* * * * * [Illustration: _He._ “And so, as I didn’t know what the leopard would be up to next, I shot him on the spot.” _She._ “How very exciting! And which spot did you shoot him on?”] * * * * * [Illustration: THE LION AT HOME [_See p. 75_] THE LION AT HOME.--_The Hope and Pride of the Family_ (_just home from the grand tour_). “Oh, really, you know, the men one meets in some of those places out west! I said to myself every night, ‘Well, thank Heaven I haven’t shot anybody!’” _Fond and Nervous Mother._ “You mean, thank Heaven nobody shot you, don’t you, dear?” * * * * * [Illustration: AT A CONVERSAZIONE _Young Lady._ “I suppose you know everybody here, Miss Oddie?” _Miss Oddie._ “Oh, I know most of them. But there are several _strange faces_ over there!”] * * * * * THE LAMENT OF THE LADIES’ MAN In youth I never cared for sport; Fresh air was not a passion to me; Athletic feats of any sort Sent unresponsive shudders through me; I had, in fact, a sedentary mind, And hated exercise of any kind. And so, when others smote the sphere With bat or mallet, boots or putter, I charmed (with song) the female ear, And made the female bosom flutter. I also played the zither and recited Poems of young loves, prematurely blighted. I sang, as I have said: I had That kind of voice that folks call “fluty”; I trilled of “Memories strangely sad,” Of “Pansies” and the “Eyes of Beauty.” Not more divinely does the early bird Sing when the worm has recently occurred. At that delightful hour of gloom, Slightly anterior to tea-time, I paralysed the drawing-room With trifles of my own in three-time, Till all the air was heavy with Desire, And prostrate matrons begged me to retire. Just then a vogue for High Romance Prevailed, and I’d a pent-up yearning; The hollow cheek, the hungry glance, Betrayed the fever inly burning; At inconvenient times the thing would out, Especially when ladies were about. Somehow the care of female hearts At that time always fell to my lot; Within the maze of Cupid’s arts I was their guiding star, their pilot; Not to have loved me with a blinding passion Was, broadly speaking, to be out of fashion. But latterly, I don’t know why, That star has waned, until at last I’m Left in the lurch while maidens fly Towards the ruder forms of pastime; And now their talk is all of tennis courts, Of golf, gymkhanas and athletic sports. I don’t complain. I know there’ll be One of these days a mild renaissance In the exclusive cult of ME: I view the fact with some complaisance; One day there’ll come an era of the Brain, And Theodore will be himself again.