TO AN OLD FLAME.—(Twenty Years after.)
A little girl, a charming tiny tot,
I well remember you with many a curl,
Although I recollect you said, "I'm not
A little girl."
We parted. Mid the worry and the whirl
Of life, again, alas! I saw you not.
I kept you in my memory as a pearl
Of winsome childhood. So imagine what
A shock it was this morning to unfurl
My morning paper, there to see you've got
A little girl!
Something to Live for.—The Pall Mall Gazette announced last Friday that "a bevy of head-masters will appear in the pulpit of St. Paul's this month." How many go to a "bevy" we are not aware, though perhaps we might ascertain it from Sir Druriolanus, who could inform us, after several crowded houses, how many go to see the "bevy," and how many combine to make up a "bevy," of ballet beauties in the pantomime; but putting it say at a dozen, the bevy of head-masters in their caps and gowns would find the pulpit of St. Paul's rather a tight fit. Pretty sight though, anyway.
HARLEQUIN HARCOURT, THE SLEEPING BEAUTY, AND THE FINANCIAL FAIRY PRINCE.
—(See "New Year's Day Dream.")
