But soon, and yet, though soon, too late, That all superior mind, He dared to speak of Etiquette. The verse that we severe had known, A fond effeminate monotone Of eyebrows, lips, and hair; Not ἦθος stirred him now or νοῦς, Nay worse. He, once sublime to chaff, Grew whimsically sore If we but named a photograph We found him simpering o'er ; Then worse again. He tried to dress; He trimmed his tragic mane; Announced at length (to our distress) He had not "lived in vain" ;Thenceforth his one prevailing mood Became a base beatitude. And O Jean Paul, and Fate, and Soul ! His very hat had changed its brim ;— Our course was clear,―WE BANISHED HIM! B A VIRTUOSO. E seated, pray. "A grave appeal "? The sufferers by the war, of course; Museums turned to hospitals! "And worse," you say; "the wide distress !" Alas, 'tis true distress exists, Though, let me add, our worthy Press Have no mean skill as colourists ; Speaking of colour, next your seat There hangs a sketch from Vernet's hand; Some Moscow fancy, incomplete, Yet not indifferently planned; Note specially the gray old Guard, But, as regards the present war, Now don't you think our pride of pence You hesitate. For my part, I— That "Charity begins at Home." My so-named "Hunt"? The girl's a gem ; And look how those lean rascals snatch "But your appeal 's for home,"-you say,— For home, and English poor! Indeed! I thought Philanthropy to-day Was blind to mere domestic need- However sore-Yet though one grants That home should have the foremost claims, At least these Continental wants Assume intelligible names; While here with us-Ah! who could hope To verify the varied pleas, Or from his private means to cope With all our shrill necessities ! Impossible! One might as well With these half-dozen Indian beads. Moreover, add that every one So well exalts his pet distress, 'Tis-Give to all, or give to none, If you'd avoid invidiousness. Your case, I feel, is sad as A.'s, The same applies to B.'s and C.'s; By my selection I should raise An alphabet of rivalries; And life is short,-I see you look So, if I only hold you out An open though an empty hand, Why, you'll forgive me, I've no doubt. Nay, do not rise. You seem amused; K |