I have read in Greek a story, how some grave Athenian

hoary

Questioned by a chattering koreus, who his nose did gently seize,

Asking "how or in what fashion he should shave him"-said with passion

And with accent unmistakable-"in silence if you please".

As my hair was getting longer, the resolve at last grew stronger

And I entered in desponding mood an operator's door; Prepared for the infliction on my brain without restriction

Of the everlasting irksome gabble heard so oft before.

Astonished beyond measure at experiencing a pleasure; I listened to his scissors' click;-he spoke not till at last My surprise was undiminished, when he told me he had finished;

And I own upon that little man I really looked aghast ! In memoriam inditing, these few lines I now am writing On the conduct of a coiffeur hitherto unknown to fame; At times he was loquacious-but this tale is quite veracious;

I shall never meet his fellow!-Alfred Dawson was his

name.

TAKE AWAY THE LADY.

"Good madonna give me leave to prove you a fool."

TWELFTH NIGHT. Act 1. S. v.

You were going to call him a fool!
So your pettishness said, to his head.
No need, he knew it! indeed
While thinking of you, it was true.
Now a bumper he's filling to quaff

To your health with a slight mocking laugh.
Women can be so curiously cruel!
Now the fire you kindled consumes
In your bosom the fuel.

Your lover will easily find,

Elsewhere, others as fair

And perhaps rather more to his mind.

I have just now been reading old Browning: Weariness drowning

In the depths of an old easy chair;

In my book crowded lair,

Where the dust covered busts on me stare.

Would you think Robert Browning a fool?

When he wrote with such bliss
Of the moth's and bee's kiss ?

Earnest lovers a pair

In a gondola gliding

To a dim water stair;

Where a bravo is hiding!

Soon, a crimson pool, wells from the breast

To her's lately prest.
While he struggles in vain,

Her hair's beauteous tress,

To remove from the stain:
As he dies with his last caress.

So triflingly cool!

A mental superior, you remotely inferior
Hesitate not to designate fool!

Deficient indeed not to know it:

Can you knowledge receive?

If so, try and believe that most people perceive Some ichor divine in a poet.

Listen

Loving beauty in every form

Eyes glisten;

Thought eager, soul warm;
The sum of his greatest desire
Is to worship, to love and admire.
Anacreon, Ovid, Catullus
Would belong to the schools

Of your very old fools!

Whose ideas were by no means facetious! Yet we turn o'er their pages to lull us; Dreaming dreams in the sweet summer air In the shelter away from the glare.

Of Eros the darts

Had long tortured their hearts

Ere they gave out their love-lays so specious.
And many a loved classic lady, a

Pride did discover, in teasing her lover
Ere Sappho fell down from Leucadia.

From that ancient myth

As we read it to-day

Time perhaps may have eaten the pith
Half away.

Who knows but that Sappho used Phaon
At first his strong feelings to play on!
And thought it a joke to be gay on.
If a lover be zealous,

What fun, make him jealous!

Or, vow kind, cling and please;

Then torture and tease;

Keep cool!

Till you see him depart

With scorn in his heart.

When he has gone, your weeds you put on ; In your lonely grief, Pride the only relief! Then, my sweet one, pray which is the fool! Good madonna dear, which is the fool?

ICONOGRAPHY OF WELLS CATHEDRAL.

BY CHARLES ROBERT COCKERELL, R. A., LONDON & OXFORD 1857.
R. C. VERSUS R. A.

Cock-a-rell on ze Cathedral Church at Vells
About ze figures some strange stories tells;
Vy zey vere set up one beside ze ozère
How zis an uncles had and zat a mozère :
How ze crusader zère as some suppose
Vas not Dean Svift but Robert de Courthose.
Zis book one day our dear friend Planché got
Into his learned fist, and likes a shot

By force of reasonings smash him on ze spot.
Ah! Monsieur Cock-a-rell,

If truze be in a vell

It is not in your Vells;
And if ze volume sells,

As per-haps it may,
Cést toujours vrai

Zat doubtlessly it sells

To zose who for it pay;

Mais tout le monde ne sait

Que le Professeur d' architecture R. A.

A été

Par le Rouge Croix

en verité,

Planchéié.

A WIVAW WHYME.

"Bleth uth, whoth thith!" Ford. The lady's trial.

"He lisped in numbers."-LIFE OF POPE.

Thailing on the bwimming wivaw,

Widing on ith wippling wavth,

Where thweet honeythuckle bweatheth,
And gween gwaththy lawnth it lavth ;

Weclined on cuthionth thoft, and thteawing
Evewy way ekthept the wight,

Beauteouth, wich Mith Tharah Thimpthon
Enthwalth my thoul with chawmth tho bwight !

Ath a blue thtocking thhe boathteth

Thhe hath witten whymeth in weamth;
And the Hewaldth pageth witneth
Thome of her thelethtial dweamth.
Thchitht thhe talkth of and magnethian,
Vewy puththling wordth they theem;
But while I thip Bathth or Allthopp,

Thhe dwinkth the pure Cathtalian thtweam.

"Woll on! woll on! thweet thilvewy waterth! "

(Thuth apothtwophitheth thhe)

Thwiftly woll, thou wethtleth wivaw!

Huwwying to the dithtant thea: Gwand, tewific, woawing othean!

Thtawmy, dweadful, fuwiouth thea!
Thtill the thame and evwelathting,
Thimilaw to etwawnity."

On the thunny thtweam thlow thailing,
Thuth Mith Tharah Thimpthon thpoke;

Thhe theathed, and thoon thome laththeth thinging
And fiddelth the thoft thilenth bwoke.

On a thudden-" Whaw the dickenth

Be you thteawing ?"-thome one thwoa: We capthithed, and gwathiouth goodneth Alone knowth how we gained the thoa!