Impossible! One might as well
Attempt comparison of creeds

Or fill that huge Malayan shell

;

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
At yonder dish, a priceless bit;
You'll find it etched in Jacquemart's book,
They say that Raphael painted it ;—
And life is short, you understand;

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;
One can but be consistent, Sir !
'Twas on these grounds I just refused
Some gushing lady-almoner,-

K

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."

GOETHE'S Diné zu Coblenz.

To 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.")

ORATIUS FLACCUS, B.C. 8,"

"HORATI

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.