_The Coming K----_ _The Coming K----_ was published about ten years ago as one of Beeton's Christmas Annuals, and created a sensation at the time, as it dealt with some social scandals then fresh in the public mind. After enjoying a rapid sale for a short period, it was suddenly withdrawn in a mysterious manner from circulation, and is now rather scarce. Following the Dedication, just quoted, are parodies of the Idyls of the King, with the following titles:--The Coming of Guelpho; Heraint and Shenid; Vilien; Loosealot and Delaine; The Glass of Ale; Silleas and Gettarre; The Last Carnival; and Goanveer. In each of these parts there are parodies well worthy of preservation, but space will only permit of the insertion of the following extracts, one from _Vilien_, the other from _Goanveer_. In _Vilien_, the then prevalent crazes for Spiritualism, Table Rapping, and Cabinet séances are amusingly satirised; Vilien seeks out Herlin the Wizard, and thus begs him to reveal the one great secret of his art:-- "I ever feared you were not wholly mine, And see--you ask me what it is I want? Yet people call you wizard--why is this? What is it makes you seem so proud and cold? Yet if you'd really know what boon I ask, Then tell me, dearest Herlin, ere I go, The charm with which you make your table rap. * * * O yield my boon, And grant my re-iterated wish, Then will I love you, ay, and you shall kiss My grateful lips--you shall upon my word." And Herlin took his hand from hers and said, O, Vilien, ask not this, but aught beside. But as thou lov'st me, Vilien, do not ask The way in which I make the table rap. O ask it not! And Vilien, like the tenderest hearted maid That ever jilted swain or lover mocked, Made answer, either eyelid wet with tears: "Nay, Herlin, if you love me, say not so; You do but tease to talk to me like this. Methinks you hardly know the tender rhyme Of 'Trust me for all in all, or not at all.' I heard a 'comique' sing the verses once, And they shall answer for me. List the song: 'In love, 'tis as in trade; if trade were ours, Credit and cash could ne'er be equal powers-- Give trust to all or don't give trust at all. It is the little rift within the lute That cracks the sound and makes the music mute, And leaves the banjo nothing worth at all. It is the little moth within the suit, It is the merry maggot in the fruit, That worming surely, slowly ruins all. It is the little leaven makes the lump, It is the little piston works the pump; And A-L-L spells ALL, and--all is all.' O, Herlin, do you understand my rhyme? And Herlin coughed, and owned that he did not. * * * * *