Then I sat down, amidst subdued applause, which, I admit, disappointed me. The Vicar's daughters never even took the trouble to applaud at all, and both seemed to have something to confide to their handkerchiefs. Black BOB whispered to his neighbour, "Laying it on thick to-night, isn't he?" I wonder what he meant. After this commenced a torrent of questions, forty-six in all before they were done. May I never live to have such another experience! All the points I had evaded, because I had not understood them, came up with hardly a single exception. One man asked, "Can the Parish Council remove the parson?"--a most embarrassing question, which evoked roars of laughter from the audience, and a look of indignation from the Vicar. And the awful conundrums!--most of which I had to content myself with giving up. Here is one. "Supposing only eight people come to the Parish Meeting, and a Parish Council of seven has to be elected, and suppose seven of the eight are nominated for election, and the seven are elected chairmen of the Meeting in succession, and have all to retire because they are candidates for the Council, and suppose the eighth man cannot read or write, and when he's proposed as chairman, goes home, how will the Parish Council be elected?" I simply said I would consult my lawyer, and, if necessary, take counsel's opinion. Of course there was a vote of thanks, and of course it was carried. When I got home, my wife, who had declined to go, asked me how it had all gone off. "My dear MARIA," was all I said; "you are quite right. A man at my time of life ought never to start taking part in public affairs." * * * * * THE DOOM OF THE MINOR POETS. When Minor Poets grew so rife, They found a Minor Poet's life Was very little fun The Spirit of the Age they prayed They might be melted down, and made Into a Major one. Each had a very little spark Of genius, that in the dark Might clearly be discerned. But in a universal glare! Who could perceive a rushlight, where By myriads they burned? The Spirit heard the prayer they urged, That all their merits might be merged In one enduring Fame: "Yet, ere you all are whelmed and gone, You," she declared, "must fix upon The Major Poet's name." Up rose a mighty clamour then, For SMITH proposed the cognomen Of SMITH, in ardent tones. "More suitable for high renown," Cried BROWN, "appears the name of BROWN." JONES advocated JONES. Expecting yet some verdict clear, The Spirit waited half a year, Then spread her wings and fled, But ere she fled, pronounced this curse: "You all shall read each other's verse Till all of you are dead!" Some, overburdened by the doom, Sank speedily into the tomb. In padded cells and lone There wander others, who abuse All day the volumes they peruse, But never ope their own! * * * * *