"Languidly circumvolving, lounging lank, In scuffling circle or in mural rank, Of misery mechanic They look the wooden symbols; nought to show That even well-starched linen's sheeny snow Veils impulses volcanic. "That straight-limb'd son of Anak circling there Much like a whirling semaphore, strange care His boyish forehead wrinkling? The season's catch! His sire, is great in Soap, His partner's mother yonder sits; with hope Her watchful eyes are twinkling. "The twirling twain are silent. Silence sits Lord of the revel, incubus of wits Arch palsier of prattle Yet many a girl here mute's a chatterer sweet, And many a youth in circles less discrete Is an 'agreeable rattle.' "Respectability's austere restraint Rules them relentlessly; smiles forced and faint And joyless facial spasms Their meetings and their mutterings attend. Jerky approximations quickly end In void unvocal chasms. "Yet still they circle, and yet still they loll. A marionette wooing a wooden doll Would look more animated Than yonder pair, revolving interlaced, Exchanging commonplaces leaden-paced, Or repartees belated." "Mammon by day and maundering at night Oh, Shade!" I cried, "can furnish scant delight, The Race for Wealth is rapid. How can the feverish rush find true relief In heartless intercourse, as bald as brief, Amusement vain as vapid?" "Amusement? Intercourse? They scarce exist." The Shadow answered. "Some Boeotian mist Society blinds and muddles. True recreation in this joyless round? The sea's bright changefulness as soon were found In Pedlington's rain-puddles. "The cliques and coteries know not how to mix. A barrier more impassable than Styx Is Philistine stupidity. Were mutual amusement meeting's aim, Mind _must_ move maidenhood inert and tame, Melt masculine rigidity. "Concourse, not intercourse, is what you see: To mix, and sympathise, and to be free, Is the true sociality. These meet, like marbles mingled in a bag, And the net outcome, friend, is friction, fag, Boredom, and sheer banality. "The strongest symptom of quick life crops out In watchful mutual mockery. Gibe and flout In low asides flow freely. Oh, bland elysium for the brave and fair, Whose pleasures are the snigger and the stare, Chill snub, and eye-glance steely! "Prigdom's Philistia, though a polished State, Has not yet learned quite how to recreate. Gath in the ball-room gathers, Askelon haunts 'At homes,' but little joy Bring they to man or matron, girl or boy, To swells or City-fathers." (_To be continued._) * * * * * AU REVOIR! Mr. PUNCH _and_ Mr. J. L. TOOLE _discovered smoking a last cigar_. _Mr. P._ And so, my dear JOHNNIE, you are leaving us at once?