["Poetry will degenerate into mere literary _bric-à-brac_, such as the composition of rondels and triolets."--DR. C. H. PEARSON.] Literary odds and ends Will for lays be scribbled! PEARSON thus ahead portends "Litter"-ary odds and ends. Pessimist, you owe amends For this forecast ribald:-- "Literary odds and ends Will for lays be scribbled!" Call you then mere _bric-à-brac_ Triolet and rondel? _All_ that's knocked off with a knack Call you then mere _bric-à-brac_?" Man of prose, you thus attack VILLON, DOBSON, BLONDEL. Call you _then_ mere _bric-à-brac_ Triolet and rondel?! 'Pon my word, _I_ don't much care If you prove your thesis. Poetry's not _my_ affair-- 'Pon my word, I don't much care! My three triolets pray tear As you please, to pieces! 'Pon my word, I don't much care If _they_ prove your thesis! * * * * * The recent illuminations in Paris, it is said, were a very costly matter. Naturally, as an "_affaire de LUX(E)_." * * * * * UNDER THE ROSE. (_A Story in Scenes._) SCENE XI.--_At the entrance to The Eldorado Music-hall._ TIME--_Saturday evening, about_ 8.30. Mrs. TOOVEY, _who has just alighted from a Waterloo bus, approaches; she wears a veil, under which her spectacles gleam balefully, and passes the various boards and coloured posters with averted eyes_. _Mrs. Toovey_ (_to herself_). I'm late--I ought to have taken a cab, instead of that dawdling bus. Still, I shall be in plenty of time to surprise Pa in the very midst of his profligacy. (_She looks around her._) Gilding, rosewood and mahogany panels, plush, stained glass--oh, the wicked luxury of it all! (_She pushes open a swing door._) Where is the place you call Box C? I--I have to meet somebody there. [_She finds herself in a glittering bar, where she produces a distinct sensation among a few loungers there._ _A Barmaid_ (_tartly_). There's no entrance to the music-hall this way. You've come to the wrong place. _Mrs. Toov._ (_with equal acidity_). Ah, young woman, you need not tell me _that_! (_She goes out with a withering glance, and hears stifled sniggers as the doors swing after her._) A drinking-bar on the very threshold to trap the unwary--disgraceful! (_She tries the next door, and finds a stalwart official, in a fancy uniform._) Will you have the goodness to conduct me to Box C, instantly? _The Official._ Next door, please, Ma'am. This only admits to the Grand Lounge. _Mrs. Toov._ (_to herself_). The "Grand Lounge," indeed! (_She opens another door, and finds a Pay-box, where she addresses the check-taker through the pigeon-hole_.) I want to go to Box C. I've asked for it at I don't know how many places, and---- _Checktaker_ (_politely_). I'm really afraid you'll have to ask again, Ma'am. This is the Promenade. Box-office _next_ entrance.