Love at my heart's closed door, with loudest knockings, Won his admittance as I gazed on you Garbed in the gear of her, of all blue-stockings, The most superbly blue. For you seemed nobler far in form and feature; In wisdom, too, I deemed you now divine, And, though I felt myself a worthless creature, I swore to make you mine. I said, "I'll win this goddess. Though the siege is Long, I shall learn her wisdom if I can, Until in time she throws her nuptial aegis Over her Super-man." And then you spoke, in accents all too human, Glanced at me coyly from beneath your casque; My vision vanished, and I saw the woman Behind that heavenly mask. And straight I felt (so flippant was your mien) a Pain as I mused on Pallas and her fowl, And left the phantom of a faked Athena, A disillusioned Owl. * * * * * Love's Labour Lost. "The Newcastle Fire Brigade were called upon last night to deal with an outbreak at----, where Mr. J. G---- carries on business as a firelighter manufacturer. Before much damage had been done, the firemen were able to extinguish the flames with chemicals." _Newcastle Daily Journal._ Once again we see how the economic instinct clashes with the artistic temperament. * * * * * [Illustration: A POINT TO POINT IN IRELAND. _Owner of Rank Bad Horse (who has given the mount to a stranger)._ "BEGORRA, I DIDN'T KNOW HE WAS A FRIEND OF YER HONOUR'S! TELL HIM TO GET DOWN OFF THAT HORSE! SHURE, I THOUGHT HE WAS ONLY A ---- SAXON."] * * * * * OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. (_By Mr. Punch's Staff of Learned Clerks._)