Time progressing, GEORGIE'S blessing Grew more Ritualistic-- Popish scandals, Tonsures--sandals-- Genuflections mystic; Gushing meetings-- Bosom-beatings-- Heavenly ecstatics-- Broidered spencers-- Copes and censers-- Rochets and dalmatics. This quandary Vexed the fairy-- Flew she down to Ealing. "GEORGIE, stop it! Pray you, drop it; Hark to my appealing: To this foolish Papal rule-ish Twaddle put an ending; This a swerve is From our Service Plain and unpretending." He, replying, Answered, sighing, Hawing, hemming, humming, "It's a pity-- They're so pritty; Yet in mode becoming, Mother tender, I'll surrender-- I'll be unaffected--" Then his Bishop Into _his_ shop Entered unexpected: [Illustration] "Who is this, sir,-- Ballet miss, sir?" Said the Bishop coldly. "'Tis my mother, And no other," GEORGIE answered boldly. "Go along, sir! You are wrong, sir, You have years in plenty; While this hussy (Gracious mussy!) Isn't two-and-twenty!" (Fairies clever Never, never Grow in visage older; And the fairy, All unwary, Leant upon his shoulder!) Bishop grieved him, Disbelieved him, GEORGE the point grew warm on; Changed religion, Like a pigeon,[11] And became a Mormon. [Footnote 11: "Like a Bird."] [Illustration] HE LOVES! He loves! If in the bygone years Thine eyes have ever shed Tears--bitter, unavailing tears, For one untimely dead-- If in the eventide of life Sad thoughts of her arise, Then let the memory of thy wife Plead for my boy--he dies! He dies! If fondly laid aside In some old cabinet, Memorials of thy long-dead bride Lie, dearly treasured yet, Then let her hallowed bridal dress-- Her little dainty gloves-- Her withered flowers--her faded tress-- Plead for my boy--he loves! [Illustration] THE WAY OF WOOING A maiden sat at her window wide, Pretty enough for a prince's bride, Yet nobody came to claim her. She sat like a beautiful picture there, With pretty bluebells and roses fair, And jasmine leaves to frame her. And why she sat there nobody knows; But thus she sang as she plucked a rose, The leaves around her strewing: "I've time to lose and power to choose; 'Tis not so much the gallant who woos As the gallant's way of wooing!"