Stratman Ben Jackey――may his tribe decrease―― Awoke one night, quite sick and ill at ease, And saw within the lamplight in his room―― Making it yellow with a sickly gloom―― The devil, scratching on a brazen slate. Thinking to chaff him, Jacky reared his pate, And said, without the customary hail, “What writest thou?” The devil whisked his tail, And quite astonished at the fellow’s cheek, Answered, “The names of those who office seek.” “And is mine one?” said Jacky. “Yes you bet!” The devil said. Not hesitating yet, Quite unabashed, said Jack, “I beg――ahem! Write me Collector, or at least P.M.” The devil smiled and vanished. The next night He staggered into Jacky’s room, half tight, And showed the names upon his slate of brass, And lo! this Jack was written down an Ass. _American Paper._ ―――― BEN DISRAELI. Ben Disraeli (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, close by the night light in his room, Filling it with sulphureous perfume, An angel(?) writing in a book of gold: Exceeding cheek had made Ben Dizzy bold; And to the Presence in the room he said, “What writest thou?” The vision raised its head, And, with a smile of diabolic beauty, Answered, “The names of those who do their duty.” “And is mine one?” said Dizzy. “Nay, not so,” Replied the Spirit. Dizzy spoke more low, But cheerly still, and said, “I pray thee then, Write me as one that _does_ his fellow-men.” The angel wrote and vanished. The next night, It came again with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom Patriotism had blest, And lo! Ben Dizzy’s name led all the rest. _Echoes from the Clubs._ December, 1867. ―――― THE BLUE. Muggins of Sixes (may his ward increase) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the gaslight in the ward His Grecian, who was whacking one that snored. The while with pencil――aluminium gold―― He something seemed to write. Muggins grew bold, And to the Grecian standing by his bed He cried, “What writest thou?” He raised his head, And answered, while a shoe at him he threw, “The names of those who’ve paid up for the _Blue_!” “And is mine one?” said Muggins. “Nay, not so,” Replied the Grecian. Muggins whistled low, And in his――night shirt――sleeve he chuckled, saying, “Write me as one that wants one without paying!” The Grecian smote and vanished. The next night He came with hockey-stick, not over light, Holding the names of the heroic few Who paid a year’s subscription to the _Blue_. Then, adding one, he showed the youth the list, And lo! young Muggins’ name led all the rest! _The Blue._ A journal written by, and for, the scholars at Christ’s Hospital (the Bluecoat School), London. ―――― ABOU BEN FOLSOM.