“Oh, thank you, sir, thank you!” cried the Public Rhymester gratefully, “it is very kind indeed of you to say that. A poor Poet, you know, gets very little praise from any one nowadays, especially a Minor one, such as I am. Why, a Grand Old Statesman said the other day--but there, I mustn’t let you into State Secrets. What is the subject upon which you wish me to write?” “Oh,--a--a--lady,” said One-and-Nine bashfully, blushing up to the roots of his green paint. “Of course,” said the Public Rhymester smilingly; “it usually is.” “And particularly about er--er--a--the corkscrew curls, you know,” said One-and-Nine, stammering nervously. “Such delightfulish fascinationizing curls--six on each side, you know--and they woggle when she shakes her head--oh, dearest, _dearest_ Martha Matilda,” and the poor Wooden Soldier seemed quite overcome by his emotions. “Ah! these military men, these military men,” said the Public Rhymester, shaking his head, “what susceptible creatures they are, to be sure, always in love with some fair one or other! But there, we must do the best we can for him, I suppose. What is the lady’s name?” he inquired. “Mrs. Martha Matilda Nimpky,” replied One-and-Nine faintly. “What! the Royal Nurse?” exclaimed the Public Rhymester in surprise. The Wooden Soldier nodded his head. “Well, I hope you’ll win her,” said the Public Rhymester, “though I think it’s only fair to warn you that you must expect to have a great many rivals. Don’t you see,” he went on, “being Nurse to the little King, she is sure to have immense influence over him, and so will be one of the most important people in the kingdom. Oh, she’s sure to have no end of suitors; however, you are first in the field, and a handsome military man like yourself ought to stand a good chance. Now don’t speak to me for a few moments while I write the poem for you.” The Wooden Soldier and Boy sat perfectly still while the Public Rhymester took a note-book and pencil from his pocket and began to walk rapidly up and down the apartment, pausing now and then to jot something down in his book, and occasionally clutching his hair and rolling his eyes about violently. Once Boy sneezed, and the Public Rhymester glared at him fiercely and then told him that he had entirely driven a beautiful word which _might_ have rhymed with cucumber out of his head, and he would have to alter the whole verse. At last, however, the poem was finished and the Public Rhymester proudly read as follows:-- TO MRS. M. M. N. ``"Oh, Martha most majestic, ```Matilda quite sublime, ``For thee I’d do the bravest deeds, ```Most giddy heights would climb.= ``"Oh! almond rock’s delicious, ```And so is clotted cream, ``And Birthday Cake is not so bad; ```But these things tasteless seem;= ``"For I have seen Matilda, ```And other joys have fled, ``Her dazzling beauty’s vanquished me, ```And turned my wooden head.= `"I love thee, dear Matilda, ```Far more than other girls,