Their fragrant perfume has not fled.
The reason's plain. Somehow aright
The flowers know if we ignore them.
The roses live for sheer delight
At knowing, Sweetheart, that you wore them.
THOUGHTS—NOT WORTH A PENNY.
(Fragment from the Burlesque-Romance of "No Cents; or, The New Criticism.")
The Critic of the new cult visited a tailor's establishment, and was delighted with all he saw. There were coats, and vests, and other garments.
"I make some fifty per cent. profit," said the proprietor of the establishment, stroking his moustache with a hand adorned with many a diamond ring. "Of course it causes some labour, thought, and time—but I get my money for my trouble."