II.

    Listen!  Is it a voice
      Calling—­again—­again,
    Or a fragrance to make my heart rejoice
      From the sunlit land of Spain? 
    Listen, my own, my bride,
      While the glad tears dew your cheek,
    They are fried, my bride, by the sad sea tide
      With a smell that can almost speak
  Creep, my love, creep into the deep,
  And sing to the fishes that onions are cheap.

* * * * *

THE PROPOSED ONE-POUND NOTES.—­“Ne-Goschenable currency.”

* * * * *

AN ELEGY ON A MAD DOG.

(AFTER GOLDSMITH, MORE OR LESS.)

  Good patriots all of every sort,
    Give ear unto my song,
  For if in substance it is short,
    In moral it is strong.

  [Illustration]

  At Hawarden lived a Grand Old Man,
    Of whom the world might say,
  A wondrous lengthy race he ran,
    And won it all the way.

  [Illustration]

  Some swore he’d veer to catch a vote;
    Old age to flout one loathes,
  But, if he never turned his coat,
    He often changed his clothes.

  [Illustration]

  Hard by an Irish dog was found,
    As many dogs there be,
  Hibernian mongrel, puppy, hound,
    And curs of low degree.

  This dog and man at first seemed friends,
    But, when a pique began,
  The dog, to gain his private ends,
    Went mad, and bit the man!

  [Illustration]

  To see so strange and sad a sight
    Quidnuncs and gobemouches ran,
  And swore the dog was rabid quite
    To bite that Grand Old Man.

  [Illustration]

  The wound indeed seemed sore and sad
    To every party eye,
  And while they swore the dog was mad,
    They swore the man must die.

  [Illustration]

  But marvels sometimes come to light
    Rash prophets to belie. 
  The man seems healing of the bite,
    The dog looks like to die!

* * * * *

Remarkable Conversion.

“CANON TEIGNMOUTH SHORE proposes to convert the two Convocations.” ... that is startling without the context—­“into one National Synod.”  But two into one won’t go.  How will he manage it?  Will those in the York ship join the Canterbury, or vice versa?  Or, quitting both ships, will they land on common ground?  “Who’s for SHORE?”

* * * * *

PAR ABOUT PICTURES.—­“Over the Garden Wall,” seems to be the song that Mr. G.S.  ELGOOD sings at the Fine Art Society’s Gallery.  In the course of his travels he has been over a good many garden walls.  At Wroxton, Compton Wynyates, Penshurst, Montacute, Berkeley, and Helmingham, he has pursued his studies to some purpose; the result is an enjoyable collection of pictures, which he entitles, “A Summer among the Flowers.”