The learned pate Ducks to the golden fool; all is oblique; There's nothing level in our currency But monometallism! Gold doth lord Great lands, societies, and throngs of men. That the sun rounds the earth, that earth's a disc, Are foolish fads that TIMON much disdains As duping dull mankind. But will they rank _My_ fad--Bimetallism--along with such? I seek a dual standard; gold alone Is a most operant poison! What is here? Gold? yellow, precious, glittering gold? No, gods, I am no aureate votarist. Silver seems To me, and to wise WALSH, a fair twin-standard Fit to set up, that variable values May find stability in dual change, _With_ a fixed ratio, which the world must find, Or our one standard, like a pirate's flag, Will lead us to disaster. Monometallism Is--Monomania. This yellow slave Will break, not knit, our Commerce. I can be Cool, analytical, even cynical On trifles--such as Separatism's sin, Or County Council Crime; but this thing stirs My tepid blood, e'en as Statistics warm The chilly soul of GOSCHEN. Come, curst gold, Thou common ore of mankind, that putt'st odds Among the rout of nations, I will make thee Take thy right place! Thou mak'st my heart beat quick, But yet I'll bury thee: thou'lt go, strong thief, Orthodox keepers of thee cannot stand Against a passionate prophet's promulgation Of a new economic revelation. "Put up your gold!" But put up silver, too, (As WALSH, and GRENFELL, and Sage CHAPLIN urge), Or banded Europe--some day--shall smash up Our City to financial chaos. Aye! I may talk lightly about trivial things, And cynically smile on twaddle's trifles,-- Union of hearts, optimist ecstasies, Fervours, and faiths, the breeks of prisoned Pats, Coercion's bondage and such bagatelles-- But on this Titan theme--Bimetallism-- TIMON is in hot earnest! * * * * * A Short Way with Wasps. A plague of wasps infests the South In consequence of the hot season!-- Humph! Is it torrid heat and drouth Deprive our Commons of cool reason? A plague of wasps infests the House! Its managers the matter mull, for They have not (like poor HODGE) the _nous_ To smoke pests out with (moral) sulphur! To check HAYES FISHER'S style, or TIM'S tone, MELLOR tries treacle; he needs brimstone. * * * * * [Illustration: A LESSON. _Father_ (_on receiving Bill for Luncheon at one of our very modern London Restaurants_). "HALLO! WHAT!! OVER TWO GUINEAS FOR MERELY----! WHY, HANG IT----!" _His Son_ (_small Etonian_). "OH, WELL NEVER MIND, FATHER. IT'S A THING TO DO _ONCE_, AND WE WON'T DO IT AGAIN!"] * * * * * THE STORMY PETREL.