There's the trail,--_will they follow_?
* * * * *
"SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST."--You need not go to Holland to see the
Hague. You may find it--him we mean--at DOWDESWELL's Gallery. Here you
can revel in a good fit of the Hague without shivering. Indeed, Mr.
ANDERSON HAGUE, judging from his pictures of North Cambria, seems to
be very fit, and therefore, he may be called an HAGUE-fit.
* * * * *
A CAN(NES)DID CONFESSION.
(_BY A SUFFERING ANGELINA._)
You write to me, sweetest, with envy
Of "zephyrs" and "summerlike stars;"
You say women, horses, and men vie
In chorus of croups and catarrhs;
You picture me safe from the snarling
Of Winter's tyrannical sway.
This isn't, believe me, my darling,
The Mediterranean way.
You rave of the "shimmering light on
An ocean pellucidly fair."
You get it, my darling, at Brighton,
And coals that can warm you are _there_:
Of "boughs with hot oranges breaking"--
Cold comfort, while fortunes we pay
For faggots that mock us in making
Their Mediterranean way!
You dream of me rapt by a casement
Mimosa caresses and rose;
_This_ window was surely the place meant
For mistral to buffet my nose.
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