Not merely of this book,—but a larger company, with whom, through the medium of the Chicago Tribune, I have been on very pleasant terms for several years,—this handful of rime is joyously dedicated.

[Pg 9]

[Pg 9]

THE LAY OF ST. AMBROSE

 “And hard by doth dwell, in St. Catherine’s cell, Ambrose, the anchorite old and grey.” —The Lay of St. Nicholas. 

Ambrose, the anchorite old and grey.”

—The Lay of St. Nicholas.

 Ambrose the anchorite old and grey Larruped himself in his lonely cell, And many a welt on his pious pelt The scourge evoked as it rose and fell.

Ambrose the anchorite old and grey

Larruped himself in his lonely cell,

And many a welt on his pious pelt

The scourge evoked as it rose and fell.

 For hours together the flagellant leather Went whacketty-whack with his groans of pain; And the lay-brothers said, with a wag of the head, “Ambrose has been at the bottle again.”

For hours together the flagellant leather

Went whacketty-whack with his groans of pain;

And the lay-brothers said, with a wag of the head,

“Ambrose has been at the bottle again.”

 And such, in sooth, was the sober truth; For the single fault of this saintly soul Was a desert thirst for the cup accurst,— A quenchless love for the Flowing Bowl.

And such, in sooth, was the sober truth;

For the single fault of this saintly soul

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