s if enchained by something grand,
Or weird, or high.

I wonder why the powers that mend
The streets should root them up, and rend
The roads with giant pipes on end
And bricks awry,
Just when we turn to town again;
Though nothing stirred while West Cockayne
Lay waste--a huge, deserted lane--
I wonder why.

I wonder why athwart the Row
Stray loafers linger, loth to go
Past the mid-crossing, and are so
Resolved to die,
Hoping that, as you gallop near
You'll maul them by your mad career--
I wonder why.

I wonder why, when theatre Stalls,
Are "papered" by Professionals,
And children arch in Thespis' halls
Their gambols ply,
Why the Box-office has the face
To offer _me_, who book place--
A Stall that would the Pit disgrace,
I wonder why.

I wonder why, whenever pressed
A little money to invest
In something which is quite the best
Affair to buy,
I _always_ read next morning that
Not _I_, but it (in parlance pat
Of City articles) was "Flat,"
I wonder why.

* * * * *

CONTRIBUTION TOWARDS NURSERY RHYMES.

(_FOR USE OF INFANT STUDENTS IN NEW SCHOOL OF DRAMATIC ART._)

'Tis the voice of the Prompter,
I hear him quite plain;
He has prompted me twice,
Let him prompt me again.

* * * * *

THE PRETTY SIMPLETON.

[The _Spectator_ warns men against marrying simpletons,
pointing out that "there is no bore on earth equal to the
woman who can neither talk nor listen, and who has no mental
interests in common with her husband."]

[Illustration]

When fair BELINDA sweetly smiles,
And airily before you trips,
You're captured by her artless wiles,
And must admire her rosy lips.
You know that she is very fair,
You see that she has splendid eyes;
But ah, rash lover, have a care,
And find out if BELINDA's wise.

For beauty, trust us, is not all
A wife in these days should possess;
Her conversation's apt to pall,
If she can talk of naught but dress.
She need not be too deeply read,
You do not want a priggish bride;
But still take care the pretty head
Can boast some little brain inside.

In courtship all she said was sweet,
For you had died to win a glance;
Her little platitudes seemed neat,
Breathed 'mid the pauses of the dance.
You would have felt a heartless fiend
T