ion gone," poor soul, Who can but wander in his mind When he requires a stroll; A mental sphere, one may surmise, Too cramped for healthy exercise.
But since a poet has declared That "nothing walks with aimless feet," To ask why such a type is spared To grace the public street, Would be most curiously misplaced, And in the very worst of taste.
[Illustration: The Gilded Youth]
(A Ballad of Reading Grill)
He did not wear his swallow-tail, But a simple dinner-coat; For once his spirits seemed to fail, And his fund of anecdote. His brow was drawn and damp and pale, And a lump stood in his throat.
I never saw a person stare, With looks so dour and blue, Upon the square of bill-of-fare We waiters call the "M'noo," And at ev'ry dainty mentioned there, From entree to ragout.
With head bent low, and cheeks aglow, He viewed the groaning board, For he wondered if the chef would show The treasures of h