a rock. He has always a word for the weak, for crofter and fellaheen too; There ne'er was his like in the land, since Eighteen-thirty-two. Strong for the right, and strong in the fight, strong still in his tongue; And peers shall go down before him, though the "feller" is not young. Welcome him back, my brothers, from the North land far away, Soon shall we liberty see, brothers, when Willy has won the day. JAMES G. MEAGHER. _The Weekly Dispatch_, September 14, 1884. (Parody Competition). * * * * * KEEPING TERM AFTER COMMEMORATION. (_Not by_ A.--T., Esq.) I steal by lawns, to check the train Of meditations started By seeing duns that come in vain For happy men departed. By empty rooms I hurry down, So stumbling down the staircase; The cads within the sleepy town Think mine a very rare case. I hail a boat, and down I row Along the lonely river, For other lucky men may go, But I seem here for ever. I murmur under moon and stars, I feel in lunar phrenzy, I chide the cursèd fate that bars My exit from B. N. C. I slope, I slouch, I speed, I stop, And scan the empty High Street, I turn me into Boffin's shop, To cheer me with an ice-treat, Till ice and sad reflection slow My diaphragm make quiver, For other lucky men may go, But I seem here for ever. I roam about, and in and out Poke eyes with envy yellow, And here and there I spy a scout, And here and there a fellow.