Nero, the fiddler of burning Rome and the tyrant par excellence of his day, gave a fete on the gulf of Baiae when inns were established on the banks and ladies of noble blood played hostesses to the occasion, the roses alone costing more than four million of sesterces, or $100,000. Before her downfall Rome could spend millions on her royal tables, support the dignity of a single senator at $80,000 a year, employ courts for sycophants and flatterers, impose taxes at the pleasure of her ruler, declare any complaint treason, marry her daughters for money and titles, employ notaries to attest the fatness of her banquet fowls, punish men with death for trivial offenses and make slaves and menials of the profoundest philosophers. Considering their natural limitations, those old boys set a pace that would keep anybody hustling to keep up with them. The sports of several generations back might have been veritable hicks compared to the modern brand, but those of several centuries back didn’t take a back seat for none—and don’t yet! * * * * * In the May issue of last year, when Whiz Bang was a baby in the magazine field, we published a poem famed over the West Coast, “The Girl in the Blue Velvet Band,” which we obtained after much effort from a former convict of San Quentin penitentiary, wherein this masterpiece was written. Within a week after the Whiz Bang, containing the first publication of this poem, reached San Francisco, that city had sold out every copy, and a day or two later none could be purchased from Canada to Mexico on the western slope. The Whiz Bang mail box was full every day with requests for more copies of the issue containing “The Blue Velvet Band.” Consequently, we republished the poem in our October issue, which we also called our first Annual. The big rush of the May issue was repeated in October, and from that time on we have been flooded with requests for copies of the poem. One enthusiast offered us a ten spot if we’d have Gus, the hired man, copy the poem from our personal files for him. This year we are making the Winter Annual a separate book, with four times as much reading matter. “The Blue Velvet Band,” the verse of the dope layout, the burglar and the inner walls of San Quentin. “Lasca,” the tale of the stampede, “The Face on the Bar-room Floor,” and “Johnnie and Frankie,” are some of the poems scheduled for the “Pedigreed Follies of 1921-22” in October. * * * * * Probably a Boxing Match She (just back from Paris): “I can’t go to this dance tonight, my trunks haven’t arrived.” He: “Good Lord, what kind of a dance do you think this is going to be?” * * * * * If you interfere between man and wife, remember this, that they will be friends again and you won’t. _Smokehouse Poetry_