First Ditto (slily).  Didn’t “lack finish,” was sufficiently “ad unguem,” eh, Nunky?

Second Ditto (moodily).  Ah! what do you youngsters know about those fine old fighting days?  I didn’t love DIZZY, but he was a neat hand with the foils, boy.

First Ditto.  Especially in a bout with a friend,—­with the buttons off.  But I say, this isn’t bathing, you know!

Second Ditto.  No. (Eyeing the stream distastefully.) Hadn’t we better postpone the pleasure till a little later in the season, ARTHUR.  When those “Spring’s delights” of which you melodiously twangle are a leetle more en evidence.

First Ditto (pipes).  Hawthorn buds give joyful tidings. 
        Welcome, youths, ’tis bright bath-day!

Second Ditto.  Ah! if we’re here to do the Eclogue business, STREPHON
can take his turn, as well as CORYDON. [Sings.
        Let us plunge into the ri-i-i-v-e-e-r! 
          Leave our vesture on the bank!

First Ditto.  Bless me, STREPHON, how you shi-i-v-e-e-r!

Second Ditto.  ’Tis like a fishmonger’s tank!

First Ditto.  Pooh! ’tis lovely—­when you’re in it;
          One bold header, and ’tis done!

Second Ditto.  Ah, quite so, but—­wait a minute,
          Till I’ve warmed me with a run. 
        That will stir my circulation;
          For the moment I am “friz.”

First Ditto. Magnifique! my dear relation;
          But, you’ll own, it is not “biz.”

Both.  We must o-o-o-ow-n it is not “biz!”

Second Ditto.  Well, no, I suppose it isn’t, ARTHUR.  By the way, what’s that row behind there?

First Ditto. (looking).  By Jove! it’s that Gladstone gang!  They’ve
tracked us! (Sings)—­
        They’re after us!  They’re after us!
          We’re the individuals they require.

Second Ditto. (sardonically).  What a lyric repertoire you have, ARTHUR!  Old English glee, Puritan psalmody.  Music-hall song, all come equally well to you, it seems.  But those roughs mean mischief, Nephew mine!

[Illustration:  SPRING TIME IN LEAP YEAR.

SALISBURY.  “DON’T YOU THINK, NEPHEW ARTHUR, WE’D BETTER
PLUNGE—­BEFORE WE’RE PUSHED?”]

First Ditto.  Doubtless!  They always do.  And they’ve done some lately, drat them!  I say, wouldn’t they like to shove us in, as they did the old witches, to see if we can swim?

Second Ditto.  By Jove!  I shouldn’t wonder if they tried.  Don’t you think, ARTHUR, (valiantly) it would be better, more manly, and more politic, perchance, to plunge in than to be pushed?

First Ditto (drily).  Ah! just as the brave sheep—­
        “Committed suicide to save themselves from slaughter.”