Take my advice. Stop running
red-hot pokers down your backs. Drink more Vichy water and less brandy.
Keep your sky-rockets till next year. Lock your 'language' up in the
dictionary. Send VICTOR HUGO back to England. Tie a church steeple round
GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN'S neck, and sink him off Toulon. Burn all your
proclamations. Throw rhetoric to the dogs. Put a head on the government
that ain't full of torpedoes. Present a solid front to the enemy. Simmer
down generally, and talk reason to BISMARCK, and, on the honor of
PUNCHINELLO, I can solemnly assure you that things won't be so
'speckled' as they now are."
Saying which, I gathered the drapery of my duster gracefully about me,
and left.
DICK TINTO.
* * * * *
THE SHE THAT IS TO BE.
By a Prominent Member of Sorosis.
1.
--She stood! The hurrying clouds wild drove--
--The purpling aspect of the air...!
While her wild contour symbolized
The Unity of Hope's Despair!
2.
And shall not We, when Life's short span,
Enveloping the Yet-To-Be--
Smiling candescent?--Nay?--Ah! well!
BE THAT OUR FUTURE DESTINY!!
* * * * *
POEMS OF THE CRADLE.
CANTO XI.
Little Bo-Peep has lost his sheep,
And don't know where to find them.
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