FLIGHT.

O memory! that which I gave thee To guard in thy garner yestreen - Little deeming thou e'er could'st behave thee Thus basely — hath gone from thee clean!

Gone, fled, as ere autumn is ended The yellow leaves flee from the oak - I have lost it for ever, my splendid Original joke.

What was it? I know I was brushing My hair when the notion occurred: I know that I felt myself blushing As I thought, “How supremely absurd!

“How they'll hammer on floor and on table As its drollery dawns on them — how They will quote it” — I wish I were able To quote it just now.

I had thought to lead up conversation To the subject — it's easily done - Then let off, as an airy creation Of the moment, that masterly pun.

Let it off, with a flash like a rocket's; In the midst of a dazzled conclave, Where I sat, with my hands in my pockets, The only one grave.

I had fancied young Titterton's chuckles, And old Bottleby's hearty guffaws As he drove at my ribs with his knuckles, His mode of expressing applause:

While Jean Bottleby — queenly Miss Janet - Drew her handkerchief hastily out, In fits at my slyness — what can it Have all been about?

I know‘ twas the happiest, quaintest Combination of pathos and fun: But I've got no idea — the faintest - Of what was the actual pun.

I think it was somehow connected With something I'd recently read - Or heard — or perhaps recollected On going to bed.

What HAD I been reading? The Standard: “Double Bigamy;” “Speech of the Mayor.” And later — eh? yes! I meandered Through some chapters of Vanity Fair.

How it fuses the grave with the festive! Yet e'en there, there is nothing so fine - So playfully, subtly suggestive - As that joke of mine.

Did it hinge upon “parting asunder?” No, I do n't part my hair with my brush. Was the point of it “hair?” Now I wonder! Stop a bit — I shall think of it — hush!

There's HARE, a wild animal — Stuff! It was something a deal more recondite: Of that I am certain enough; And of nothing beyond it.

Hair — LOCKS! There are probably many Good things to be said about those. Give me time — that's the best guess of any - “Lock” has several meanings, one knows.

Iron locks — IRON-GRAY LOCKS — a “deadlock” - That would set up an everyday wit: Then of course there's the obvious “wedlock;” But that was n't it.

No! mine was a joke for the ages; Full of intricate meaning and pith; A feast for your scholars and sages - How it would have rejoiced Sidney Smith!

‘ Tis such thoughts that ennoble a mortal; And, singing him out from the herd, Fling wide immortality's portal - But what was the word?

Ah me!‘ tis a bootless endeavour. As the flight of a bird of the air Is the flight of a joke — you will never See the same one again, you may swear.

‘ Twas my firstborn, and O how I prized it! My darling, my treasure, my own! This brain and none other devised it - And now it has flown.