hristmas programme!

BY MR. WORDSWORTH:

It was the very best of pies,
All plummy, thick and sweet;
A pie of most prodigious size--
And very few to eat.

'Twas passing rich, and few folks know
How rich mince pie can be;
But I have eaten it--and, oh,
The difference to me!

BY MR. DOBSON:

When she gave me cigars (!)
I smiled at the present.
Her eyes were like stars
When she gave me cigars.
(I can stand sudden jars.)
So I looked very pleasant
When she gave me cigars (!)
I smiled at the present.

BY MR. SWINBURNE:

If you eat turkey stuffing,
And I eat hot mince pie,
We'll vow that our digestion
Is quite beyond all question;
But soon we'll quit our bluffing
And curl us up to die,
If you eat turkey stuffing,
And I eat hot mince pie.

BY MR. LONGFELLOW:

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls on our little flat,
As a feather is wafted downward
From a lady's mushroom hat.

I've a feeling of fullness and sorrow
That is not like being ill,
And resembles colic only
As a pillow resembles a pill.

But the night shall be filled with nightmares,
And the food that was left to-day
Shall be given to poor street Arabs,
Or silently thrown away!

BY MR. MOORE:

'Twas ever thus, from childhood's bawl,
I've seen my fondest hopes decay;
Whatever I want most of all,
I do not get it Christmas Day!

BY MISS PROCTER:

Seated one day at the table,
I was stuffy and ill at ease,
And my fingers wandered idly
Over the nuts and cheese.

I know not what I had eaten,
Or what I was eating then,
But I struck a delicious flavor
That I'd like to taste again.

It linked all elusive savors
Into one perfect taste,
Then faded away on my palate
Without any undue haste.

I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
That one lost taste so fine,
That came from the head of the kitchen,
And entered into mine.

BY MR. RILEY:

There, little girl, don't cry!
You are awfully broke, I know;
And of course you've spent
Far more than you meant,
And lots of bills you owe.
But at Christmas time one has to buy--
There, little girl, don't cry, don't cry!

The Re-Echo Club met in their pleasant rooms at No. 4, Poetic Mews.
Spring had passed, so their fancy was lightly turning to other matters
than Love, and it chanced to turn lightl