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This intense poesy thrilled the heavens, and it was with a sense of relief to their throbbing souls that they listened to Mr. Bret Harte’s contribution:

Which I wish to remark,
That the lady was plain;
And for ways that are dark
And for tricks that are vain
She had predilections peculiar,
And drove Peter nearly insane.

Far off, anywhere,
She wandered each day;
And though Peter would swear,
The lady would stray;
And whenever he thought he had got her,
She was sure to be rambling away.

Said Peter, “My Wife,
Hereafter you dwell
For the rest of your life
In a big Pumpkin Shell.”
He popped her in one that was handy,
And since then he’s kept her quite well.

Which is why I remark,
Though the lady was plain,
For ways that are dark
And tricks that are vain
A husband is very peculiar,
And the same I am free to maintain.

Oscar Wilde, in a poetic fervor and a lily-like kimono, recited with tremulous intensity this masterpiece of his own:

Oh, Peter! Pumpkin-fed and proud,
Ah me; ah me!
(Sweet squashes, mother!)
Thy woe knells like a stricken cloud;
(Ah me; ah me!
Hurroo, Hurree!)

Lo! vanisht like an anguisht wraith;
Ah me; ah me!
(Sweet squashes, mother!)
Wan hope a dolorous musing saith;
(Ah me; ah me!
Dum diddle dee!)

Hist! dare we soar? The Pumpkin Shell!
Ah me; ah me!
(Sweet squashes, mother!)
Fast and forever! Sooth, ’tis well.
(Ah me; ah me!
Faloodle dee!)

There was little to be said after this, so the meeting closed with a solo by Lady Arthur Hill, sung with a truly touching touch:

In the pumpkin, oh, my darling,
Think not bitterly of me;
Though I went away in silence,
Though I couldn’t set you free.

For my heart was filled with longing,
For another piece of pie;
It was best to leave you there, dear,
Best for you and best for I.

At Christmas the members of the Re-Echo Club voiced these pleasant sentiments:

BY MR. TENNYSON:

Give me no more! Though worsted slippers be
The proper gift from woman unto man,
Component of the universal plan;
But, oh, too many hast thou given me,
Give me no more!

BY MR. SHAKESPEARE:

To give or not to give, that is the question;
Whether ’tis nobler on the whole to suffer
The old exchange of trinkets, gauds and kickshaws,
Or to take arms against this Christmas nuisance,
And, by opposing, end it? To buy–to give–
No more; and by that gift to say we end
The Christmas obligations to our friends
We all are heir to! To buy–to give;
To give–perchance to get; ay, there’s the rub!
For in those bundles gay what frights may come
When we have shuffled off the ribbon bows
And tissue paper! Who would gifts receive
Of foolish books and little silver traps,
That make us rather keep the things we buy,
Than get these others that we know not of!
Thus Christmas doth make cowards of us all,
And, notwithstanding our good resolutions,
Each year we bandy gifts, and follow out
The same old Christmas programme!

BY MR. WORDSWORTH:

It was the very best of pies,
All plummy, thick and sweet;
A pie of most prodigious size–
And very few to eat.

‘Twas passing rich, and few folks know
How rich mince pie can be;
But I have eaten it–and, oh,
The difference to me!

BY MR. DOBSON:

When she gave me cigars (!)
I smiled at the present.
Her eyes were like stars
When she gave me cigars.
(I can stand sudden jars.)
So I looked very pleasant
When she gave me cigars (!)
I smiled at the present.