But after it is all done, and the little flower-show is over, then arises the despairing cry of our own cherished OSCAR. It is in the _Last of the Aphorisms_; after which, exhausted, he can only sign his name, fling away the goose-quill, and then sink back in his luxurious arm-chair exhausted with the mental efforts of years concentrated into the work of one short hour. Ah! "_La plupart des livres d'à présent ont l'air d'avoir été faits en un jour avec des livres lus de la veille._" Ask Messrs. ROCHEFOUCAULD, CHAMFORT, RIVAROL, and JEAN MORLÉ. "_Ai! Ai! Papai! Papai!_ Phillaloo! Murther in Irish!" Let us be natural, or shut up shop. Yet there is a chance,--to be supernatural. The great Pan is dead, so there is a seat vacant among the gods, open to any aspirant for immortality. "_All Art is quite useless!_" cries OSCAR WILDE-ly. And has it come to this? "Is this the Hend?" Yes, this is his last word--for the present. Pan is dead! _Vive_ Pannikin! * * * * * [Illustration: "CES AUTRES." (HEARD AT CHURCH-PARADE.) _Captain Bergamot_. "ARE ANY OF YOUR BROTHERS IN THE SERVICE, MISS DE BULLION?" _Miss de Bullion_. "YES; ONE IN THE GUARDS, AND--A--" (_with disgust_)--"THE REST IN THE COMMON ARMY, YOU KNOW."] * * * * * "ADVANCE, AUSTRALIA!" A SONG OF SYMPATHY. (_SOME WAY AFTER A CELEBRATED BOATING SONG._) ["Sir HENRY PARKES concluded by declaring that if the Colonies continued separate they must become hostile communities, and, in order that they might prevent that, it was for the whole people to join in creating one great Union Government."--REUTER.] Mr. LEO BRITANNICUS, _an Old Blue, and a sympathetic on-looker, loquitur_:-- Capital boating weather! Ay, and a favouring breeze! Oars upon the feather! Sun of the Southern Seas! Brave boys! Swing together, Your bodies between your knees! Pheugh! How old memory rushes Over me!--Pulled indeed! Though LEO seldom gushes, And these be of LEO's breed, The blood of an Old Blue flushes At the Young Blues' power and speed! Coach them, or patronise them? Nay, I've no call for that. To cheer them, not to advise them, I'm on this path,--that's pat! Affection admiringly eyes them:-- Once in a boat I sat! Pulled my weight at a pinch, For odds cared never a "cuss;" No stern-chase caused me to flinch, But--always detested fuss. Strain the last ounce, and inch! Races are won, boys, _thus_! Look a most likely lot, Lionlets lithe and young. Pace? They will make it hot. Few can have feathered and swung Better. Tall talk is rot; But, hang it! I _must_ give tongue! There's "Queensland" and "New South Wales," "Australia South" and "West," "Victoria,"--each one scales Good weight, and with girth of chest; "New Zealand's" zeal prevails, He'll swing in time with the rest.