IN PRAISE OF BOYS.
(By an "Old One.")
["A Mother of Boys," angry with Mr. James Payn for his dealings with "that barbarous race," suggests that as an amende honorable he should write a book in praise of boys.]
In praise of boys? In praise of boys? Who mess the house, and make a noise, And break the peace, and smash their toys, And dissipate domestic joys, Do everything that most annoys, The Bobs and Billys, Ralphs and Roys?— Just as well praise a hurricane, The buzzing fly on the window-pane, An earthquake or a rooting pig! No, young or old, or small or big, A boy's a pest, a plague, a scourge, A dread domestic demiurge Who brings the home to chaos' verge. The only reason I can see For praising him is—well, that he, As Wordsworth—so his dictum ran— Declared, is "father to the man." And even then the better plan Would be that he, calm, sober, sage, Were—born at true paternal age! Did all boys start at twenty-five I were the happiest "Boy" alive!
A LITTLE "NEW WOMAN."
He. "What a shame it is that Men may ask Women to Marry them, and Women mayn't ask Men!"
She. "Oh, well, you know, I suppose they can always give a sort of Hint!"
He. "What do you mean by a Hint?"
She. "Well—they can always say, 'Oh, I do Love you so!'"