Upon this whirlpool I embarked with the greatest misgiving and a strange young woman clinging to my person. The noise was deafening. The four black men were now all shouting at once and playing all their instruments at once, working up to the inconceivable uproar of the finale; and all the dancers began to dance with a last desperate fury. Bodies buffeted one from behind, and while one was yet looking round in apology or anger more bodies buffeted one from the flank. It was like swimming in a choppy sea, where there is no time to get the last wave out of your mouth before the next one hits you. Close beside us a couple fell down with a great crash. I looked at them with concern, but no one else took any notice. On with the dance! Faster and faster the black men played. I was dimly aware now that they were standing on their chairs, bellowing, and fancied the end must be near. Then we were washed into a quiet backwater, in a corner, and from here I determined never to issue till the Last Banjo should indeed sound. Here I sidled vaguely about for a long time, hoping that I looked like a man preparing for some vast culminating feat, a side-step or a buzz or a double-Jazz-spin or an ordinary fall down. The noise suddenly ceased; the four black men had exploded. "Very good exercise," my partner said. "Quite," said I. A.P.H. * * * * * [Illustration: _Farmer_ (_booming his land to inquiring stranger_). "THAT THERE LAND BE WORTH DREE HUNDRED POUND AN ACRE IF IT BE WORTH A PENNY, IT BE. WERE YOU THINKING O' BUYING AN' SETTLING HERE?" _Stranger_. "OH, NO. I'M THE NEW TAX-COLLECTOR."] * * * * * "We published yesterday a protest from an eminent correspondent against the appointment of a British Ambassador to Berlin. We understand, nevertheless, that LORD D'ABERNON has been selected for the appointment."--_Times_. Sir WILLIAM ORPEN is already at work, we understand, on a picture for next year's Academy, entitled "David defying the Thunderer." * * * * * VANISHED GLORY. (_The Life-tragedy of a Military Wag_.) Time was I rocked the crowded tents With laughter loud and hearty, Librettist to the regiment's Diverting concert party; With choice of themes so very small The task was far from tiring; There really was no risk at all Of any joke misfiring. I found each gibe at army rules Appreciated fully; I sparkled when describing mules As "embryonic bully," Or, aided by some hackneyed tune, Increased my easy laurels By stringing verses to impugn The quartermaster's morals. And so I vowed on my demob. To shun the retrogression To any sort of office job; I'd jest as a profession And burst upon the world a new Satirical rebuker, Acquiring fame and maybe too A modicum of lucre.