_(By a Patron of the Popular Press.)_
Yes, I've "a literary taste,"
And patronise a weekly journal;
'Tis what is called _Scissors and Paste_,
The paper's poor, the print's infernal.
But what of that, when, week by week,
High at the sight of it hope rises?
What in my Magazine I seek
Is just--a medium for Prizes!
I can't be bothered to read much,
I like my literature in snippets.
My hope is, with good luck, to clutch
Villas, gold watches, sable tippets.
A coupon and some weekly pence
Give me a chance of an annuity.
Oh, the excitement is intense!
I read with ardent assiduity,
_Not_ what the poor ink-spillers say
In sparkling "par," or essay solemn;
No, what I read, with triumph gay
Or hope deferred, is--the Prize Column!
On prose my time I seldom waste,
And poetry is poor and pottery.
But oh! I have an ardent taste
For Literature when linked with Lottery!
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