I know not, this alone is clear, Thou wert my sole delight; I pored on thee by sunshine, dear, I dreamed of thee at night. Thou wert so good--too splendid for The common critic's praise-- And I was thy proprietor-- And all the world must gaze! But _Punch_, that autocrat, decrees That thou another's art: I cannot choose but bow my knees And lacerate my heart. Thou must be someone's else, alack! The truth remains confessed-- For _Mr. P._ hath sent thee back, _My cherished little Jest._ * * * * * FROM A FLY-LEAF.--"Buzziness first, pleasure after," as the bluebottle said when, after circling three times about the breakfast-table, he alighted on a lump of sugar. * * * * * SALISBURY AT ST. MARTINS'S-LE-GRAND. How slow is fate from fatal friends to free us! Still, still, alas! 'tis "_Ego et_ RAIKES _meus_." * * * * * "THE OXFORD MOVEMENT."--Not much to choose between this and the Cambridge movement in the last race. * * * * * PLACE OF BANISHMENT FOR MISTAKEN PERSONS.--The Isle of Mull. * * * * * [Illustration: CENSUS DAY HOW SOME WERE CAUGHT.] * * * * * EARL GRANVILLE. BORN IN 1815. DIED 31ST MARCH, 1891. The coarser Cyclops now combine To push the Olympians from their places; And dead as Pan seems the old line Of greater gods and gentler graces. Pleasant, amidst the clangour crude Of smiting hammer, sounding anvil, As bland Arcadian interlude, The courtly accents of a GRANVILLE! A strenuous time's pedestrian muse Shouts pæans to the earth-born giant, Whose brows Apollo's wreath refuse, Whose strength to Charis is unpliant. Demos distrusts the debonair, Yet Demos found himself disarming To gracious GRANVILLE; unaware Won by the calm, witched by the charming. Bismarckian vigour, stern and stark As Brontes self, was not his dower; Not his to steer a storm-tost bark Through waves that whelm, and clouds that lower. Temper unstirred, unerring tact, Were his. He could not "wave the banner," But he could lend to steely act The softly silken charm of manner. Kindly, accomplished, with a wit Lambent yet bland, like summer lightning; Venomless rapier-point, whose "hit" Was palpable, yet painless. Brightening E'en, party conflict with a touch Of old-world grace fight could not ruffle! Faith, GRANVILLE, we shall miss thee much Where kites and crows of faction scuffle! * * * * *