TOWN THOUGHTS FROM THE COUNTRY.

(WITH THE USUAL APOLOGIES.)

  Oh, to be in London now that April’s there,
  And whoever walks in London sees, some morning, in the Square,
  That the upper thousands have come to Town,
  To the plane-trees droll in their new bark gown,
  While the sparrows chirp, and the cats miaow
  In London—­now! 
  And after April, when May follows
  And the black-coats come and go like swallows! 
  Mark, where yon fairy blossom in the Row
  Leans to the rails, and canters on in clover,
  Blushing and drooping, with her head bent low! 
  That’s the wise child:  she makes him ask twice over,
  Lest he should think she views with too much rapture
  Her first fine wealthy capture! 
  But,—­though her path looks smooth, and though, alack,
  All will he gay, till Time has painted black
  The Marigold, her Mother’s chosen flower,—­
  Far brighter is my Heartsease, Love’s own dower.

* * * * *

A want.—­“There is only one thing,” a visitor writes to us, “that I missed at Venice, S.W.  I’ve never been to the real place, which is the Bride, or Pride, of the Sea, I forget which, but, as I was saying, there’s only one thing I miss, and that is the heather.  Who has not heard of ‘the moor of Venice’?  And I daresay good shooting there too, with black game and such like.  I only saw pigeons flying, who some one informed me are the pigeons of Sam Mark.  Next time I go, I shall inquire at the Restaurant for fresh Pigeon Pie.  However, if Mr. KIRALFY will take a hint, he will, in August provide a moor.  It will add to the gaiety of the show.  ‘The moor the merrier,’ eh?”

* * * * *

Neo-dramatic nursery rhyme.

  Mrs. Grundy, good woman, scarce knew what to think
  About the relation ’twixt Drama and Drink. 
  Well, give Hall—­and Theatre—­good wholesome diet,
  And all who attend will be sober and quiet!

* * * * *

SPRING’S delights in London.—­“Via MALODORA”—­clearly a lady, “Dora” for short—­wrote to the Times complaining that the result of the splendid weather for the first ten days of the month was the reproduction of “summer effluvium rank and offensive” in Piccadilly.  Poor Piccadilly!  Oh, its “offence is rank,” and Miss Dora might add, quoting to her father from another scene in Hamlet, “And smells so.  Pa’!” West-Enders, in a dry summer, must he prepared to have “a high old time of it.”

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Sancta SIMPLICITAS.

Orthodox Old Maid. “But, Rebecca, is your place of worship consecrated?”