The other night I went to bed,--
It may seem strange, but still I did it,--
And laid to rest my weary head
So that the bed-clothes nearly hid it;
Which was perhaps the reason why
My brain throughout the night was teeming
With truly wondrous sights, and I
Was wholly given o'er to dreaming.
'Twas on the Twenty-first of May,
The streets were filled to overflowing,
The streets, that in a curious way
Were clean although it kept on snowing.
The daily papers for a change
Came out each day without a leader,
But, what was surely rather strange,
They didn't lose a single reader!
I saw a Bishop in a tram,
Although he knew it was a Sunday;
The lion lay down with the lamb,
And CLEMENT SCOTT with SYDNEY GRUNDY.
Professor HUXLEY said, "In truth
I'm really sick to death of rows," and
Wrote there and then to General BOOTH
To put his name down for a thousand.
I heard that Mr. PARNELL wrote
(Much to McCARTHY's jubilation)
A very kind and civil note,
In which he sent his resignation;
Whilst ANDREW LANG with weary air
Professed himself completely staggered
To think how anyone could care
To read a line of RIDER HAGGARD.
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