But, O poet, steep me,
Till, with gum and hooks,
Womenfolk will keep me
In their pocket-books!



"Bedbooks"


(There is said to be a steady demand for "bedbooks"
in England. There are readers who find in Gibbon a
sedative for tired nerves; there are others who enjoy
Trollope's quiet humour. Some people find in Henry
James's tangled syntax the restful diversion they seek,
and others enjoy Mr. Howells's unexciting realism.
--_The Sun_.)

How sleep the brave who sink to rest,
Lulled by the waves of dreamy diction,
Like that appearing in the best
Of modern fiction!

When sleeplessness the Briton claims,
And hits him with her wakeful wallop,
He goes to Gibbon or to James,
Or maybe Trollope.

No paltry limit, such as those
The craving-slumber Yankee curses--