And may that sacred pow’r above, Still fill thy heart with filial love, And all thy virtuous ways approve, My Sister. [Illustration] “ANOTHER.” A Readers idea of the state of the Editor’s mind when surveying his growing Pile of Parodies. What gives me endless toil, no rest As each subscriber sends with zest, The Parody _he_ thinks the best――? Another! When Tennyson was twice laid by, Ere ink on final proof was dry, There came to spoil the set, oh my! Another! I started them in mood so gay, “Why this will be――not work――but play,” For joyfully _I_ then could say―― Another? Nor ever dreamt would come a day, That I should view, with grim dismay, When frequent posts should each convey―― Another! I said――when grouped all carefully, And filled each Author’s set “sure he Is now complete. There cannot be Another! And yet, e’en now, I cannot bear To weed them out, and e’re I’d spare One――this volume finished, I’ll prepare Another! I would not one kind friend repel, Nor stay his help, for each may swell My readers if he’ll only tell Another! For when I’m feeble, old, and grey, And volumes stand in long array. There’ll yet be “copy” to essay Another! For when these Parodies are read And all the older poets bled, The yet unwritten ones may head Another! So each fresh parody I’ll prize, Nor look with sorrow in mine eyes At growing piles, nor e’er despise Another! J. W. G. W. April, 1885. [Illustration] THE VULTURE. AFTER EDGAR ALLEN POE’S “RAVEN.” 1. I once, upon a summer’s day, Strove to solve a solvent way To escape from skulking sharks;―― For my heart was very sore, And I ponder’d, ah, how sadly! How I wanted money badly; My salvation I’d sell gladly For nimble notes, or gold galore, To pay those damn’d and dastard duns, And be, as I have been before, Safe from duns for Evermore. 2. While I ponder’d, nearly sleeping, Sad at soul, and nigh on weeping, I reckon’d up my many friends;―― Care corroding my heart’s core, Those for years that I had known, Those who truth and trust had shown, And those, alas! who rich had grown And forgot they once were poor, And could not see a seedy chum, But in his face would close the door. And neigh or bray him――“Nevermore.” 3.