And I said, “Is this the Lord Mayor’s Show?”

And One said, “No.”

And I said, “Is it the Salvation Army?”

And again One said, “No.”

And I said, “Is it SEQUAH?”

And One said again.  “No.”

And I said, “I have guessed enough.”

And One said, “Yes.”

But The Real was not there, and they passed away.

And One said, “I am Wealth,” which was absurd, but No-one laughed.  And they all danced a fandango on the points of their toes.  And a shaft of light lay over them.  And they wandered on.  At last they came to a bad, wicked naughty, brimstone place.  And I said to Some-one, “I like this.  It seems a good place.”  And still No-one laughed.  And Wealth touched me, and I was glad.  And I said, “Give me millions, or buy a box of matches,” and Law seized me and took me to the Cell.  Then I said to the Beak, “Your Worship.”  And the Beak said unto me, “Begging again.  Forty shillings.”  And again I woke.  And it was all a striving and a striving and an ending in Nothing.

The end.

* * * * *

To Mlle. Jane may.

  “Au clair de la lune,
  Mon ami Pierrot,
  Prete-moi ta plume
  Pour ecrire un mot.”

Prete-moi ta plume! Could wit borrow a feather From Cupid’s own pinion, ’tis doubtfullish whether A “mot” might be made which should happily hit The “gold” of desert; and Love, aided by Wit, Though equal to eloquent passion’s fine glow, Might both be struck mute by the Muse of Dumb-Show.  That “actions speak louder than words” we all knew; But now we may add, “and more gracefully, too.” Performances fine Punch has praised in his day, But how few take the pas of the Promise—­of MAY!

* * * * *

“NATIVE RACES AND THE LIQUOR TRAFFIC.”—­An important subject strangely omitted at the recent meeting of this Society was “The Consumption of Champagne on the Derby and Oaks Days.”  The Duke of WESTMINSTER will take the earliest opportunity of rectifying this error.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  A BLEND.

The Wine Merchant (G-SCH-N).  “I’M AFRAID SOME OF OUR OLD CUSTOMERS WON’T LIKE IT AT FIRST; BUT, WITH A LITTLE PERSUASION, I THINK I CAN GET ’EM TO TAKE TO IT KINDLY.”]

* * * * *

JOKIM THE CELLARER; OR, THE BLEND.

AIR.—­“SIMON THE CELLARER.”

  ’Cute JOKIM the Cellarer keeps a large store
    Of choice Party Spirits, d’ye see;
  Scotch, Irish, and who can say how many more? 
    An eclectic old soul is he. 
  But mainly in “Blends” he is good, dark or pale,
  For he knows without them his best bottlings may fail;
  But he never faileth, he archly doth say,
  For he well knows what tap suits the taste of the day. 
      And ho! ho! ho! his books will show
      He oft taps the barrels of Brummagem JOE!