Now whether the Mother of the Winds gave ear to the prayer of the poor Princess AGRICULTURA, and imposed upon the Two Winds the punishment they richly deserved, the sequel must show.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  SIGNS OF BREEDING.

(Vide Correspondence in the “Daily Telegraph.”)

Little Binks agrees with Lord Byron that Breeding shews itself in the Hands, and complacently surveys his own.

“BOSH!” SAYS BLOKER.  “BREEDING SHOWS ITSELF IN THE EAR, AND NOWHERE ELSE!”]

* * * * *

MORE MESSAGES FROM THE MAHATMA.

[Illustration]

1.  I am KOOT HOOMIBOOG.  There are more things in my philosophy than were ever dreamed of in heaven or earth.  You are POONSH.  You are a Thrupni but you are not a Mahatma.  Be a Mahatma, and save your postage expenses.  But you must be discreet; and you must be exceeding vague.  A Mahatma is nothing if he is not vague.  You must also be elusive.  Can you elude?  It is no light matter to prove one’s spiritual capacity by materialising a cigarette inside a grand piano.

2.  Your reply to my letter is soulless and sceptical.  How can you ask me, O POONSH, what I am trying to get at?  I ask nothing from you.  It would be to your advantage rather than mine if you printed my poem on the Re-incarnation of Ginan Bittas, entitled The Soul’s Gooseberry Bush.  And if you will only be a Mahatma, or a disciple, I will gladly let you have the serial rights in that great work.  What do you mean by saying you do not want to find cigarettes in your neighbour’s piano?  Think it over again, and you will see the beauty of it.  You are a Thrupni, but surely you have some spiritual needs.

3.  You say that you do not want my poem, and you ask me if I have no further attractions to offer.  I am KOOT HOOMIBOOG, and I have kept the greatest attraction for the last.  If you will only join us, you may find a few newspapers who will discuss you.  You may see the question whether you are a fool or a knave debated in the correspondence columns.  Think of the glory of it!

4.  What? you won’t?  Well; I am surprised!

* * * * *

THE (EUROPEAN) WORLD AND ITS WIFE.—­Europe—­says an oracle—­is “Wedded to Peace.”  Possibly.  And Europe, doubtless, does not exactly desire a divorce.  But Europe has to pay pretty heavily—­in armies and fleets, &c.—­for Peace’s “maintenance.”

* * * * *

THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

NO.  VI.

SCENE—­Garden of the Hotel Victoria at Bingen, commanding a view of the Rhine and the vine-terraced hills, which are bathed in warm afternoon sunlight.  Under the mopheaded acacias, CULCHARD and PODBURY are sitting smoking.  At a little distance from them, are a Young Married Couple, whose honeymoon is apparently in its last quarter.

The Bridegroom (lazily, to Bride, as she draws another chair towards her for a foot-rest).  How many more chairs do you want?