_Kottabos._ Dublin, William McGee. 1882. ―――― AN ÆSTHETE’S RHAPSODY. Consummate Dish! full many an ancient crack Is seamed across thy venerable back; And even through to thine æsthetic face Cracks run to lend a more enchanting grace! What matter though the epicure now loses The juice which through thy gaping fissures oozes? Thrice happy Table-cloth, thou knowest not The too-_too_ beauty of yon greasy spot, To think that with a little vulgar butter, This High Art Dish can make thee look so utter. _Harper’s Bazaar._ ―――― In 1881 and 1882 _Punch_ teemed with parodies on Oscar Wilde, one of the best appeared May 28, 1881:―― MORE IMPRESSIONS. (_By Oscuro Wildegoose._) _La Fuite des Oies._ To outer senses they are geese, Dull drowsing by a weedy pool; But try the impression trick, Cool! Cool! Snow-slumbering sentinels of Peace! Deep silence on the shadowy flood Save rare sharp stridence (_that means “quack”_). Low amber light in Ariel track Athwart the dun (_that means the mud_). And suddenly subsides the sun, Bulks mystic, ghostly, thrid the gloom (_That means the white geese waddling home_), And darkness reigns! (_See how it’s done?_) The titles of some others are;―― April 9, 1881. _A Maudle-in Ballad to his Lily._ June 23, 1881. _Maunderings at Marlow._ October 1, 1881. _The Æsthete to the Rose._ November 26, 1881. _The Downfall of the Dado._ January 14, 1882. _Murder made Easy._ March 31, 1883. _Sage Green, by a Fading-out Æsthete._ this latter contained the following verses:―― My love is as fair as a lily flower. (_The Peacock Hue has a sacred sheen!_) Oh, bright are the blooms in her maiden bower. (_Sing Hey! Sing Ho! for the sweet Sage Green!_) Her face is as wan as the water white. (_The Peacock blue has a sacred sheen!_) Her eyes are as stars on a moonlit night. (_Sing Hey! Sing Ho! for the sweet Sage Green!_) The China plate it is pure on the wall. (_The Peacock blue has a sacred sheen!_) Alack! she heedeth it never at all. (_Sing Hey! Sing Ho! for the sweet Sage Green!_) * * * * * ―――― THE PUBLIC HOUSE. (_With apologies to Oscar Wilde’s “The Harlot’s House.”_) We wandered home with weary feet, We lumbered down the lamp-lit street, And stopped beneath a public-house. Outside, in just the usual way, We heard the grand old cornet play A carol to the _wild_ carouse. Like smell of spirits came the blast Of heated air that streetward passed, As “Out yer go” were shoved “the blind.” We watched the reeling roysterers spin From scene of revelry within, Like those who’d left their legs behind. Like idiots they, of foolish face, With grinning, ghastly-pale grimace, They looked so very, very ill!