For truly, just as the genuine Epicure lingers lovingly over a morsel of supreme Venison--whose every fibre seems to murmur "Excelsior!"--yet swallows, ere returning to the toothsome dainty, great mouthfuls of oatmeal-porridge and winkles: and just as the perfect Connoisseur in Claret permits himself but one delicate sip, and then tosses off a pint or more of boarding-school beer: so also---- I never loved a dear Gazelle-- _Nor anything that cost me much: High prices profit those who sell, But why should I be fond of such?_ To glad me with his soft black eye _My son comes trotting home from school; He's had a fight, but can't tell why-- He always was a little fool!_ But, when he came to know me well, _He kicked me out, her testy Sire: And when I stained my hair, that Belle, Might note the change, and thus admire_ And love me, it was sure to dye _A muddy green or staring blue: Whilst one might trace, with half an eye, The still triumphant carrot through_. A GAME OF FIVES. [Illustration] Five little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One: Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun. Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six: Sitting down to lessons--no more time for tricks. Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven: Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven! Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen: Each young man that calls, I say "Now tell me which you _mean_!" [Illustration: "NOW TELL ME WHICH YOU _MEAN_!"] Five dashing girls, the youngest Twenty-one: But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done? Five showy girls--but Thirty is an age When girls may be _engaging_, but they somehow don't _engage_. Five dressy girls, of Thirty-one or more: So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before! * * * * * Five _passe_ girls--Their age? Well, never mind! We jog along together, like the rest of human kind: But the quondam "careless bachelor" begins to think he knows The answer to that ancient problem "how the money goes"! POETA FIT, NON NASCITUR. [Illustration] "How shall I be a poet? How shall I write in rhyme? You told me once 'the very wish Partook of the sublime.' Then tell me how! Don't put me off With your 'another time'!" The old man smiled to see him, To hear his sudden sally; He liked the lad to speak his mind Enthusiastically; And thought "There's no hum-drum in him, Nor any shilly-shally." "And would you be a poet Before you've been to school? Ah, well! I hardly thought you So absolute a fool. First learn to be spasmodic-- A very simple rule. "For first you write a sentence, And then you chop it small; Then mix the bits, and sort them out Just as they chance to fall: The order of the phrases makes No difference at all.