And the grim King swore by his royal beard That the veil had won the prize, While the gray old monster blinked and leered With his lashless, red-rimmed eyes, As the fainting form of the princess fell, And the mother's heart went wild, Throbbing and swelling a muffled knell For the dead hopes of her child. But her clouded face with a faint smile shone, As suddenly, through the throng, Pushing his way to the royal throne, A fair youth strode along, While a strange smile hovered about his eyes, As he said to the grim old King:-- "The veil of gold must lose the prize; For _I_ have a stranger thing." He bent and whispered a sentence brief; But the monarch shook his head, With a look expressive of unbelief-- "It can't be so," he said; "Or give me proof; and I, the King, Give you my daughter's hand,-- For certes THAT IS a stranger thing-- THE STRANGEST THING IN THE LAND!" Then the fair youth, turning, caught the Queen In a rapturous caress, While his lithe form towered in lordly mien, As he said in a brief address:-- "My fair bride's mother is this; and, lo, As you stare in your royal awe, By this pure kiss do I proudly show A LOVE FOR A MOTHER-IN-LAW!" Then a thaw set in the old King's mood, And a sweet Spring freshet came Into his eyes, and his heart renewed Its love for the favored dame: But often he has been heard to declare That "he never could clearly see How, in the deuce, such a strange affair Could have ended so happily!" JOB WORK "Write me a rhyme of the present time". And the poet took his pen And wrote such lines as the miser minds Hide in the hearts of men. He grew enthused, as the poets used When their fingers kissed the strings Of some sweet lyre, and caught the fire True inspiration brings, And sang the song of a nation's wrong-- Of the patriot's galling chain, And the glad release that the angel, Peace, Has given him again. He sang the lay of religion's sway, Where a hundred creeds clasp hands And shout in glee such a symphony That the whole world understands. He struck the key of monopoly, And sang of her swift decay, And traveled the track of the railway back With a blithesome roundelay-- Of the tranquil bliss of a true love kiss; And painted the picture, too, Of the wedded life, and the patient wife, And the husband fond and true; And sang the joy that a noble boy Brings to a father's soul, Who lets the wine as a mocker shine Stagnated in the bowl. And he stabbed his pen in the ink again, And wrote with a writhing frown, "This is the end." "And now, my friend, You may print it--upside down!" PRIVATE THEATRICALS A quite convincing axiom Is, "Life is like a play"; For, turning back its pages some Few dog-eared years away, I find where I Committed my Love-tale--with brackets where to sigh.