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Rh THE gSAFORTH HIGHLANDERS. ONE OF THr MARIES.

A BALLADE OF KELVIN FAIR. FROM THE VERANDAH

SIC transit ! all the glorious show — The minarets of Kiibla Khan, Tliat brought an orient grace and glow Where Kelvin, sacred river, ran ; The tartan dome's unrestful span, The palace reared with nail and screw, The mighty maze without a plan. The gaudy bubble that we blew. No royal pageants come and go ; No more from Beersheba and Dan The motley medley, six a-row. Defiles the third-class caravan ; No longer clown and oppidan Beneath the Saracenic shoe Forego their solidi, to scan The gaudy bubble that we blew. THE BLUE HUNGARIANS And yet — cantate Domino ! — It served its turn for bliss or ban — This bait to make home coffers grow, And elevate our brother man With music (Blue Hungarian), The arts from Tay to Timbuctoo, The goods and gods from Hindustan- The gaudy bubble that we blew. City, the winter tempests fan The flames of discontent anew ; For these, it ends where it began — The gaudy bubble that we blew. Martin Quern.