“About them frisking played
  All beasts of the earth since wild, and of all chase
  In wood or wilderness, forest or den. 
  Sporting the lion ramped, and in his paw
  Dandled the kid; bears, tigers, ounces, pards,
  Gambolled before them; the unwieldy elephant,
  To make them mirth, used all his might, and wreathed
  His lithe proboscis.”

Now, if anybody does not like MILTON’S fun, why, in the name of a “lithe proboscis,” should he not say so—­in his mature middle-age?

* * * * *

“There is a shamelessness among many in both high and low life that calls for vehement protest.  The question with many seems to be how near they can come to the verge of decency without falling over.”—­Ashore and Afloat.

We have noticed a few who have had quite a narrow escape.

* * * * *

WAY OUT.

(Thoughts on leaving the Crystal Palace.)

  A brigadier or two beside the portal
    To cry to me with anguish half disguised,
  “Hail and farewell, O brother! pomp is mortal”—­
  Something, I fancied, something of this sort’ll
    Happen to me when I’m demobilised.

  That was an error.  Not a drum was sounded;
    No personage, no panoply, no pep;
  Only a single private who expounded
  My pathway out, and I went forth dumbfounded;
    Merely remembering to mind the step.

  Nothing spectacular and nothing solemn;
    No company of men that I might drill,
  And either tick ’em off or else extol ’em
  And give ’em “Facing left, advance in column,”
    And leave ’em marching, marching onwards till

  They butted into something.  Never a blooming
    Ultimate kit-inspection as I passed,
  Nor sound of Sergeant-majors’ voices booming,
  Nor weary stance while aides-de-camp were fuming,
    Not even a practice fire-drill at the last.

  And that’s the end.  To-morrow I’ll awaken
    To meet a world of doubtfulness and gloom,
  By orders and by Adjutants forsaken,
  And none to tell what action should be taken,
    If any, through what channels, and by whom.

  But dreams remain amidst the new disaster: 
    There shall be visions when the firelight burns—­
  Squads of recruits for ever doubling faster,
  Fresh clothing-issues from the Quartermaster
    And audit boards and absentee returns.

  I shall forget awhile civilian fashions
    And watch the P.T. merchants on the square,
  And polish tins and soothe the Colonel’s passions,
  And mount the guard and go and see the rations
    And bid departed days be “as you were.”

  And souvenirs!  I know there are a number
    Who stuff their homes with memories of dread;
  The ancient hat-stand in the hall encumber
  With Pickelhaubes and delight to slumber
    With heaps of nasty nose-caps round their bed.