And DULCINEA!  What a life! 
    Adoring crowds, adornments rare
  And many fain to call her wife,
    And sue her smiles in Belgrave Square. 
  And yet her Fetch-and-carry swears
    He heard her, while he pressed his suit,
  Sigh, “Bored to desperation!”—­there’s
    A Rift within that Lute.

  What need more trivial ills to quote,
    The freshly-furnished house that shines,
  The coxcomb’s fashionable coat,
    Both brushed and polished “to the nines,”
  Both yielding to some fatal flaw;
    A crack; a fiend who plays the flute;
  Both, both examples of the law
    Of Rift within the Lute.

  Whate’er the dulcet instrument
    We favour, still the lilt will stop;
  And with a gorgeous chalice blent
    Oft lurks the tiny poisoned drop. 
  I’m not so spry myself to-night;
    I’ll try a dose of arrowroot. 
  You’ll own that Indigestion’s quite
    A Rift in any Lute!

* * * * *

“WALKER ART GALLERY.”—­Show commences this week at Liverpool. The WALKER was a Genius.  But is this show all “Walker,” or the genuine article?  Has Mr. J.L.  TOOLE, of Walker, London, anything to do with it?  No doubt it’s quite “‘O.K.’  WALKER, Liverpool.”

* * * * *

POLITICAL PRIZE RING RIDDLE.—­Why was the win of the Gladstonian Party at Newcastle like the triumph of a single-fisted pugilist over his two-handed opponent?  Because the victory was achieved with one “MORLEY.”

* * * * *

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