Both Mr. Dobson's books abound in testimonies to his loving and sympathetic study of the Venusian bard. Take, for proof, some of the verses he addresses To Q. H. F.' on the identity of human nature in B.C. 8 and A.D. 1880:

...

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

We boast High Art, an Albert Hall,
Australian meat, 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.

And, look! dyspeptic, brave, and kind,
Comes dear Mecenas, half behind

Terentia's skirting;

Here's Pyrrha, golden-haired' at will;
Prig Damasippus, preaching still;

Asterie flirting,

Radiant, of course. We'll make her black,—

Ask her when Gyges' ship comes back. . . .

Thoroughly Horatian, too, in tone and manner is the piece called 'Outward Bound,' in which the perils of the eastwardgoing passenger are graphically celebrated:

The terrors of the torrid zone,
The indiscriminate cyclone,

A man might parry;

But only faith or 'triple brass'

Can help the outward bound' to pass
Safe through that eastward-faring class
Who sail to marry.

For him fond mothers, stout and fair,
Ascend the tortuous cabin-stair,
Only to hold around his chair

Insidious sessions;

For him the eyes of daughters droop
Across the plate of handed soup,
Suggesting seats upon the poop,
And soft confessions.

Nor are these all his pains, or most.
Romancing captains cease to boast-
Loud majors leave their whist-to roast
The youthful griffin;

All, all with pleased persistence show

His fate, remote, unfriended, slow,'

The wit here is too obvious to need insisting on, and the quality is even still more obvious in the lively repartee of 'A Dialogue from Plato :'

You're reading Greek?' 'I am and you?'

'O, mine's a mere romancer !'

'So Plato is.' Then read him-do;

And I'll read mine for answer.'

She smiled. My book in turn avers
(No author's name is stated)

That sometimes these Philosophers
Are sadly mistranslated.'

'But hear, the next's in stronger style:
The Cynic School asserted

That two red lips which part and smile

May not be controverted!'

No wiser precept teaches,

Then I'd renounce that doubtful sage,

And walk to Burnham Beeches.'

'Agreed,' I said, 'for Socrates

(I find he too is talking)

Thinks learning can't remain at ease

While Beauty goes a-walking.'. ..

This is full of ease and grace. There is something dainty, too, about this little triolet'-an old French form peculiarly well adapted for such playful ebullitions of the fancy -called Amari Aliquid :'

'Will you hear "All Alone" ?—

'No, I think I quite know it.'

'But you liked it, my Own?'.

'When I was-" all alone !"

Now that season has flown ;

And besides-I'm the Poet l'— 'Will you hear" All Alone" ?'

'No, I think I quite know it.'

So much for specimens of Mr. Dobson's wit. Of his humour, there are two excellent examples in A Legacy'—an instance of the humour of surprise-and 'Ad Rosam,' in the latter of which we have one of the few puns of which the writer has been guilty :

You snared me, Rose, with ribbons,

Your rose-mouth made me thrall,
Brief-briefer far than Gibbon's

Was my 'Decline and Fall.'

There is humour, also, of the cynico-sarcastic kind in 'The Love-Letter.'

The comic dramatists of the day afford numerous opportunities for witty and humorous quotation. Head of the comic fraternity—by reason of seniority, if of nothing else is Mr. J. R. Planché, the veteran writer of extravaganza and burlesque, who taught his contemporaries and successors how to be amusing without being coarse, and entertaining without being vulgar. They have not yet learned the lesson thoroughly, but his example still remains as bright as ever, and the memory of his graceful wit will always be kept green. As a specimen of his occasional efforts in the way of verse, take the following jeu d'esprit, the only drawback to which is the now inevitable obscurity of some of the allusions:

I'm in such a flutter-I scarcely can utter

The words to my tongue that come dancing-come

dancing;

I've had such a dream-it must certainly seem

To incredulous ears like romancing-romancing.

No doubt it was brought on by that Madame Warton, Who muddled me quite with her models-her models;

Or Madame Tussaud, where I saw in a row

Of all possible people the noddles-the noddles.

I dreamt I was walking with Homer, and talking.
The very
best Greek I was able—was able—
When Guy Earl of Warwick, with Johnson and Garrick,
Would dance a Scotch reel on the table-the table.

When Hannibal, rising, declared 'twas surprising
That gentlemen made such a riot a riot-
And sent in a bustle to beg Lord John Russell

Would hasten and make them all quiet-all quiet.

He came, and found Cato at cribbage with Plato,
And Zimmerman playing the fiddle the fiddle;
And snatching a rapier from Admiral Napier,

Ran Peter the Great through the middle-the middle. Then up jump'd Alboni and looked at Belzoni,

Who sat by her side like a mummy-a mummy; But pious Æneas said, 'This mustn't be, as

I never play whist with a dummy-a dummy!'

I'm almost perplext to say what I saw next,

But I think it was Poniatowski-atowskiWas driving Nell Gwynne with Commissioner Lin Over Waterloo Bridge in a drosky—a drosky. When Sardanapalus, who thought fit to hail us,

Remarked it was very cold weather-cold weather; And flinging his jasey at Prince Esterhazy,

They both began waltzing together-together.

The news was next spread that Queen Dido was dead,
And Alderman Gibbs, in a huff, sir-a huff, sir-
Had seized Lola Montes at Fribourg and Pontet's

For feeding her bull-dog with snuff, sir-with snuff, sir.
Whilst Bunn, in a hurry, ran off to the Surrey
To clap Abd-el-Kader in irons-in irons;
And engaged Julius Cæsar to play Adalgisa
To Widdicomb's Lady of Lyons-of Lyons.

I caught up a candle and whispered to Handel,

There must be an end of the matter-the matter;'

When bang through the skylight came down upon my light Lord Brougham with a deuce of a clatter-a clatter.

In terror I woke, crying, 'This is a joke,'

And jump'd smack out of bed like King Priam-King
Priam;