And take from his weak hands the reins, Who only rules but for his gains; Then who will thank you for your pains? Not William! B. _Ipswich Journal_, March, 1885. ――――:o:―――― NOBODY. When I’m in want, who’ll seek me out, And in my interest rush about, And not my truth and honor doubt? Nobody! Who’ll clasp me to his manly heart, Stick up for me, and take my part, And fresh in life give me a start? Nobody! Who’ll give me cash, or give me food, Who will believe me poor, but good, And always be in generous mood? Nobody! ――――:o:―――― HER MOTHER. Who, when I took my pet for life, Convinced me, through domestic strife, That I had married with my wife―― Her mother? Who, though ’twas clearly understood That live with friends I never would, Came for a week, and――stayed for good? Her mother! Who, whensoever “tiffs” befell, Would irritating stories tell, And chafe the place to make it well? Her mother! Who to control my household dares, Each letter reads, each secret shares, And takes the lead in my affairs? Her mother! Who, when from home I chance to stay, Hints that work “might,” or business “may” Detain――but there, no more _she’ll_ say? Her mother! Who breaks our peace, destroys our bliss, Coils on our hearth with frequent hiss―― Connubial rapture’s Nemesis? Her mother! Enough! But has it not a flaw, That Act which says I may not draw Two wives, and yet makes mine in law, Her mother! _Funny Folks._ ――――:o:―――― CATTLE-SHOW QUERIES. _By a Squeamish Visitor._ Who looked at me with oil-cake eyes, Complaining dumbly of their size―― Agglomerate monstrosities? The Cattle! Who pushed me there, and shoved me here, Who bawled their comments in my ear, Until I called a Southdown, “steer?” The Farmers! Who never more will strive with Tag, With Bobtail too, and eke with Rag, Within the portals of the “Ag.” The Writer. ――――:o:―――― AVITOR. _An aerial Retrospect._ What was it filled my youthful dreams, In place of Greek or Latin themes, Or beauty’s wild, bewildering beams? Avitor!