TO A LADY.
(Born so late in the Year, that she nearly missed having a Birthday altogether.)
Accept, dear girl, the season's compliments
For Christmas and the twenty-ninth December,
Your birthday—most auspicious of events—
Is also Mr. Gladstone's, you remember.
Yours was a close shave, but I'm bound to say
That February the twenty-ninth far worse is,
And worst of all, to come on All Fools' Day,
Like Bismarck—or the writer of these verses!
The Real School-board.—Its Pupils.
