The discussion of the matter was long and heated; because so many different ideas were expressed by the brilliant authors present. At last the meeting was partially restored to harmony by the serene "apostle of culture," Mr. S. Mark Arnold. "Let us not quarrel," he began; "let us look for sweetness and light; let us - But I will read you a little poem of my own that reminds me of Wordsworth somewhat. Then you will see why I should be protected." And he began, in a voice full of rare melody: -
AN IDEA.A HORSE-CAR took me to the place, -
The city o'er the Charles;
I could but think, with saddened face,
How much I owed at Carl's.
'T is gone, the bottled beer I drank;
And I can drink no more
Except you treat; for still I seem
In shekels very poor.
"Frigid! frigid! very frigid!" exclaimed our old friend Algernon Charles Swansdown. "There is no life - no warmth. But your idea is a good one, Mark. Let us all read our lucubrations; I will begin. I will take for a subject the recent license vote in Cambridge. Strew roses around me and listen!" -
A (SULPHUR) MATCH.IF votes were what my songs are,
I mean exceeding thin,
I'd be a gay repeater,