"Tempt not the Press," Lord Rowton said. "Of critics have a timely dread: They skinned you when you wrote _Lothair_." He answered, with his nose in air, "_Endymion!_" "Oh stay," the Tory said, "and make That wicked GLADSTONE writhe and quake." A twinkle flash'd from out his eye: "I'll give him rope," he said, "and try _Endymion!_" "Beware the day they may begin To break the Treaty of Berlin!" This was the Tory's last appeal. He only said, "I will reveal _Endymion!_" And so, when Ireland was aflame, The Eastern Question just the same, Conservatives beheld with doubt Their Leader bring his novel out-- _Endymion_. And all who waded through the book, Met Titles, Tailor, Prince and Dook: What wonder it is all the rage? For epigram adorns thy page, _Endymion!_ There, in the twilight, cold and grey, Serene in Curzon Street he lay. "This cheque from LONGMANS' will go far," A voice said. "Now for a cigar!" _Endymion!_ _Punch_, December 4, 1880. * * * * * A "COMMON" GRIEVANCE; OR, OUR OPEN SPACES AND OUR ÆDILES. The summer day was waning fast, As o'er a London heath there pass'd A youth who walked with steps precise, And murmured, more than once or twice, "The Heath is ours!" His eyes flashed brightly in his head, Till, as the notice-boards he read, His cheeks for one short moment blenched, but soon he cried, with fingers clenched, "The Heath is ours!" Then he recalled the large amount The people'd paid that they might count That Heath their own, and then again He shouted out, with might and main, "The Heath is ours!" As thus he cried, a keeper came, And roughly said, "Young man! Your name? I'll summons you for spouting here!" "Bah," cried the youth, "I have no fear-- The Heath is ours!" The liveried myrmidon but jeered, "Well, that's the queerest tale I've heerd; This 'eath's been taken by our Board." Much moved, the youth in answer roared, "The Heath is ours!" "Rouse not his ire," an old man said; "You have not, p'rhaps, the by-laws read? Alas! he's might upon his side." "Go to!" the eager youth replied, "The Heath is ours!" "O stay!" a maiden said, "nor pass In that mad way across the grass! You will be fined. Oh, please don't go!" "Thanks!" cried the youth, "but I must show The Heath is ours!" * * * * * Then, rising 'gainst crass Bumble's yoke, He every stupid by-law broke, And when stern keepers asked his name, Still loud the self-same answer came: "The Heath is ours!"