*** "COPY." Some call the world a vale of tears, And some a haunt of bliss-- "Copy" the world to me appears, And all that therein is. I loved, I hated, and desired, Despaired, like other men-- And "copy" thus I have acquired, Which still informs my pen. Now, all the scenes whereon I look, All human joy and woe, Spontaneously as a book Into fresh "copy" flow. There is no pang too terrible, No rapture too sublime, To furnish forth an article Or to suggest a rhyme. I'd like a little while to break My fetters lucrative, To love again for Love's own sake, For Life's own sake, to live. To look upon the stars again With no ulterior view. Oh, aspiration wild and vain! But--it is "copy," too! *** "ONE MAN ONE JOB." _A Christmassy Story for the Members of the L. C. C._ Mr. BLANK THREESTARS was an eminent member of the London County Council, and had distinguished himself as a supporter of the cry, "One Man One Job." In his opinion a workman should stick to his work, and try no other. If he were a bricklayer, he should lay bricks; if he were a painter, he should daub doors with colour. "We don't want one man interfering with another man's business," said Mr. BLANK THREESTARS. "Let the shoemaker stick to his last." And this declaration of policy made him extremely popular in his own set. He was considered a sound reformer. "Sound" in more senses than one, as he happened to be particularly partial to the tones of his own voice. One day about Christmas time, when the holly and mistletoe were much in evidence, Mr. BLANK THREESTARS happened to be reading the reports of his own speeches at Spring Gardens, and unconsciously closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he found a gentleman in a black costume, who invited him to give his opinion on things in general and the London County Council in particular. Rather pleased to be asked to air his eloquence, Mr. BLANK THREESTARS readily complied with the obliging request. He talked long and well, and the gentleman in black seemed never weary of listening to him. When he paused for a moment his attentive visitor put a question to him which "set him off" again. And this was repeated quite a score of times. At length, however, the orator became exhausted. "Why do you cease speaking?" asked the gentleman in black rather impatiently. "Because I am very tired," was the reply; "and now, with your permission, I will go for a turn on my bicycle." "Not at all. Your job is to speak, and I cannot let you do anything else. So please continue your interesting remarks. What do you think of the report upon the City of London?"