Yes, I've "a literary taste," And patronise a weekly journal; 'Tis what is called _Scissors and Paste_, The paper's poor, the print's infernal. But what of that, when, week by week, High at the sight of it hope rises? What in my Magazine I seek Is just--a medium for Prizes! I can't be bothered to read much, I like my literature in snippets. My hope is, with good luck, to clutch Villas, gold watches, sable tippets. A coupon and some weekly pence Give me a chance of an annuity. Oh, the excitement is intense! I read with ardent assiduity, _Not_ what the poor ink-spillers say In sparkling "par," or essay solemn; No, what I read, with triumph gay Or hope deferred, is--the Prize Column! On prose my time I seldom waste, And poetry is poor and pottery. But oh! I have an ardent taste For Literature when linked with Lottery! * * * * * ROBERT'S LITTLE HOLLERDAY. My hollerday, or sum of it, was spent in Hopen Spaces. Hif anybody as has got two eyes in his hed, and a hart in his buzzom, wants for to see what can be done with about 40 hakers of land--witch the most respecfool Gardiner told me was about the size of the Queen's Park at Kilburn--let him go there on a fine Summer's Arternoon, and see jest about five thowsen children a playing about there, all free, and hindependent, and appy, with two fountings to drink when they're ot and thirsty, and a nice littel Jim Nasyum to climb up and down. They ain't allowed to play at Cricket coz there ain't not room enuf, but I did see two bold littel chaps, about six a peace, a breaking of the Law, and a playing at the forbidden game, with a jacket for the wicket and a stick for a Bat, and the kind-arted Gardiner hadn't got hart enuff to stop 'em.