But the good St. Gladstone bent his eyes,
Upon that excellent book.
He heard the shout and the laugh arise,
But he knew that the imps had a naughty guise,
And he did not care to look.
* * * * *
Last comes an imp—how unlike the rest—
A beautiful female form!
With two dark Irish optics that ogle with zest,
With a blooming cheek and a buxom breast,