What is there to so astound them? She cries "Oh!" for he cries "Hah!" When five brats emerge--confound them! Shouting out, "MAMMA!"--"PAPA!" While at this he wonders blindly, Nor their meaning can divine, Proud she turns them round, and kindly, "All of these are mine and thine!" * * * * * Here he pines and grows dyspeptic, Losing heart he loses pith-- Hints that Bishop Tait's a sceptic, Swears that Moses was a myth. Sees no evidence in Paley, Takes to drinking ratafia: Shies the muffins at Miss Bailey, While she's pouring out the tea. One day, knocking up his quarters, Poor Miss Bailey found him dead, Hanging in his knotted garters, Which she knitted ere they wed. FREDERICK LOCKER. * * * * * In Memoriam. £ S. D. "_Abiit ad plures._" BADEN-BADEN, MDCCCLXVIII. I. I HOLD it truth, with him who rings His money on a testing stone To judge its goodness by its tone, That gold will buy all other things. It hides the ravages of years; It gilds the matrimonial match; It makes deformity "a catch;" And dries the sorrowing widow's tears. Let love grasp cash, lest both be drowned; Let Mammon keep his gilded gloss; Ah, easier far to bear the loss Of love, than of a thousand pound! Let not the victor say with scorn, While of his winnings he may boast, "Behold the man who played and lost, And now is weak and overworn." * * * * * II. O, Fortune, fickle as the breeze! O, Temptress, at the shrine of gain! O, sweet and bitter!--all in vain I come to thee for monied ease! "The chances surely run," she says; But prick the series with a pin; Mark well; and then go in and win!-- Or lose! for there are but two ways. And still the phantom, Fortune, stands And sings with siren silvery tone; Music that I may reach alone With empty purse and empty hands! And shall I still this fickle fair With constant energies pursue? Or do as other people do-- Escape the tangles of her hair? * * * * * XXVII. I envy not in any mood The mortal void of Mammon's lust, Who never to a chance will trust, And never Fortune's favours woo'd. I envy not the plodding boor, Whose stupid ignorant content Cares not if odds on an event Are 2 to 1 or 10 to 4. Nor him who counts himself as blest, And says, "I take the wiser way, Because for love alone I play, So gambling never breaks my rest." I hold it true, whate'er befall, I feel it when I lose the most, 'Tis better to have play'd and lost Than never to have played at all. (Name of Author not known). * * * * *