--

MY OLD COAT.

VI.

I see in my fire, through the smoke of my pipe, Sweet maidens of old that are long over-ripe, And a troop of old cronies, right gay cavaliers, Whose guineas paid well for champagne at Watier's.

VII.

A strong generation, who drank, fought, and kissed, Whose hands never trembled, whose shots never missed,

Who lived a quick life, for their pulses beat highWe remember them well, sir, my old coat and I.

VIII.

Ah, gone is the age of wild doings at court,

Rotten boroughs, knee-breeches, hair-triggers, and

port;

Still I've got a magnum to moisten my throat, And I'll drink to the past in my tattered old coat.

MORTIMER COLLINS.

CHLOE, M.A.

But for your coerulean hue,

I had certainly from you

Met my fate.

If by an arrangement dual

I were Adams mixed with Whewell,

Then some day

I, as wooer, perhaps might come

To so sweet an Artium

CHLOE, M.A.

To be made a victim, sir,

If to puddings I prefer

Cambridge !

If with giddier girls I play

Croquet through the summer day

On the turf,

Then at night ('tis no great boon)

Let me study how the moon

Sways the surf.

Tennyson's idyllic verse

Surely suits me none the worse

If I seek

Old Sicilian birds and bees

Music of sweet Sophocles

Golden Greek.

You have said my eyes are blue;

There may be a fairer hue,

Perhaps, and yet

I

AN INTERLUDE.

N the greenest growth of the May-time,

I rode where the woods were wet,

Between the dawn and the day-time;

The spring was glad that we met.

There was something the season wanted,

Though the ways and the woods smelt sweet;

The breath at your lips that panted,

The pulse of the grass at your feet.

You came, and the sun came after,

And the green grew golden above;

And the May-flowers lightened with laughter,

And the meadow-sweet shook with love.