sounds precious
like quod:
But _she_ meant Lunar Limbo, dear boy, sort o' store-room, where
everythink odd,
Out of date, foolish, faddy, and sech like, is kept like old curio
stock.
(Ef yer want to know more about Limbo, read Mr. POPE's _Rape of the
Lock_.)

"So this 'ere is the Moon, Miss!" sez I. "Where's the Man there's
sech talk on downstairs?"
She looked at me 'orty. Thinks I, "You're a 'ot 'un to give yourself
hairs.
I may level you down a bit later: The Man in the Moon, Miss," I adds.
Sez she, "We don't 'ave Men up here; they are most of them tyrants or
cads!"

"Oh," sez I, "on the MONA CAIRD lay, eh, my lady?" Jest then, mate, I
looks
And sees male-looking things by the dozen: but then they turned out
to be spooks.
There was TOLSTOI the Rooshian romancer, a grim-looking son of a gun,
Welting into young Cupid like scissors, and wallopping Hymen like fun.

[Illustration]

Old Hymen looked 'orrified rayther; but as for young Arrers-and-'Arts,
_He_ turned up his nose at the old 'un, whilst all the gay donas and
tarts,
Not to mention the matronly mivvies, were arter the boy with the bow,
Plainly looking on TOLSTOI and IBSEN as crackpots, and not in the know.

"Queer paper, my dear Miss DIANNER," sez I, "wot do _you_ think?" Sez
she,
"A mere Vision of Vanities, mortal, of no speshal interest to me.
_I_ am not the keeper of Limbo, although it is found in my sphere.
Everything that's absurd and unnatural claims a clear right to come
_here_.

"See, the latest Art-Hobbies are ambling about with their 'eads in the
air,
And their riders are tilting like true toothpick paladins. SMUDGE over
there
Makes a bee-line for SCRATCH in this corner, whilst MUCK and the
Mawkish at odds,
Clash wildly, and Naturalism pink Sentiment painfully prods."

Then I twigged Penny WHISTLER's white plume, and the haddypose HOSCAR
upreared,
His big hairy horryflame, CHARLIE, whilst Phillistines looked on and
jeered.
I see Nature, as Narstiness, ramping at wot Nambypamby dubbed Nice,
And Twoddle parading as Virtue, and Silliness playing at Vice.

Here was pooty girls Primrosing madly, and spiling their tempers a lump,
By telling absurd taradiddles for some big political pump;

[Illustration]

And there wos 'ard-mouthed middle-aged 'uns a shaking the Socherlist