Hamilton collated many verses, Grouped and set them in sequential volumes, Wrote them, may be, with the self-same stylus Else he used for “The Æsthetic Movement.” Good for most, save one who in this volume (Who that one you ask?) did dreadful rhymings, Take it then to treasure for a life-time, Not to slumber, neighbour to my sonnets, But at times brought out, to tell its story. This is cheek, say you! Well, if it be so, Cheek me back again in self-same fashion, Then my cheek may turn _you_ to a poet. You I think, would rather have this volume, Even though I sadly mar its pages, Would you not? Mate, linger over Ouida, Yea, man read, those very red Gaboriaus, Pall Malls, Globes, or blushing racy “Pink-un,” Dear to travellers on the Inner Circle. What of all this scribble? All this nonsense? This; no rhymer lives that loves and longs not, Often, more than once, yea, frequently, (Like the Major-General to the “Pirates”) To make fun, of stately solemn subjects, Turning upside down what’s art to others, Not, mind you, deriding its true nature, But the while its maker truly loving. Does he paint? then straight burlesque his picture, Does he write? then parody his poems, Show, as proof how well you know your author, Once, or twice, and then the last time going (Like an auction) then knock down your hero. Gain the fool’s laugh, dare the author’s sorrow. I shall never in the years remaining, Paint you pictures, lucky _that_ for you, chum! Nor make music, that would send your fingers Straight to plug your ears, but my delusion This of rhyming letters, bear in patience Verse and worse, I have and still will send you, Others’ rhymes and others’ poems twitting, All their jokes and mine for you――my own chum. J. W. G. W. [Illustration] Frederick Locker-Lampson. The refinement of taste which has marked the second half of the nineteenth century has been highly favourable to the production of the lighter forms of poetry, and no other age has been so prolific in writers of _vers-de-société_ and of those other more exotic forms of composition known as _Ballades_, _Rondeaus_, and _Villanelles_. It is true that Praed, who led the way as the writer of _vers-de- société_, died fifty years ago, but for one who now reads Praed, there are twenty who know by heart the poems of Frederick Locker. And there can be no hesitation in assigning him the leading position amongst those of our living Poets who write to please, and instruct, by their playful wit, gentle satire, and tender pathos, without deeming it necessary to compose sermons in epics, or poems which require as much labour to disentangle as to solve a problem of Euclid. ――――