_Paumanokides._ So long! ―――― _Punch_ also had a very funny burlesque description of “OSCAR INTERVIEWED. “_New York, Jan._, 1882. “Determined to anticipate the rabble of penny-a-liners ready to pounce upon any distinguished foreigner who approaches our shores, and eager to assist a sensitive Poet in avoiding the impertinent curiosity and ill-bred insolence of the Professional Reporter, I took the fastest pilot-boat on the station, and boarded the splendid Cunard steamer, _The Boshnia_, in the shucking of a pea-nut. “HIS ÆSTHETIC APPEARANCE. “He stood, with his large hand passed through his long hair, against a high chimney-piece――which had been painted pea-green, with panels of peacock blue pottery let in at uneven intervals――one elbow on the high ledge, the other hand on his hip. He was dressed in a long, snuff-coloured, single-breasted coat, which reached to his heels, and was relieved with a seal-skin collar and cuffs rather the worse for wear. Frayed linen, and an orange silk handkerchief gave a note to the generally artistic colouring of the _ensemble_, while one small daisy drooped despondently in his button-hole. “HIS GLORIOUS PAST. “Precisely――I took the Newdigate. Oh! no doubt, every year some man gets the Newdigate; but not every year does Newdigate get an Oscar. Since then――barely three years, but centuries to such as I am――I have stood upon the steps of London Palaces――in South Kensington――and preached Æsthetic art. I have taught the wan beauty to wear nameless robes, have guided her limp limbs into sightless knots and curving festoons, while we sang of the sweet sad sin of Swinburne, or the lone delight of soft communion with Burne-Jones. Swinburne had made a name, and Burne-Jones had copied illuminations e’er the first silky down had fringed my upper lip, but the Trinity of Inner Brotherhood was not complete till I came forward, like the Asphodel from the wilds of Arcady, to join in sweet antiphonal counterchanges with the Elder Seers. We are a Beautiful Family――we are, we are, we are!” “Yes; I expect my Lecture will be a success. So does Dollar Carte――I mean D’Oyly Carte. Too-Toothless Senility may jeer, and poor positive Propriety may shake her rusty curls; but I am here, to pipe of Passion’s venturous Poesy, and reap the scorching harvest of Self-Love! I am not quite sure what I mean. The true Poet never is. In fact, true Poetry is nothing if it is intelligible. “HIS KOSMIC SOUL.