SALAD

O cool in the summer is salad, And warm in the winter is love; And a poet shall sing you a ballad Delicious thereon and thereof.

A singer am I, if no sinner, My muse has a marvellous wing, And I willingly worship at dinner The Sirens of Spring.

Take endive--like love it is bitter, Take beet--for like love it is red; Crisp leaf of the lettuce shall glitter, And cress from the rivulet's bed; Anchovies, foam-born, like the lady Whose beauty has maddened this bard; And olives, from groves that are shady; And eggs--boil 'em hard.

_Mortimer Collins._

IF

If life were never bitter, And love were always sweet, Then who would care to borrow A moral from to-morrow-- If Thames would always glitter, And joy would ne'er retreat, If life were never bitter, And love were always sweet!

If care were not the waiter Behind a fellow's chair, When easy-going sinners Sit down to Richmond dinners, And life's swift stream flows straighter, By Jove, it would be rare, If care were not the waiter Behind a fellow's chair.

If wit were always radiant, And wine were always iced, And bores were kicked out straightway Through a convenient gateway; Then down the year's long gradient 'Twere sad to be enticed, If wit were always radiant, And wine were always iced.

_Mortimer Collins._

THE JABBERWOCKY OF AUTHORS

'Twas gilbert. The kchesterton Did locke and bennett in the reed.

All meredith was the nicholson, And harrison outqueed.

Beware the see-enn-william, son, The londonjack with call that's wild.

Beware the gertroo datherton And richardwashburnchild.

He took his brady blade in hand; Long time the partridge foe he sought.

Then stood a time by the oppenheim In deep mcnaughton thought.

In warwick deeping thought he stood-- He poised on edithwharton brink; He cried, "Ohbernardshaw! I could If basilking would kink."

Rexbeach! rexbeach!--and each on each O. Henry's mantles ferber fell.

It was the same'sif henryjames Had wally eaton well.

"And hast thou writ the greatest book?

Come to thy birmingham, my boy!

Oh, beresford way! Oh, holman day!"

He kiplinged in his joy.

'Twas gilbert. The kchesterton Did locke and bennett in the reed.

All meredith was the nicholson, And harrison outqueed.

_Harry Persons Taber._

THE TOWN OF NICE

MAY, 1874

The town of Nice! the town of Nice!

Where once mosquitoes buzzed and stung, And never gave me any peace, The whole year round when I was young!

Eternal winter chills it yet, It's always cold, and mostly wet.

Lord Brougham sate on the rocky brow, Which looks on sea-girt Cannes, I wis, But wouldn't like to sit there now, Unless 'twere warmer than it is; I went to Cannes the other day, But found it much too damp to stay.

The mountains look on Monaco, And Monaco looks on the sea; And, playing there some hours ago, I meant to win enormously; But, tho' my need of coin was bad I lost the little that I had.

Ye have the southern charges yet-- Where is the southern climate gone?

Of two such blessings, why forget The cheaper and the seemlier one?

My weekly bill my wrath inspires; Think ye I meant to pay for fires?

Why should I stay? No worse art thou, My country! on thy genial sh.o.r.e The local east-winds whistle now, The local fogs spread more and more; But in the sunny south, the weather Beats all you know of put together.

I cannot eat--I cannot sleep-- The waves are not so blue as I; Indeed, the waters of the deep Are dirty-brown, and so's the sky: I get dyspepsia when I dine-- Oh, dash that pint of country-wine!

_Herman C. Merivale._

THE WILLOW-TREE

ANOTHER VERSION

Long by the willow-trees Vainly they sought her, Wild rang the mother's screams O'er the gray water: Where is my lovely one?

Where is my daughter?

"Rouse thee, Sir Constable-- Rouse thee and look; Fisherman, bring your net, Boatman, your hook.

Beat in the lily-beds, Dive in the brook!"

Vainly the constable Shouted and called her; Vainly the fisherman Beat the green alder; Vainly he flung the net, Never it hauled her!