My HERBERT, _you_ should hold my place, But you must share your sire's cold snub. Did I promote the lion's race To be kicked out by its least cub? This wedding-favour's gay and smart. I to Vienna's bridal fly; But something rankles in my heart;-- We never speak as we pass by! Will FRANCIS-JOSEPH see his way To--help _Coriolanus_ back? I can't believe I've had my day; It makes ambition's heart-strings crack. But that imperious youngster shuts The door of hope howe'er I try. Are we for ever to be "cuts," And _never_ speak as we pass by? * * * * * [Illustration: ADVANTAGES OF MARSUPIALISM. "I'M SO TIRED, MUMMY. I WISH YOU WERE A KANGAROO!" "WHY, DARLING?" "TO CARRY ME HOME IN YOUR POCKET!"] * * * * * AN EARL'S COURT IDYL. SCENE--_A knick-knack stall outside the Wild West Arena. Behind the counter is a pretty and pert maiden of seventeen or so. A tall and stately Indian Warrior, wrapped in a blue blanket, lounges up, and leans against the corner, silent and inscrutable._ _The Maiden_ (_with easy familiarity_). 'Ullo, CHOC'LIT, what do you want? (_The Chieftain smiles at her with infinite subtlety, and fingers a small fancy article shaped like a bottle, in seeming confusion._) Like to see what's inside of it? Look 'ere then. (_She removes the cork, touches a spring, and a paper fan expands out of the neck of the bottle; CHOCOLATE is grimly pleased, and possibly impressed, by this phenomenon, which he repeats several times for his own satisfaction._) Ah, _that_ fetches you, don't it, CHOC'LIT? (_The Warrior nods, and says something unintelligible in his own tongue._) Why don't yer talk sense, 'stead o' that rubbish? [_CHOCOLATE watches her slyly out of the corners of his eyes; presently he puts the bottled-fan inside his blanket, and slouches off in a fit of pretended abstraction._ _The Maiden_ (_imperiously_). 'Ere, come back, will yer? Walkin' off with my things like that! Fetch it 'ere--d'jear what I _tell_ yer? (CHOCOLATE _lounges over the counter of an adjoining Bovril stall, and affects a bland unconsciousness of being addressed. After awhile he peeps round and pats his blanket knowingly, and, finding she takes no further notice of him, lounges back to his corner again._) Oh, _'ere_ you are again! Now jest you put that bottle back. (_The Warrior giggles, with much appreciation of his own playfulness._) Look sharp now. I know you've got it! _Chocolate_ (_with another giggle_). Me no got. [_He intimates that the person at the Bovril stall has it._