or the first and only time during my
acquaintance with him a slight attempt at a smile showed itself on his
features. It was barely perceptible and gone almost as soon as seen, yet
I am pleased to put it on record that on one occasion at least in his
life the Scarabee smiled.

The old Master keeps adding notes and reflections and new suggestions to
his interleaved volume, but I doubt if he ever gives them to the public.
The study he has proposed to himself does not grow easier the longer
it is pursued. The whole Order of Things can hardly be completely
unravelled in any single person's lifetime, and I suspect he will have
to adjourn the final stage of his investigations to that more luminous
realm where the Landlady hopes to rejoin the company of boarders who are
nevermore to meet around her cheerful and well-ordered table.

The curtain has now fallen, and I show myself a moment before it to
thank my audience and say farewell. The second comer is commonly less
welcome than the first, and the third makes but a rash venture. I hope
I have not wholly disappointed those who have been so kind to my
predecessors.

To you, Beloved, who have never failed to cut the leaves which hold my
record, who have never nodded over its pages, who have never hesitated
in your allegiance, who have greeted me with unfailing smiles and part
from me with unfeigned regrets, to you I look my last adieu as I bow
myself out of sight, trusting my poor efforts to your always kind
remembrance.

EPILOGUE TO THE BREAKFAST-TABLE SERIES

AUTOCRAT--PROFESSOR--POET.

AT A BOOKSTORE.

Anno Domini 1972.

A crazy bookcase, placed before
A low-price dealer's open door;
Therein arrayed in broken rows
A ragged crew of rhyme and prose,
The homeless vagrants, waifs and strays
Whose low estate this line betrays
(Set forth the lesser birds to lime)
YOUR CHOICE AMONG THESE BOOKS, 1 DIME!

Ho! dealer; for its motto's sake
This scarecrow from the shelf I take;
Three starveling volumes bound in one,
Its covers warping in the sun.
Methinks it hath a musty smell,
I like its flavor none too well,
But Yorick's brain was far from dull,
Though Hamlet pah!'d, and dropped his skull.

Why, here comes rain! The sky grows dark,