Volume 100 — CHAPTER III.
Reading edition
Far away the mother of the little nigger stood churning. Where is the mother of the little black nigger? She is churning slowly in the garden. But cannot the aunt of the good gardener churn herself? No; for she is in the orchard, plucking the apples, peaches, apricots, pears (Birnen), to give to the butler's grandmother.
And there came Life and The Ideal walking hand in hand. And behind them came Wealth and Vastness singing together. And Infinity was there, and Health, and Wisdom, and Love. And Reflection was mounted on a steed with Joy. And many other shapes followed, delicately arrayed in fine linen. And helmet-wearing Men in Blue marshalled the procession. And they spake roughly, saying, "Pass away there, pass away there!"
And I said, "Is this the Lord Mayor's Show?"
And One said, "No."
And I said, "Is it the Salvation Army?"
And again One said, "No."
And I said, "Is it SEQUAH?"
And One said again. "No."
And I said, "I have guessed enough."
And One said, "Yes."
But The Real was not there, and they passed away.
And One said, "I am Wealth," which was absurd, but No-one laughed. And they all danced a fandango on the points of their toes. And a shaft of light lay over them. And they wandered on. At last they came to a bad, wicked naughty, brimstone place. And I said to Some-one, "I like this. It seems a good place." And still No-one laughed. And Wealth touched me, and I was glad. And I said, "Give me millions, or buy a box of matches," and Law seized me and took me to the Cell. Then I said to the Beak, "Your Worship." And the Beak said unto me, "Begging again. Forty shillings." And again I woke. And it was all a striving and a striving and an ending in Nothing.
THE END.
TO MLLE. JANE MAY.
"Au clair de la lune, Mon ami PIERROT, Prête-moi ta plume Pour écrire un mot." Prête-moi ta plume! Could wit borrow a feather From Cupid's own pinion, 'tis doubtfullish whether A "mot" might be made which should happily hit The "gold" of desert; and Love, aided by Wit, Though equal to eloquent passion's fine glow, Might both be struck mute by the Muse of Dumb-Show. That "actions speak louder than words" we all knew; But now we may add, "and more gracefully, too." Performances fine Punch has praised in his day, But how few take the pas of the Promise—of MAY!
"NATIVE RACES AND THE LIQUOR TRAFFIC."—An important subject strangely omitted at the recent meeting of this Society was "The Consumption of Champagne on the Derby and Oaks Days." The Duke of WESTMINSTER will take the earliest opportunity of rectifying this error.
A BLEND.
The Wine Merchant
(G-SCH-N). "I'M AFRAID SOME OF OUR OLD CUSTOMERS WON'T LIKE IT AT FIRST; BUT, WITH A LITTLE PERSUASION, I THINK I CAN GET 'EM TO TAKE TO IT KINDLY."