Yes! GILBERT'S Heavy Dragoon, though a paragon, Was not a patch on our own Grand Old Man. Dulcet as hydromel, tart as fresh Tarragon; Homeric in wrath in the scrimmage's van, Horatian at home and at ease,--_merum nectar_, (As SCALIGER said of that sweet Ode to Pyrrha,) Fierce as ALONZO the Brave's fiery spectre, Or mild as a lute or the lark's tirra-lirra! Male CLEOPATRA, whom "age cannot wither," Whose wondrous variety custom can't stale, All round the Universe, hither and thither, Rambles his genius, aged but hale. Jam and geology, pious "apology" For tiny flaws in the arms of theology. Anti-Besantine attacks on Theosophy; _Obiter dicta_ on Art and Philosophy; HUXLEY-defiance on errors of Science, And---- Ah! What is this? Why an optic appliance! Not MILTON'S great optic tube, nor Lord ROSSE'S, But--something to peer at a microbe's proboscis. A marvel of high-polished glittering brasses, And soft-winding screws, and adjustable glasses; A small world of wheels as a galaxy shiny, Admitting the gaze to a world yet more tiny Of butterfly down and midge-stomachs and wings! Well, WILLIAM, old friend, 'tis the day of small things, Most of the matters on which prints are topical, Strike a large intellect as--Microscopical! Jove--or Achilles--the world now delivers To myrmidons ant-like who swarm, fume and fuss. Parties seem split into sections and slivers, Each of which bellow, "The first place for Us!" Mutually angry and all-round abuse-full. So you may find your new instrument useful, To--shall we say--gauge the New Leaders' authority, Or look at that small, dwindling Liberal majority? * * * * * RUBINSTEIN. Since PAGANINNI, fingers never wrought Such marvels in the mystic realm of sound As his who from the ringing keyboard brought A world of wondrous wizardry, which bound E'en ignorance in an astonished rapture. That world is closed, whose magic "sesame" He only held, where he alone could capture The spirits of strange woe and witching glee, And set them sounding in dull human ears. Music whose memory moves our smiles and tears. * * * * * New Nursery Rhyme. (_On the New (Nursery) Art._) Hey! 'Tis a riddle, A do and a diddle, A fad, and a lunatic lune; A scrawl and a smudge, And in fact arrant fudge, To be kicked to Art's limbo--and soon. * * * * * Monetary Multum in Parvo. Do not spend your life in _spending_; _Borrow_ never, promptly _pay_; _Save_--but not with toil unending; _Give_--but wisely--what you may: He who lends himself to _lending_, Gives himself away. * * * * * The Journalistic Jettatura.