Volume 104 — TO SERAPHINE.

Through happy years, that number now I ween A dozen, or—to be correct—thirteen, My comfortable better-half you've been, O Seraphine! The ups and downs of life we two have seen— From Camberwell, of stucco-fronted mien, To quaintly-decorated Turnham Green, O Seraphine! Till Grandma's money came with golden sheen, You lent a hand at Sarah's weekly clean, And did not tilt your nose at margarine, O Seraphine! And now that I've been made a Rural Dean, Your figure is no longer slim, my Queen; You'd scarcely make a graceful ballerine, O Seraphine! But after dinner as you doze each e'en, From your disjointed mutterings I glean Your mind is running on a crinoline, O Seraphine! Oh, let me not appear to speak with spleen— Yet pause!—nor go to Madame Antonine To get yourself a—you know what I mean, O Seraphine! For if that huge and hideous machine Should thrust its bilious bulginess between A blameless couple, such as we have been, My Seraphine, I will not condescend to make a "scene," But—if you needs must have your crinoline— Good-bye!—you cannot have your Rural Dean, O Seraphine!