Puslapio vaizdai
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Believe me, on these very grounds.

Good-bye, then. Ah, a rarity!

That cost me quite three hundred pounds,— That Dürer figure,—“ Charity.”

LAISSEZ FAIRE.

"Prophete rechts, Prophete links,
Das Weltkind in der Mitten."

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GOETHE'S Diné zu Coblenz.

O left, here 's B., half-Communist, Who talks a chastened treason, And C., a something-else in "ist,”. Harangues, to right, on Reason.

B., from his "tribune," fulminates
At Throne and Constitution,
Nay, with the walnuts, advocates
Reform by revolution;

While C.'s peculiar coterie
Have now in full rehearsal

Some patent new Philosophy
To make doubt universal.

And yet-Why not? If zealots burn,
Their zeal has not affected

My taste for salmon and Sauterne,

Or I might have objected :

Friend B., the argument you choose
Has been by France refuted;
And C., mon cher, your novel views
Are just Tom Paine, diluted;

There's but one creed,-that's Laissez faire; Behold its mild apostle !

My dear, declamatory pair,

Although you shout and jostle,

Not your ephemeral hands, nor mine,
Time's Gordian knots shall sunder,-
Will. laid three casks of this old wine :

Who 'll drink the last, I wonder?

TO Q. H. F.

SUGGESTED BY A CHAPTER IN THEODORE MARTIN'S

"HORACE."

("ANCIENT CLASSICS FOR ENGLISH READERS.")

"HORATIUS FLACCUS, B.C. 8,”

There's not a doubt about the date,—

You're dead and buried:

As you observed, the seasons roll;
And 'cross the Styx full many a soul
Has Charon ferried,

Since, mourned of men and Muses nine,

They laid you on the Esquiline.

And that was centuries ago!

You'd think we'd learned enough, I know,
To help refine us,

Since last you trod the Sacred Street,

And tacked from mortal fear to meet
The bore Crispinus;

Or, by your cold Digentia, set

The web of winter birding-net.

Ours is so far-advanced an age!
Sensation tales, a classic stage,

Commodious villas!

We boast high art, an Albert Hall,
Australian meats, and men who call
Their sires gorillas!

We have a thousand things, you see,
Not dreamt in your philosophy.

And yet, how strange! Our "world,” to-day, Tried in the scale, would scarce outweigh

Your Roman cronies;

Walk in the Park-you'll seldom fail

To find a Sybaris on the rail

By Lydia's ponies,

Or hap on Barrus, wigged and stayed,
Ogling some unsuspecting maid.

The great Gargilius, then, behold!
His "long-bow" hunting tales of old
Are now but duller;

Fair Neobule too! Is not

One Hebrus here-from Aldershot?
Aha, you colour!

Be wise. There old Canidia sits;
No doubt she's tearing you to bits.

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