(An Apartmental Ditty.) Mine be a flat beside the Hill; A vendor’s cry shall soothe my ear A landlord shall present his bill At least a dozen times a year.

How can I work when you play the… Feminine person above? How can I think, with your ceasel… Singing: ‘Ah, Love-’? How can I dream of a subject aest…

I remember, I remember The house where I was born; The rent was thirty-two a month, Which made my father mourn. He said he could remember when

BY MOTHER GOOSE AND O… Bennie’s kisses left me cold, Eddie’s made me yearn to die, Jimmie’s made me laugh aloud,— But Georgie’s made me cry.

All stark and cold the merchant la… All cold and stark lay he. And who hath killed the fair merch… Now tell the truth to me. Oh, I have killed this fair merch…

If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be? BY OUR OWN JEROME D. K… I don’t care if a girl is fair If she doesn’t seem beautiful to m…

AFTER HENLEY Where are the wheezes they essayed And where the smiles they made to… Where’s Caron’s seltzer siphon la… A squirt from which laid Herbert…

Swift was sweet on Stella; Poe had his Lenore; Burns’ fancy turned to Nancy And a dozen more. Poe was quite a trifler;

Many a jest that refuses to die Bobs up again as the seasons appea… Deathless it hits us again in the… Changeless and dull as the calenda… Musty and mouldy and yellow and se…

I used to think that this environ– Ment talk was all a lot of guff; Place mattered not with Keats and… Stuff. If I have thoughts that need disc…

It was a summer evening; Old Kaspar was at home, Sitting before his cottage door— Like in the Southey pome— And near him, with a magazine,

A quatrain fills a little space, Although it’s pretty small, And oftentimes, as in this case, It has no point at all.

“BEE” PALMER has taken the raw human—all too human—stuff of the underworld, with its sighs of sadness and regret, its mad merriment, its swift blaze of passion, its turbulent dances, it...

June 30th, 1919 Notably fond of music, I dote on… clearer tone Than ever was blared by a bugle or… by a saxophone;

I do not hold with him who thinks The world is jonahed by a jinx; That everything is sad and sour, And life a withered hothouse flowe… I hate the Polyanna pest