EPIGRAMMATIC DESCRIPTION, BY A BILLIARD PLAYER, OF THE SELECTION OF THE CHIEF MINSTREL TO BE THE RECIPIENT OF A PRIZE AT THE RECENT EISTEDDFOD.--"_Spot Bard._" * * * ACCIDENTS IN OUR ROTTENEST ROTTEN ROW.--The sooner the cause (_i.e._ Rotten Row itself) of the numerous complaints is _well grounded_, the better for the equestrians. * * * NATIONAL REFLECTION (SUGGESTED BY RECENT YACHT-RACE).--It is of small use BRITANNIA being BRITANNIA unless she be also Vigilant. * * * * * LYRE AND LANCET. (_A Story in Scenes._) PART III.--THE TWO ANDROMEDAS. SCENE III.--_Opposite a Railway Bookstall at a London Terminus._ TIME--_Saturday_, 4.25 P.M. _Drysdale_ (_to his friend_, GALFRID UNDERSHELL, _whom he is "seeing off"_). Twenty minutes to spare; time enough to lay in any quantity of light literature. _Undershell (in a head voice)._ I fear the merely ephemeral does not appeal to me. But I should like to make a little experiment. (_To the Bookstall Clerk._) A--do you happen to have a copy left of CLARION BLAIR'S _Andromeda_? _Clerk._ Not in stock, Sir. Never 'eard of the book, but daresay I could get it for you. Here's a Detective Story we're sellin' like 'ot cakes--_The Man with the Missing Toe_--very cleverly written story, Sir. [Illustration: "Here 's a detective story we're sellin' like 'ot cakes."] _Und._ I merely wished to know--that was all. (_Turning with resigned disgust to_ DRYSDALE.) Just think of it, my dear fellow. At a bookstall like this one feels the pulse, as it were, of Contemporary Culture; and here my _Andromeda_, which no less an authority than the _Daily Chronicle_ hailed as the uprising of a new and splendid era in English Songmaking, a Poetic Renascence, my poor _Andromeda_ is trampled underfoot by--(_choking_)--Men with Missing Toes! What a satire on our so-called Progress! _Drys._ That a purblind public should prefer a Shilling Shocker for railway reading when for a modest half-guinea they might obtain a numbered volume of Coming Poetry on hand-made paper! It _does_ seem incredible,--but they do. Well, if they can't read _Andromeda_ on the journey, they can at least peruse a stinger on it in this week's _Saturday_. Seen it? _Und._ No. I don't vex my soul by reading criticisms on my work. I am no KEATS. They may howl--but they will not kill _me_. By the way, the _Speaker_ had a most enthusiastic notice last week. _Drys._ So you saw _that_ then? But you're right not to mind the others. When a fellow's contrived to hang on to the Chariot of Fame, he can't wonder if a few rude and envious beggars call out "Whip behind!" eh? You don't want to get in yet? Suppose we take a turn up to the end of the platform. [_They do._