cked, the shot is guaranteed;
The primed occasion puts the deed in sight:
Who steals a book who knows not how to read?

Seeing a pulpit, who can silence keep?
A maid, who would not dream her ta'en to wife?
Men looking down from some sheer dizzy steep
Have (quite impromptu) leapt, and ended life.

AT THE WOMEN'S CLUBS

A representation of what happens when Mr. Dunraven Dulcet, the gifted
poet, reads some of his verses to an audience of two hundred ladies
and one man. After Mr. Dulcet has been introduced, and after he has
expressed his mortification (or is it gratification?) at Madam
Chairman's kind remarks, he proceeds as follows. The comments of his
audience are indicated in italics.

Romance abides in humble things:--
How commonplace the precious ore!
The shining vision sometimes springs
_The one man:_
_From too much cheese the night before!_

The man who seeks the True Romance
Among the high aristocrats,
Forgets the crowning circumstance
_Mrs. Smith:_
_My dear, he wears the sweetest spats!_

Some little gutter-dabbling child,
Some shabby clerk whom all despise--
On him Olympus may have smiled
_Mrs. Brown:_
_He has those dark romantic eyes!_

Some shimmer from the lustred dawn
Of hitherto unguessed to-morrows,
Imperishable laurels drawn
_Mrs. Jones:_
_I think he must have secret sorrows!_

Immeasurable arcs of sky,
Vast spaces where the great winds shout,
His eye must pierce, his hand must try....
_Mrs. Robinson:_
_Too bad that he is growing stout!_

His heart is like a parchment scroll
Whereon the beautiful, the true,
Are registered; and in his soul
_Mrs. Smith:_
_I do love poetry, don't you?_

Romance abides in humble things,
And humble people understand
That feathers from an angel's wings
_Mrs. Brown:_
_I must just go and shake his hand!_

ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY COAL-BIN

The furnace tolls the knell of falling steam,
The coal supply is virtually done,
And at this price, indeed it does not seem
As though we could afford another ton.

Now fades the glossy, cherished anthracite;
The radiators lose their temperature:
How ill avail, on such a frosty night,
The "short and simple flannels