ΧΙ Show your poverty of spirit, XII Never will I give advice, Till you please to ask me thrice: Thus we both shall have our ends And continue special friends. Dean Swift. ALL-SAINTS IN a church which is furnish'd with mullion and gable, The odour of sanctity's eau-de-Cologne. But only could Lucifer, flying from Hades, Gaze down on this crowd with its panniers and paints, He would say, as he look'd at the lords and the ladies, "Oh, where is All-Sinners', if this is All-Saints'?" Edmund Yates. HOW TO MAKE A MAN OF CONSEQUENCE A BROW austere, a circumspective eye. A blustering manner, and a tone of weight, Paradise ON A MAGAZINE SONNET 281 "SCORN not the sonnet," though its strength be sapped, Russell Hilliard Loines. PARADISE A HINDOO LEGEND A INDOO died-a happy thing to do In bliss extreme he entered heaven's door, He scarce had entered in the Garden fair, Another Hindoo asked admission there. The self-same question Brahma asked again: "Hast been through Purgatory?" "No; what then?" "Thou canst not enter!" did the god reply. "He that went in was no more there than I." "Yes, that is true, but he has married been, And so on earth has suffered for all sin." "Married? "Tis well; for I've been married twice!" "Begone! We'll have no fools in Paradise!" George Birdseye. THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY And down in the valleys I take my way; And why I'm so plump the reason I tell: Or knight of the shire, Lives half so well as a holy friar? After supper, of heaven I dream, With a dainty bit of a warden-pie; A chirping cup is my matin song, And the vesper's bell is my bowl, ding-dong. Or knight of the shire, Lives half so well as a holy friar? OF A CERTAIN MAN John O'Keefe. THERE was (not certain when) a certain preacher Of erat quidam homo, much perplexed, He seemed the same with study great to scan, Clean Clara 283 CLEAN CLARA WHAT! not know our Clean Clara? Why, the hot folks in Sahara, Our little Clara knows! Clean Clara, the Poet sings, Cleaned a hundred thousand things! She cleaned the keys of the harpsichord, Knights with daggers and stomachered dames- Winifreds-all those nice old names! She cleaned the works of the eight-day clock, She cleaned the mirror, she cleaned the cupboard, All the books she India-rubbered! She cleaned the Dutch tiles in the place, To count your teeth you will be able, If you look in the walnut table. She cleaned the tent-stitch and the sampler, She cleaned the tapestry, which was ampler; Joseph going down into the pit, And the Shunammite woman with the boy in a fit. You saw the reapers, not in the distance, And Elisha, coming to the child's assistance, With the house on the wall that was built for the prophet, The chair, the bed and the bolster of it. The eyebrows all had a twirl reflective, Just like an eel: to spare invective There was plenty of color but no perspective. However, Clara cleaned it all, With a curious lamp, that hangs in the hall; She cleaned the cage of the cockatoo, I should say a thousand years old would do. Tomorrow morning, she means to try So I've made up my mind to be there to sce She brings out her broom at six o'clock. W. B. Rands. CHRISTMAS CHIMES LITTLE Penelope Socrates, A Boston maid of four, Wide opened her eyes on Christmas morn, She asked with dignity; ""Tis Ibsen in the original! Miss Mary Cadwallader Rittenhouse Of Philadelphia town, Awoke as much as they ever do there And watched the snow come down. "I'm glad that it is Christmas," You might have heard her say, "For my family is one year older now |