THE POET.
[Commenting upon the fact that Mr. Justice Salter objected to Mr. Wild, K.C., reading poetry in court, a contemporary gossip-writer remarks, "Why do people write poetry?">[
The following communications, evidently intended for our contemporary, were inadvertently addressed to Mr. Punch:—
DEAR SIR,—I took up poetry because I was once bitten by an editor's dog and I determined to be avenged.
DEAR SIR,—Two years ago I lost Sidney, my pet silkworm, and as I had to take up some hobby I decided on poetry.
DEAR SIR,—With me it is a gift. It just came to me. On the other hand my friends often suggest my seeing a doctor, as they think there may be a piece of bone pressing on the brain.
DEAR SIR,—I used to suffer from red hair, and gradually I am getting the stuff turned grey. By the way, can you give me a rhyme for "Camouflage"?
DEAR SIR,—I began writing lyrics for ragtime revues, because I wanted to see what would happen if I just took hold of the pen and let her rip.
From a calendar:—
"October 31. Wednesday.
August to October Game Certificates expire,
Mystical carpeted earth, with dead leaves of desire,
Disrobing earth dying beneath love's fire."
The rhymes are all right, but the scansion of the first line is susceptible of improvement.
