Young Spark.  “Try me!  You’ve tolerated that fusty old fogey long enough!”

Old Flame (aside).  “Flashy young upstart!”]

["It is obvious that small tunnels for single lines, of the usual standard gauge, may be constructed some distance below the ground, and yet the atmosphere of such tunnels be as pure as upon a railway on the surface.”—­Illustrated London News, on the City & South London Electric Company.]

“Young Spark” loquitur:—­

  Your arm, my dear Madam! This way, down the lift, Ma’am! 
    No danger at all, no discomfort, no dirt! 
  You love Sweetness and Light?  They are both in my gift, Ma’am;
    I’ll prove like a shot what I boldly assert. 
  Don’t heed your Old Flame, Ma’am, he’s bitterly jealous,
    ’Tis natural, quite, with his nose out of joint;
  You just let him bluster and blow like old bellows,
    And try me instead—­I will not disappoint! 
  Old Flame?  He’s a very fuliginous “Flame,” Ma’am;
    I wonder, I’m sure, how you’ve stood him so long;
  He has choked you for years—­’tis a thundering shame, Ma’am! 
    High time the Young Spark put a term to his wrong. 
  Just look at me!  Am I not trim, smart, and sparkling,
    As clean as a pin, and as bright as a star? 
  Compare me with him, who stands scowling and darkling! 
    So gazed the old gallant on Young LOCHINVAR.

  He’s ugly and huffy, and smoky, and stuffy,
    And pokey, and chokey, and black as my hat. 
  As wooer he’s dull, for his breath smells of sulphur;
    Asphyxia incarnate, and horrid at that! 
  You cannot see beauty in one who’s so sooty,
    So dusty, and dingy, and dismal, and dark. 
  He’s feeble and footy; ’tis plainly your duty
    To “chuck” the Old Flame, and take on the Young Spark. 
  A Cyclops for lover, no doubt you discover,
    My dear Lady LONDON, is not comme il faut;
  If I do not woo you the sunny earth over. 
    At least I lend light to love-making below.

  He’s just like old Pluto, Persephone’s prigger;
    You’ll follow Apollo the Younger—­that’s me! 
  He’s sombre as Styx, and as black as a nigger.
    His lady-love, LONDON!  Bah!  Fiddle-de-dee!

  His murky monopoly, Madam, is ended. 
    Come down, my dear love, to my subterrene hall! 
  I think you’ll admit it is sparkling and splendid,
    As clean as a palace, not black as a pall. 
  Electrical traction with sheer stupefaction
    Strikes Steam, the old buffer, and spoils his small game. 
  You’re off with the old Love, so try the new bold Love,
    And let the Young Spark supersede the Old Flame.

  [Carries her off in triumph.

* * * * *