ran. He will cry
aloud, in the words of the late W.E. Henley, "My head is bloody but
unbowed." He will add, "My ribs are broken but unbent."

I look for the time when we shall wish one another a Merry Christmas
every morning; when roast turkey and plum-pudding shall be the staple
of our daily dinner, and the holly shall never be taken down from the
walls, and everyone will always be kissing everyone else under the
mistletoe. And what is right as regards Christmas is right as regards
all other so-called anniversaries. The time will come when we shall
dance round the Maypole every morning before breakfast--a meal at
which hot-cross buns will be a standing dish--and shall make April
fools of one another every day before noon. The profound significance
of All Fool's Day--the glorious lesson that we are all fools--is
too apt at present to be lost. Nor is justice done to the sublime
symbolism of Shrove Tuesday--the day on which all sins are shriven.
Every day pancakes shall be eaten, either before or after the
plum-pudding. They shall be eaten slowly and sacramentally. They shall
be fried over fires tended and kept for ever bright by Vestals. They
shall be tossed to the stars.

I shall return to the subject of Christmas next week.

A SEQUELULA TO "THE DYNASTS"[7]

_By_

TH*M*S H*RDY

[Footnote 7: _This has been composed from a scenario thrust on me
by some one else. My philosophy of life saves me from sense of
responsibility for any of my writings; but I venture to hold
myself specially irresponsible for this one._--TH*M*S H*RDY.]

The Void is disclosed. Our own Solar System is visible,
distant by some two million miles.

Enter the Ancient Spirit and Chorus of the Years, the Spirit
and Chorus of the Pities, the Spirit Ironic, the Spirit
Sinister, Rumours, Spirit-Messengers, and the Recording Angel.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES.

_Yonder, that swarm of things insectual_
_Wheeling Nowhither in Particular--_
_What is it?_

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS.

_That? Oh that is merely one_
_Of those innumerous congeries_
_Of parasites by which, since time began,_
_Space has been interfested._

SPIRIT SINISTER.

_What a pity_
_We have no means of stamping out these pests!_

SPIRIT IRONIC.

_Nay, but I like to watch them buzzing round,_
_Poor little trumpery ephaeonals!_

CHORUS OF THE PIETIES (aerial music).

_Yes, yes!_
_What matter a