Wilt and grow pale and almost swoon
When I was really wild?

But now those happy days are past;
A mild civilian once again,
I dare not even whisper "----!"
If something gives me pain;
Barred are those curses, surging fast,
That swift and stinging repartee;
Instead of words that peal and crash
I breathe a soft innocuous "Dash!"
Or murmur, "Dearie me!"

Yet sometimes still, when on the rack
And past all due forbearance tried,
The ancient fierce desire comes back,
I seem to boil inside;
And then I take a hefty sack,
I place my head within, and thus
Loose off, in some secluded niche,
A deep, whole-hearted, grateful, rich,
Sustained, delirious cuss.

* * * * *

THE SLUMP IN MONARCHY.

From a publisher's advertisement:--

THE PRICE OF