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, 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; Or fill that huge Malayan shell With these half-dozen Indian beads. ! Moreover, add that every one So well exalts his pet distress, The same applies to B.'s and C.'s; And life is short, I see you look 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; Good-bye, then. Ah, a rarity! That cost me quite three hundred pounds,That Dürer figure,-" Charity." 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 And yet why not? If zealots burn, 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 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, |