MY LODGER. _By a Landlady._ Who chips my marble mantelpiece, Drops on my “Brussels” spots of grease, Deprives my tabby of his peace, And more than once has kissed my niece? My Lodger. And who my balcony did fill With an election posting-bill, And spouted to a mob, until The uproar really made me ill? My Lodger. Who plays the horn at ghostly hours, And brings the ceiling down in showers, By beating time, and thoroughly sours The people in the house next ours? My Lodger. And who, when Sunday morning comes, Some operatic chorus hums With wild young men he calls his “chums,” While one a harp, or banjo thrums? My Lodger. Who doth the acrobats engage, The “happy family” in the cage; Delights in _Punch_ and _Judy’s_ rage With ragged boys of every age? My Lodger. Who wakes my neighbour in a fright, Invites that pious man to fight, Hiccups――“I’ll see――mishtake――all right,” And who’ll have warning, too, this night? My Lodger. _Judy, February_ 10, 1869. ――――:o:―――― THE UNDERGRAD’S SOLILOQUY. What darkens all my bright career, And takes away my breath with fear, As I behold it looming near? My Little-go. I used to feel so free and jolly,―― Indulged in fun, perhaps in folly,―― What makes me now so melan-choly? My Little-go. What makes me blush, and look so shy, When up the Turl, or down the High, I catch the stern Exam’ner’s eye? My Little-go. O would I were a little lamb A-skipping with my gentle fam―― Ily, nor troubled by Exam. My Little-go. What makes my sister Mary Jane Keep writing in that mournful strain,―― “Dear John, don’t overtax your brain?” My Little-go. Oh! will this frightful harass last? No! I can see I’m thinning fast, And soon my body will be past All Little-goes. These mental faculties of mine Their powers and energies resign―― I die a martyr at the shrine Of Little-go. And when beneath some yew-tree’s gloom, My bones shall into dust consume, This epitaph shall grace my tomb,―― O Little-go! EPITAPH. “No ceaseless coughings racked his side, No agues shook him; in his pride (Weep, gentle reader, weep!) he died Of Little-go.” C. E. W. B. Worc. Coll. Oxford. _College Rhymes._ T. & G. SHRIMPTON, Oxford, 1865. ――――:o:―――― MY MEMBER. _Dedicated to the Marquis of Londonderry_.