She'll draw us round no Northern Poles
With crowns of mimic roses.
That mock our sad sepulchral souls
And counterfeit our noses.
But white as hawthorn blossom, free
As air to shed her pleasures,
_My_ mute, melodious MAY shall be
The soul of wayward measures.
To put it plainly, while the ban
Of Spring on us and gales is,
I'll bask and smile and worship JEANNE
Within the Prince of Wales's.
* * * * *
CONSERVATIVE COMMENT ON A RECENT ELECTION (_after Mr.
Middlewick_).--"Humph! Inferior Dosset!"
* * * * *
NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS.,
Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no
case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed
Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol.
100, May 16, 1891, by Various
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***
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