Our Literary Men.

THERE once was a peer of the rellum,
Who was blest with a large cerebellum.
So a novel he writ,
And it made a big hit:
For a title that’s good’s bound to sell ’em.

There once was a brainy young Hon.,
Whom there were but few flies upon.
He won endless glory
By writing a story
Which the suburbs delightedly con.

A highly respectable dook
Succeeded in doing a book.
Its grammar and style
Were remarkably vile,
And its matter much worse,—but it took.

His notices being but few,
A pushing young author felt blue.
But he published a tale
‘By an Earl’s Cousin (male)’;—
And he’s now got a page in Who’s Who.

There was an ambitious old Bart., full
Of schemes both ingenious and artful.
He took to the pen,
And ever since then
Mudie’s ordered his books by the cartful.

If ever I happen to write,
My pen-name, I think, will be bright.
On page 1 of my book
You will find, if you look,