e now that they were
standing on their chairs, bellowing, and fancied the end must be near. Then
we were washed into a quiet backwater, in a corner, and from here I
determined never to issue till the Last Banjo should indeed sound. Here I
sidled vaguely about for a long time, hoping that I looked like a man
preparing for some vast culminating feat, a side-step or a buzz or a
double-Jazz-spin or an ordinary fall down.

The noise suddenly ceased; the four black men had exploded.

"Very good exercise," my partner said.

"Quite," said I.

A.P.H.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Farmer_ (_booming his land to inquiring stranger_). "THAT
THERE LAND BE WORTH DREE HUNDRED POUND AN ACRE IF IT BE WORTH A PENNY, IT
BE. WERE YOU THINKING O' BUYING AN' SETTLING HERE?"

_Stranger_. "OH, NO. I'M THE NEW TAX-COLLECTOR."]

* * * * *

"We published yesterday a protest from an eminent correspondent against
the appointment of a British Ambassador to Berlin. We understand,
nevertheless, that LORD D'ABERNON has been selected for the
appointment."--_Times_.

Sir WILLIAM ORPEN is already at work, we understand, on a picture for next
year's Academy, entitled "David defying the Thunderer."

* * * * *

VANISHED GLORY.

(_The Life-tragedy of a Military Wag_.)

Time was I rocked the crowded tents
With laughter loud and hearty,
Librettist to the regiment's
Diverting concert party;
With choice of themes so very small
The task was far from tiring;
There really was no risk at all
Of any joke misfiring.

I found each gibe at army rules
Appreciated fully;
I sparkled when describing mules
As "embryonic bully,"
Or, aided by some hackneyed tune,
Increased my easy laurels
By stringing verses to impugn
The quartermaster's morals.

And so I vowed on my demob.
To shun the retrogression
To any sort of office job;
I'd jest as a profession
And burst upon the world a new
Satirical rebuker,
Acquiring fame and maybe too
A modicum of lucre.

But vain are all my _jeux de mot_,
No lip is loosed in laughter;
I send them to the Press, but no
Acceptance follows after;
And if, as formerly, I try
Satiric themes my gibe'll
Be certain to be hampered by
The common law of libel.

In short, my hopes begin to fade;
The yawning gulf has rent