Some are for Violets, some are for Roses,
Some for Peniriall, some for Bee Balm,
When they go church-along carrying posies
(Smell 'em and glance at the lads in the psalm);
I am for Southernwood, Southernwood, Southernwood
(_Lad's Love_ 'tis called by the home-folk hereby),
All in the summertime, summertime, summertime--
_Lad's Love_ 'tis called, and for lad's love am I.

W.B.

* * * * *

THE POET.

[Commenting upon the fact that Mr. Justice Salter objected to Mr.
Wild, K.C., reading poetry in court, a contemporary gossip-writer
remarks, "Why do people write poetry?"]

The following communications, evidently intended for our contemporary,
were inadvertently addressed to Mr. Punch:--

DEAR SIR,--I took up poetry because I was once bitten by an editor's
dog and I determined to be avenged.

DEAR SIR,--Two years ago I lost Sidney, my pet silkworm, and as I had
to take up some hobby I decided on poetry.

DEAR SIR,--With me it is a gift. It just came to me. On the other hand