Mr. Jackson of Clitheroe.—­Prize Farce entitled, “Lynch Law and Conjugal Rights.”

* * * * *

MEN WHO HAVE TAKEN ME IN—­

TO DINNER.

(BY A DINNER-BELLE.)

NO.  III.—­THE GREAT UNKNOWN.

[Illustration]

He was a dapper, dumpy thing,
With nought decisive on him graven
But smiles, like footlights flickering
O’er visage shaven.

And it, that kind of social myth
Where every guest (and each a rum one)
Is Somebody, because the kith
Or kin of Someone.

The Great Siberian Victim’s Aunt,
The Godfather of Colonel CODY,
And some affinity I can’t
Recall to DAUDET.

In fine, a Tussaud’s once removed,
Not waxworks, but their far connections;
The names, the attitudes, approved,
But mere reflections.

Our hostess, wont to pedigree
Her portents, slurred his surname sweetly;
So up my smiler tripped—­to me
Unknown completely.

Thus mystified, I needs must bruit
The weather—­“It was rainy, rather.” 
“Yes,” he rejoined, “It does not suit
My Poet-father: 

“Strange how the damp affects great men;
My nephew, not the Wit, the Artist,
You know paints always smartest when
It rains the smartest.”

“In water-colours?” feebly next
I faltered, falling quite to pieces: 
“No, no,” he murmured mildly vexed,
“You mean my nieces.

“Those delicate young paintresses
Of Idyls in Cobalt and Bistre,
Though for Impressionist success,
Give me my sister.

“My nephew, he’s inspired of course,
Divine, quite autre chose:  en bref you—­
Forgive an uncle’s pride—­perforce
Adore my nephew.”

Reeling with Relatives, I quite
My compass lost:  to shift our bearing,
“Who is the Lady on your right?”
Quoth I, despairing.

“That Beauty, like the portraits I’ve
For sale beheld of Miss BELLE BILTON.”—­
“She?  She’s the representative,
The last, of MILTON!”

This was too much:  what could I try
To burst from such a tangled tether? 
The shops for neutral ground, thought I,
Eclipse the weather.

The shops!  The very thing.  I dared
The shops.  “How wonderful was WHITELEY!”
Dazed at the Wizard’s name he stared,
And shuddered slightly.

A silence froze his ready twang: 
No more he smiled—­from that fell minute,
HENRY THE FIRST—­to speak in slang—­
Was scarcely in it.

That smilelessness!  What meant the curse? 
Who could the skein unravel?  I did. 
This was the Diner “Univers-
-ally provided.”

Renowned, if nameless—­hired to be
Salvation of a banquet’s ruin,
“Monsieur Le Quatorzieme” took me,
And may take you in.

* * * * *

THE MERRY GREEN WOOD.