P.S.--A youthful shootist bought the Poppyland book because he thought
that it would tell him all about where to go popping. Also a bashful
suitor was misled by the title, hoping that in Poppy Land he would
learn how to "Pop--the question." The Learned Author has not said one
word about the "weasels that go pop," which, of course, are natives of
Poppy Land.
* * * * *
"THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE."
[Illustration]
It surely sounds a pretty phrase,
Some pöesy for woe it wins,
Commemorating roundelays
And troubadours and mandolins:
We seem to view some minstrel-boy
Beside his shattered music mute,
The shattered string, the ruined joy--
The Rift within the Lute.
How swift the slip from tune to twang!
Sweets bitter grow, as aye they did;
For e'en the Roman poet sang
"_Surgit amari aliquid_."
Our pigmy worries turn us grey;
And sorrows fierce are less acute;
Our hearts are riddled every day
With Rifts within the Lute.
You envy FORTUNATUS--rich--
A charming bride--subservient friends.
To rival him were something which
The dream of Avarice transcends.
That charming bride a mother owns
Whom FORTUNATUS brands a brute:
She mars his life's entrancing tones--
His Rift within the Lute!
Then, PEREGRINE--he journeys far;
Unshackled, he by toil's routine:
By turns he quaffs a samovar
Or sherbet, as he shifts his scene.
"Strong as a horse!"--ah! there's the string
That snaps asunder--"to recruit."
He wanders, manufacturing
A Rift within his Lute.
And DULCINEA! What a life!
Adoring crowds, adornments rare
And many fain to call her wife,
And sue her smiles in Belgrave Square.
And yet her Fetch-and-carry swears
He heard her, while he pressed his suit,
Sigh, "Bored to desperation!"--there's
A Rift within that Lute.
What need more trivial ills to quote,
The freshly-furnished house that shines,
The coxcomb's fashionable coat,
Both brushed and polished "to the nines,"
Both yielding to some fatal flaw;
A crack; a fiend who plays the flute;
Both, both examples of the law
Of Rift within the Lute.
Whate'er the dulcet instrument
We favour, still the lilt will stop;
And with a gorgeous chalice blent
Oft lurks the tiny poisoned drop.
I'm not so spry myself to-night;
I'll try a dose of arrowroot.
You'll own that Indigestion's quite
A Rift in any Lute!
* * * * *
"WALKER ART GALLERY."--Show commences this week at Liverpool. _The_
WALKER was a Genius. But is this show all "Walker," or the genuine
article? Has Mr. J.L. TOOLE, of _Walker, London_, anything to do with
it? No doubt it's quite "'O.K.' WALKER, Liverpool."
* * * * *
POLITICAL PRIZE RING RIDDLE.--Why was the win of the Gladstonian Party
at Newcastle like the triumph of a single-fisted pugilist over
his two-handed opponent? Because the victory was achieved with one
"MORLEY."
* * * * *
NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS.,
Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no
case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed
Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.