THE CHÂTEAU D'"IF."
The Castle that I sing, is not
The strong-hold près Marseilles,
Where Monte Christo brewed his plot
For DUMAS' magic tale:
It's one we all inhabit oft,
The residence of most,
And not peculiar to the soft,
Mediterranean coast.
The Castle "If"—If pigs had wings,
If wishes horses were,
If, rather more substantial things,
My Castles in the air;
If balances but grew on Banks,
If Brokers hated "bluff;"
If Editors refrained from thanks
And printed all my stuff.
If holidays were not a time
Beyond a chap's control,
When someone else prescribes how I'm
To bore my selfish soul;
If bags and boxes packed themselves
For one who packing loathes;
If babes, expensive little elves,
Were only born with clothes
If Bradshaw drove me to the train!
Were mal-de-mer a name!
If organ-grinders ground a strain
That never, never came;
If oysters stuck at eighteen pence;
If ladies loathed "The Stores;"
If Tax-collectors had the sense
To overlook my doors!
If sermons stopped themselves to suit
A congregation's pain;
If everyone who played the flute
Were sentenced to be slain;
If larks with truffles sang on trees,
If cooks were made in heaven;
And if, at sea-side spots, the seas
Shut up from nine till seven.
If I might photograph the fiend
Who mauls me with his lens,
If supercilious barbers leaned
Their heads for me to cleanse!
If weather blushed to wreck my plans,
If tops were never twirled;
If "Ifs and ands were pots and pans,"—
'Twould be a pleasant world!
SUMMARY OF RESULT FOR OLD CATHOLIC CONGRESS.—Lucernâ Lucellum.