The jury returned the usual verdict; but The Scalpel did not hesitate to hint that this suicide had simply been intended as an advertisement, and that HIGLINSON had always supposed that his rescue would be a certainty.

He might have saved himself all this, of course, by a few full-page advertisements in The Scalpel.  But then he had those idiotic notions about pluck, and he was reluctant to bribe his enemies.  It is a very dangerous thing to have notions about anything.

* * * * *

Wanted, A word-slayer.

Fin de Siecle! Ah, that phrase, though taste spurn it, I
Fear, threatens staying with us to eternity. 
Who will deliver
Our nerves, all a-quiver,
From that pest-term, and its fellow “modernity”?

* * * * *

[Illustration:  At the door; or, paterfamilias and the young spark.

Electric Light.  “What, won’t you let me in—­A dear little chap like me?”

Householder.  “Ah!  You’re A little too dear for me—­at present.”]

* * * * *

At the door; or, paterfamilias and the young spark.

(AN ELECTRICAL ECLOGUE.)

["The cost is still heavy, no doubt, and the electric light still stands in the category of luxuries which are almost beyond the reach of average middle-class incomes.”—­The “Times” on the growth of Electric Lighting in London.]

ELECTRIC SPRITE.

  Old boy, let me in!  Come, now, don’t you be stupid! 
    Why stand at your door in that dubious way? 
  Like the classical girl who was called on by Cupid,
    You seem half alarmed at the thought of my stay. 
  With meanings of mischief my mind is not laden;
    Be sure, my dear friend, that I shall not sell you,
  As the artful young archer-god did the poor maiden,
    Who let him in only his visit to rue. 
  I hope you’ve not listened to enemies’ strictures,
    They’ve warned you, perhaps, against letting me pass,
  I shan’t soil your ceiling, I shan’t spoil your pictures,
    Or make nasty smells like that dirty imp, Gas! 
  You’re prejudiced clearly, and that is a pity,
    Why, bless you, I’m spreading all over the place! 
  My spark is pervading the whole of the City;
    The dingy old Gas-flame must soon hide its face. 
  I’m brilliant, and clean, and delightfully larky;
    Just look at my glow and examine my arc!
  Fwizz! How’s that for high, and for vivid and sparky!