But good old Grimes is now at rest, Nor fears misfortune's frown: He wore a double-breasted vest-- The stripes ran up and down. He modest merit sought to find, And pay it its desert: He had no malice in his mind, No ruffles on his shirt. His neighbors he did not abuse-- Was sociable and gay: He wore large buckles on his shoes, And changed them every day. His knowledge hid from public gaze, He did not bring to view, Nor made a noise town-meeting days, As many people do. His worldly goods he never threw In trust to fortune's chances, But lived (as all his brothers do) In easy circumstances. Thus undisturb'd by anxious cares, His peaceful moments ran; And everybody said he was A fine old gentleman. MISS LEGION BY BERT LESTON TAYLOR She is hotfoot after Cultyure; She pursues it with a club. She breathes a heavy atmosphere Of literary flub. No literary shrine so far But she is there to kneel; And-- Her favorite bunch of reading Is O. Meredith's "Lucile." Of course she's up on pictures-- Passes for a connoisseur; On free days at the Institute You'll always notice her. She qualifies approval Of a Titian or Corot, But-- She throws a fit of rapture When she comes to Bouguereau. And when you talk of music, Why, she's Music's devotee. She will tell you that Beethoven Always makes her wish to pray, And "dear old Bach!" his very name, She says, her ear enchants; But-- Her favorite piece is Weber's "Invitation to the Dance." HAVE YOU SEEN THE LADY? BY JOHN PHILIP SOUSA "Have I told you the name of a lady? Have I told you the name of a dear? 'Twas known long ago, And ends with an O; You don't hear it often round here. Have I talked of the eyes of a lady? Have I talked of the eyes that are bright? Their color, you see, Is B-L-U-E; They're the gin in the cocktail of light. Have I sung of the hair of a lady? Have I sung of the hair of a dove? What shade do you say? B-L-A-C-K; It's the fizz in the champagne of love. Can you guess it--the name of the lady? She is sweet, she is fair, she is coy. Your guessing forego, It's J-U-N-O; She's the mint in the julep of joy." THE FUNNY LITTLE FELLOW BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 'Twas a Funny Little Fellow Of the very purest type, For he had a heart as mellow As an apple over-ripe; And the brightest little twinkle When a funny thing occurred, And the lightest little tinkle Of a laugh you ever heard!