And in every evening column It made a great to-do, Sub-editors so solemn Just adding thereunto. In the London Correspondence 'Twas written up anew, And then a fog came on dense And hid me quite from view. And some said they had heard it From keepers in the Zoo, While others who averred it Had _seen_ that cockatoo. It lived, my little fable, I chuckled and I crew As at my very table Friends twisted it askew. It leapt across the Channel, A bounding kangaroo. It did not shrink like flannel But gained in size and hue. It appeared in French and Spanish With errors not a few, In Russian, Greek and Danish, Inaccurately, too. And waxing more romantic With every wind that blew, It crossed the broad Atlantic And grew and grew and grew. At last, like boomerang, it Sped back across the blue, And tall and touched with twang, it Appeared whence first it flew. An annual affliction, It tours the wide world through, And I who bred the fiction Have come to think it true. Life's burden it has doubled, For peace of mind it slew, My dreams by it are troubled, My days are filled with rue. Its horrors yearly thicken, It sticks to me like glue, And sad and conscience-stricken I curse that cockatoo. "That is what will happen with Clorinda Bell's membership of our club," continued the poet. "She will remain a member long after it has ceased to exist. Once a thing has appeared in print, you cannot destroy it. A published lie is immortal. Age cannot wither it, nor custom stale its infinite variety. It thrives by contradiction. Give me a cup of tea and I will go and interview the _Moon_-man at once." The millionaire, hearing tea was on the tray, came in to join them, and Silverdale soon went off to his aunt, Lady Goody-Goody Twoshoes, and got the address of the man in the _Moon_. "Lillie, what's this I see in the _Moon_ about Clorinda Bell joining your Club?" asked the millionaire. "An invention, father." The millionaire looked disappointed. "Will all your Old Maids be young?" "Yes, papa. It is best to catch them young." "I shall be dining at the Club sometimes," he announced irrelevantly. "Oh, no, papa. You are not admissible during the sittings." "Why? You let Lord Silverdale in." "Yes, but he is not married." "Oh!" and the millionaire went away with brighter brow. [Illustration: _The Millionaire._] The rest of the afternoon Lillie was busy conducting the Preliminary Examination of a surpassingly beautiful girl who answered to the name of "Princess," and would give no other name for the present, not even to Turple the magnificent. "You got my letter, I suppose?" asked the Princess. "Oh, yes," said the President. "I should have written to you."