Only a lock of his hair, Last of some twenty and seven; Souvenirs all to the fair, In the heyday of ecstacy given. Lost in the frolics of youth―― In the time to which thought has recalled one; To the Phrynes, declaring, forsooth, That the lover for them’s not a bald one. Only a lock of his hair, Last of the twenty and seven; And then the bald pate, which the wag Has wittily likened to heaven (And whatever we think of the taste, The wit there can be no denying)―― As a place bright and shining above, Where there’s never more parting nor dye-ing. ―――― ONLY. Only a common door yard Back of a common flat; Only a kitchen doorstep. And an old J. Thos. cat Lazily in the sunshine Dozing on the mat. Only an open window Directly overhead; Only a fiendish boarder, His face with grins o’erspread (All of which implies a big surprise For that sleeping quadruped). Only a pitcher of water Dumped with precision square Icy down upon that J. T. C. So calmly sleeping there―― And a frenzied chunk of cat-meat Jumps six ft. in the air. ANONYMOUS. ―――― Only a hair on his shoulder, Long, and wavy, and brown, Only a cock-and-bull story In exchange for his wife’s deep frown. Only a broken broomstick Wildly waved in the air; Only a strip of court-plaster―― His wife had discovered the hair. _The Evening Gazette._ [Aberdeen], _February_ 5, 1886. ―――― A CAT-ASTROPHE. Only a cyclist gigantic, Astride on a sixty-inch wheel, Eyeing sidewise a maiden romantic, As he drives on his swift steed of steel. Only a poor little tabby, Slinking slyly across the smooth street, Her mottled fur dirty and shabby, Out she darts from beneath the girl’s feet. Only a sky-rocket header, While the maiden just stands still and stares; A poor feline, who couldn’t be deader, And a whopping old bill for repairs. _Once a Week._ June, 1886. ――――:o:―――― THE LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. I’m sitting on the stile, Mary, where we sat side by side, On a bright May morning, long ago, when first you were my bride. The corn was springing fresh and green, and the lark sang loud and high, And the red was on your lip, Mary, and the love-light in your eye.