Why do I wander wildly to and fro? My tyrant bade me twist her a rondeau. Methinks ’twas deleterious to my brain! I loved her (though her name was Mary Jane): She died of D. T. many years ago. A Rondeau? Humph! Ha, hum! Egad, just so! “Five rhymes in ain and eight remain in O.” Eh, no, Voiture! For they be all inane. Why do I wander? White though the head be, red’s the nose below―― (Bright beams a light-house spite a roof of snow)―― “Why wander goose-like?” doth my love complain? Ah, dear, dead love! Ah, Marie! Ah, ma reine! (Meaning M. J. of course.) Hullo! Gee Wo! Why do I wander? ―――― CULTURE IN THE SLUMS. (_Inscribed to an Intense Poet._) “O Crikey, Bill!” she ses to me, she ses. “Look sharp,” ses she, “with them there sossiges. Yea! sharp with them there bags of mysteree! For lo!” she ses, “for lo! old pal,” ses she, “I’m blooming peckish, neither more nor less.” Was it not prime――I leave you all to guess How prime!――to have a jude in love’s distress Come spooning round, and murmuring balmilee, “O crikey, Bill!” For in such rorty wise doth Love express His blooming views, and asks for your address, And makes it right, and does the gay and free. I kissed her――I did so! And her and me Was pals. And if that ain’t good business, O crikey, Bill! W. E. HENLEY. ―――― A RONDEL. (After Mr. Dobson’s “_Too hard it is to sing_.”) Too hard it is to pipe To an untuneful herd! And berries, while unripe, Repel the _prudent_ bird! The wildly warbling snipe You may, perhaps, have heard―― (Too hard it is to pipe To an _untuneful_ herd!) It rarely fed on tripe But mushroom much preferred Lest folk its tail should gripe And salt (which were absurd!) Too hard it is to pipe To an untuneful herd! ―――― RONDEL. (_Adapted, for the use of the Order of Our Lady of Pain._) Kissing the Heir, I saw him at my feet, Wound round my finger, found him soft and sweet; Made fast his feeble hands, dazzled his eyes,―― Like fishes’ optics, no ways clear or wise. With my best dresses made him find me fair―― Kissing the Heir! Deep the resources drained by him and me, Deep as DISRAELI, or the deeper sea. What wife could draw him thus for her and her’s? What charm have made him more for me disburse?―― Ah! if his guardian had not caught me there Kissing the Heir! _The Hornet_, July 26, 1871. ―――― BEHOLD THE DEEDS! (_Chant Royal._) An American Parody.