“It’s only a bilious attack, that’s flat.
Brain trouble? Fiddle-de-dee!”
The desk, it chanced, was not quite closed:
“Why does she clutch it so?” asked the leech;
The Lady Principal supposed
That to have her dear Bard within reach
Consoled her as she dozed.
“Let’s look inside!” And at once—oh, dreams
Of “Female Culture,” and the rest!
They found—no masterly mystic themes,