“Not my books,” the patient cried; “Take not the desk that my books contains! For o’er the ‘BROWNING Club’ I preside, And the mystic masterly fruit of his brains Is my solace, glory, and pride!” Her request being granted, asleep fell she; The Lady Principal joyed at that; But when the Doctor dropped in, said he, “It’s only a bilious attack, that’s flat. Brain trouble? Fiddle-de-dee!” The desk, it chanced, was not quite closed: “Why does she clutch it so?” asked the leech; The Lady Principal supposed That to have her dear Bard within reach Consoled her as she dozed. “Let’s look inside!” And at once――oh, dreams Of “Female Culture,” and the rest! They found――no masterly mystic themes, No _Pippa_, no _Duchess_, but――who would have guessed?―― A box of Chocolate Creams! * * * * * ――――:o:―――― THE PATRIOT. It was roses, roses all the way, With myrtles mixed in my path like mad. The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway, The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, A year ago on this very day. The air broke into a mist with bells, The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries. Had I said, “Good folk, mere noise repels, But give me your sun from yonder skies!” They had answered “And afterward what else?” * * * * * A PARODY. It was pouring, pouring, all the way, As we scampered along the road like mad; The trees were a mist of shadows grey As past them we swept――such nags we had!―― A week ago, on the Gold Cup Day. The air was rent with a myriad yells, Our ears were shocked with the crowd and cries, As they strained for the sound of the saddling bells; The sun was a-sulk in the clouded skies, Though he shone out afterward. What else? What else? I know that the wrong horse won, Though over the luncheon I fell asleep, For I woke to find myself all undone; I had sown the wind, and I needs must reap The whirlwind after the race was run! There’s nobody on the Grand Stand now, Where a week ago such a concourse met; The best of the sight after all, I vow, Was the ladies lawn, with its luncheons set, Though _that_ looks sad enough now, I trow! GOSSAMER. _The Weekly Dispatch._ June 25, 1882. Another parody also appeared in _Punch_, July 24, 1886, entitled:―― THE PARTY LEADER. _A very old story._ It was cheering, cheering, to the close O’ my speech that day I launched the Bill: From serried ranks the row uprose, And hats are waved, and voices thrill; And I!――I thought I’d dished my foes. * * * * * ――――:o:―――― A PARLEYING WITH A CERTAIN PERSON OF NO IMPORTANCE IN HIS DAY.