LOVE AND THE FLIMSIES.

By T. M., Esq.

Ο δ' Ἔρως χιτῶνα δήσας

Ὑπὲρ αὐχένος ΠΑΠΥΡΩ.

Anacreon.

Little Cupid one day on a sunbeam was floating,

Above a green vale where a paper mill played;

And he hovered in ether, delightedly noting

The whirl and the splash that the water-wheel made.

The air was all filled with the scent of the roses,

Round the miller's veranda that clustered and twined;

And he thought if the sky were all made up of noses,

This spot of the earth would be most to its mind.

And forth came the miller, a Quaker in verity,

Rigid of limb and complacent of face,

And behind him a Scotchman was singing 'Prosperity,'

And picking his pocket with infinite grace.

And 'Walth and prosparity,' 'Walth and prosparity,'

His bonny Scotch burthen arose on the air,

To a song all in praise of that primitive charity,

Which begins with sweet home and which terminates there.

But sudden a tumult arose from a distance,

And in rushed a rabble with steel and with stone,

And ere the scared miller could call for assistance,

The mill to a million of atoms was blown.

Scarce mounted the fragments in ether to hurtle,

When the Quaker was vanished, no eye had seen where;

And the Scotchman thrown flat on his back, like a turtle,

Was sprawling and bawling, with heels in the air.

Little Cupid continued to hover and flutter,

Pursuing the fragments that floated on high,

As light as the fly that is christened from butter,

Till he gathered his hands full and flew to the sky.

'Oh, mother,' he cried, as he showed them to Venus,

'What are these little talismans cyphered—One—One?

If you think them worth having, we'll share them between us,

Though their smell is like none of the sweetest, poor John.'

'My darling,' says Venus, 'away from you throw them,

They're a sort of fool's gold among mortals, 'tis true;

But we want them not here, though I think you might know them,

Since on earth they so often have bought and sold you.'