A voice rasped, "Oh, a deal o' wet!"
And off that thought went winging.

And once again that thought returned,
With yet more brightness on it--
This time with the desire I burned
To weave it in a sonnet.
I'd get an artist chum to do
The subject in a rare cut.
Alas! before 'twas grasped it flew,
Alarmed by, "Git yer 'air cut!"

I strayed in silent solitude
That lost thought to recover,
And, as my journey I pursued,
'Twould still around me hover.
Almost I grasped, one fatal day,
That fancy, quaint and clever,
A cad shrieked, "Tara-boom-de-ay!"
And off it flew--for ever!

* * * * *

SUNDAY OBSERVANCE.

[Illustration]

WHAT a shocking state of things,
Oh, my goodness, Mrs. GRUNDY!
There's a man that plays and sings