WA2K Radio is now on the air, Part 3

AN ANTICYCLONIC ODE.

By an Appressionist.

As'on my steady threadbare way

Through life I jog,
There is one thing that makes me gay—

A London fog.

I love to wake an hour too late,

In calm seraphic,
Unruffled by the noise I hate,

Of constant traffic.

And find the genial evening hour,

Meridian scorning,
Assert its humanising pow'r"

At.early morning.

Without there reigns a hushing spell

O'er London's loud land,
And even ' bus conductors dwell

Awhile in cloudland.

And common objects through the fog

Come looming large,
And lamp-posts up against you jog

In jocund charge.

And streets impervious before,

For fiscal reasons,
Become a safe resort once more,

In foggy seasons.

At 'thaumaturgic mist's command

The sordid real
Melts in the boundless wonderland

Of the ideal.

My well-brushed hat, my muffler white,

My coat of blue,
Disguise the fact that they 're not quite

As good as new.

Streets where young bards their unsung
verse

In third-floor rooms bury—
(The nascent Muse is not averse
To sombre Bloomsbury)—

Become to wandering fancy's view,

While vision slumbers,
The weird old cities Dore drew

In shilling numbers.

And Station roofs for once may change

Their wonted frowns,
And blend majestic in a range

Of mystic downs.

From cloud-clad tow'rs the hours are spelt,

Whose turrets fair,
Less blest than Prosperous visions, melt

Into thick air.

Buflo! the swathing vapours fleet

Like darkness sifted,
And from the rather shamefaced street

The fog has lifted.

Again, amid its leafless planes,

I see the Abbey ;
Unchanged, like it. the fact remains

That I am shabby.

Ke-Marka.

Re-Marks.

There have latelv been reports of some
lunatic threatening Lord Rothschild's life,
but Mr. B. S. Marks has been most success-
ful in taking his Lordship from life, and
exhibiting him in a picture, as he appeared
when taking his solemn oath in the House
of Lords. As his Lordship is not represented
as bare-headed,—his title, we remarked at
the time, ought to have been " Lord Hat-
ton,"—it may be supposed that, as the effort
of swearing was almost overpowering, the
artist caught Lord Rothschild's happy
expression (" Bless me ! ") just when he had
re-covered himself.