BAYARD AND BOBBY.
Oh, Robert, in our hours of ease Butt of those outworn pleasantries, Not less with pride thy praise we hear Hymned in another hemisphere, When Bayard, chivalrously graphic, Tells how you regulate the traffic. Firm as a statue on its plinth 'Midst the vertiginous labyrinth Of circus, street and bridge you stand, And rule the storm with calm, unarmèd hand. Rarely our soldiers of the law Do Themis' awful truncheon draw, Their Orphic whistle sùbdue can All save the crew of Hooligan. Though western Jonathan prefer A force not vainly claviger, Yet Bayard, taught in English ways, That suaver regiment must praise That trusts to moral weight and nerve And keeps the bludgeon in reserve. Stalwart and patient 'midst the strife Of all our seething city life, When pageants twice or thrice a year Throw the whole Empire out of gear, Then, stolid symbol of good sense, A wonder-worker, sans pretence, Fulfill'st authority's decrees, With thy familiar "Stand back, please!" And rather by that sober charm Than by the might of brawny arm, The many-headed own thy sway; They laugh, they jostle, and obey. Worthy thy deeds of loftier rhyme, Than topic-song or pantomime. Not quite sublime, but on the border, Type of our British law and order, Thy figure shall be graved upon The frieze of some new Parthenon, Wherein by glyphic art portray'd Reigns the ideal parlour-maid, Thy dauntless soul's domestic lure Trim, natty, roguish, and demure, Waiting the age's unborn Layard To illustrate the praise of Bayard.
Query in the Country.—New agricultural version of an ancient cockney slang phrase—"Has your farmer sold his mangel?"
Advice to any Dramatic Author who has written a Lengthy Piece.—"Cut, and run."
THE TALE OF A VOTE.
Bedad, 'twas meself was as plaised as could be When they tould me the vote had bin given to me. "St. Pathrick," ses Oi, "Oi'm a gintleman too, An' Oi'll doine ivry day off a grand Oirish stew."
The words was scarce seen slippin' off of me tongue When who but the Colonel comes walkin' along! "Begorrah, 'tis callin' he's afther, the bhoy, Oi'm a gintleman now wid a vingeance," ses Oi.