His neighbors he did not abuse—
Was sociable and gay:
He wore large buckles on his shoes,
And changed them every day.
His knowledge hid from public gaze,
He did not bring to view,
Nor made a noise town-meeting days,
As many people do.
His worldly goods he never threw
In trust to fortune's chances,
But lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.
Thus undisturb'd by anxious cares,
His peaceful moments ran;
And everybody said he was
A fine old gentleman.
MISS LEGION
By Bert Leston Taylor
She is hotfoot after Cultyure;
She pursues it with a club.
She breathes a heavy atmosphere
Of literary flub.
No literary shrine so far
But she is there to kneel;
And—
Her favorite bunch of reading
Is O. Meredith's "Lucile."
Of course she's up on pictures—
Passes for a connoisseur;
On free days at the Institute
You'll always notice her.
She qualifies approval
Of a Titian or Corot,
But—
She throws a fit of rapture
When she comes to Bouguereau.
And when you talk of music,
Why, she's Music's devotee.
She will tell you that Beethoven
Always makes her wish to pray,
And "dear old Bach!" his very name,
She says, her ear enchants;
But—
Her favorite piece is Weber's
"Invitation to the Dance."