A VIRTUOSO E seated, pray. BE "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, A VIRTUOSO But, as regards the present war,— 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 Or from his private means to cope Attempt comparison of creeds; With these half-dozen Indian beads. 'Tis Moreover, add that every one The same applies to B.'s and C.'s ; And life is short, I see you look An open though an empty hand, Why, you'll forgive me, I've no doubt. Nay, do not rise. You seem amused; Good-bye, then. Ah, a rarity! That cost me quite three hundred pounds,— That Dürer figure,-" Charity." LAISSEZ FAIRE LAISSEZ FAIRE Prophete rechts, Prophete links, -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 While C.'s peculiar coterie Have now in full rehearsal Some patent new Philosophy And yet why not? If zealots burn, My taste for salmon and Sauterne, Or I might have objected :— Friend B., the argument you choose 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, |