ut there, that is jest wot you're going
to learn.

It wos dry and a little bit dazing, this cram, and you won't
think it's odd
If yours truly got doosedly drowsy. In fact I wos napped on
the nod,
But the way I got woke wos a wunner. Oh! CHARLIE, my precious
old pal,
If you'd know wot's fair yum-yum, 'ook on to a genuine celestial
gal.

"_Smack!_" "Hillo!" sez I, starting sudden, "where ham I, and
wot's this 'ere game?"
Then a pair o' blue eyes looked in mine with a lime-lighty sort of
a flame,
As made me feel moony immediate. "Great Pompey," thinks I, "here's
a spree!
It's DIANNER by all that is proper, and as for Enjimmyun--that's
_Me_!"

[Illustration]

For I see a young person in--well, I ain't much up in classical
togs,
But she called it a "chlamys," I think. She'd a bow, and a couple
of dogs,
"Rayther forward and sportive young party," thinks I, Sandown-Parky
in style;
But pooty, and larky no doubt, so I tips her a wink and a smile.

"All right, Miss DIANNER," sez I. "You 'ave won 'em--the gloves--and
no kid.
Wot size, Miss, and 'ow many buttons?" But she never lowered a lid,
And the red on her cheeks warn't no blush but a reglar indignant
flare-up,
Whilst the look from her proud pair of lamps 'it as 'ard and as
straight as a Krupp.

Brought me sharp to my bearings, I tell yer. "Young mortal," she sez,
"it is plain
An Enjimmyun is not to be found in the purlieus of Chancery Lane.
And that Primrose 'Ill isn't a Latmos. The things you call gloves I
don't wear,
Only buskins. But don't you be rude, or the fate of Actaeon you'll
share."

I wosn't quite fly to her patter, but "mortal" might jest 'ave bin
"cub,"
From the high-perlite way she pernounced it, and plainly DIANNER
meant "snub."
Struck me moony, her manner, did CHARLIE, she hypnertised me with
her looks,
And the next thing I knowed I was padding the 'oof in a region of
spooks.

Spooks, is bogies and ghostesses, CHARLIE, according to latter-day
chat,--
And the place where DIANNER conveyed, me _was_ spooky, and spectral
at that.
"Where _are_ we, Miss, if I _may_ arsk?" I sez, orfully 'umbl for me.
Then she turns 'er two lamps on me sparkling. "Of course we're in
Limbo," sez she.

Didn't quite like the lay on it, CHARLIE, for Limbo