le pipe.]

O solace of sore hearts, soul-soothing pipe!
Was ever trail-exhausted Indian,
Tired mariner, or hungry working-man,
Or sore-tried toiler, of whatever type,
More needed comfort from thy blessed bowl
Than brooding BISMARCK in his exiled hour?
He who, when storms about his land did lour,
Faced them, and rode them out, and to the goal
Of glory, and to safety's haven brought
His mighty charge! Memories of foes outfought,
And rivals out-manoeuvred, stir his soul,
His strong stark soul, as there he sits and shrouds
That granite face in thick tobacco-clouds
Blown from the "long, and valuable" gift
Wherewith a grateful Master's genial thrift
Rewards the service, "long and valuable,"
Of such a Servant! Later time shall tell
The tale of that strange parting, of the schemes
That set asunder autocratic youth
And age, perchance, imperious. But, in truth,
Wise age discounts the worth of boyish dreams;
'Tis well that youth, betimes, should bear the yoke!
Maybe the Mighty Chancellor's career
Is far less like, whatever may appear,
Than the proud Emperor's plans to--end in smoke!

* * * * *

[Illustration: A QUIET DRIVE BY THE SEA.

A BRIGHTON BATH-CHAIRMAN'S IDEA OF A SUITABLE ROUTE FOR AN INVALID
LADY.]

* * * * *

USEFUL WARNING.

"Will you walk into my parlour?"
Said the spider to the fly.
'Twas the money-lending spider,
And "Oh no!" was the reply.
"I've read the _Globe_, and I'm secure,
With legs and wings still free!
No buzzi-ness with you. No! Your
'Fly-paper' won't catch me."

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

In _The Splendid Spur_, "Q." has given his Pegasus his head--(Queer
appearance this Pegasus with Q.'s head; but, as that's not my meaning, I
must mind my P's and Q's)--and has spared neither whip nor splendid spur
in his wild ride. Up behind, and clinging to "Q.," we are carried
onward, amid clashing of arms, booming of cannon, pealing of bells,
flashing of steel; anon we stumble over rocks, tumble over cliffs, hide
in secret caves, secrete ourselves, like mad Lord High Chancellors,
among Woolsacks; then after fainting, stabbing, dying, crying, sighing,
"JACK'S all alive again," and away we gallop, like DICK TURPIN on Black
Bess, and we leave girls dressed as boys behind us, and provincial JOANS
OF A