A VIRTUOSO.

A VIRTUOSO.

E seated, pray.

"A grave appeal "?

The sufferers by the war, of course;
Ah, what a sight for us who feel,-
This monstrous mélodrame of Force!
We, Sir, we connoisseurs, should know,
On whom its heaviest burden falls;
Collections shattered at a blow,
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,
Who tears his tattered coat to wrap
A closer bandage round the scarred
And frozen comrade in his lap ;-

127

But, as regards the present war,—
Now don't you think our pride of pence
Goes-may I say it ?—somewhat far
For objects of benevolence?

You hesitate. For my part, I—
Though ranking Paris next to Rome,
Esthetically-still reply

That "Charity begins at Home.”
The words remind me. Did you catch

My so-named “ Hunt"? The girl's a gem ; And look how those lean rascals snatch The pile of scraps she brings to them!

“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 !

A VIRTUOSO.

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

129

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.

131

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 :