Not Quite Right

No man ís u iiero fo bis valet, and perbaps no poet to bis baker. He lives in Pntney, aud alruost every day he walks a few miles to Wimbledon and goes to a cakesbop tbere, where he bnys cakes to give to a little gronp oí poor children, wlio have learned to look forward to this freqneut treat. Some one who knew tbe poet by sight said to the shopkoeper, "Do yon know who this gentleman who buya so niany cakes of you is?" "Oh, ho's a poi ■ loman who isn't quite right in his he,:!. Ho's' ahvays