Tattered and soiled, an exile and an alien, Somehow you touched the Cockney nymphs with awe; You lit the cold clay statue, like Pygmalion, To blood-red raptures; you were sib to SHAW; Others might hale the town in cushioned chariots To see them dance or daub, to hear them strum; You also had your moments: jigging Harriets Joyed in your simian chum. And how shall these things change? Shall childish galleries That deemed you once Apollo's minister, Say, "Garn, old monkey!" Shall colossal salaries Reward the Muse and not the dulcimer? Not gleaming eyeballs, not the soul illuminate? Shall old faiths falter and Antonio's heart Sicken the while he churns, and chilly ruminate, "This is no longer Art"? So be it then. But lest the slight unparalleled Shall cause extinction of a breed so stout, And scatter to the winds what tags his barrel held And doom him to go under and get out; Lest he despair and pine from this now streak of ills, Not ranked with virtuosi's shining shapes, Let him he classed anew amongst Pithekophils, An amateur of Apes. EVOE. * * * * * [Illustration: MORE SACRIFICES TO SPEED. THE "MINIM KID-FIT."] * * * * * PAYMENT IN KIND. I argued that one and threepence was too much to pay for the delivery of a telegram which had only cost sixpence itself; I also argued that one and threepence was too little for a wealthy institution like the G.P.O. to worry about, but the messenger wouldn't reduce the price. I had had my telegram, said he, and I must pay for it. I offered to give him the telegram back, but he guessed it was only from Carr and wasn't having any. It was my money he wanted and that, unhappily, was some miles away in a bank. For reasons best known to myself, and not too clearly appreciated even in that quarter, I am always full of petty cash at the beginning of the month and out of it at the end. My wife never draws any at all, knowing it is much safer where it is, and as for Albert, our only son, he takes no interest in the stuff. When we, in moments of self-denial, slip a coin into the slit of his money-box, he is merely bored, being as yet unable to unlock the box and get the coin out again, owing to ignorance of the whereabouts of the key. I explained all this to the telegraph boy, but his heart didn't soften; so, still parleying with him in the porch, I sent the maid to my wife to see what she could do to ease the financial position.