nly conscious thought was this:
"No man shall ever taste the bliss
That I this blessed day did."

When one is six one cannot tell;
And John, who at the Palace fell
A victim to the Blondin Belle,
Is wedded to another;
And I, my intimates allow,
Have lost the taste for bull's-eyes now,
And baldness decorates the brow
Of Bill, our elder brother.

Well, more than thirty years have passed....
But all the same on Thursday last
My heart was beating just as fast
Within that Hall of Wonder;
My bliss was every bit as great
As what it was in '88--
Impossible to look sedate
Or keep my feelings under.

The gods of old still gazed upon
The scene where, thirty years agone,
The lines of Bill and me and John
Were cast in pleasant places;
And "Friends," I murmured, "what's the odds
If you are rather battered gods?
This is no time for Ichabods
And _eheu_--er--_fugaces_."

Ah, no; I did not mourn the years'
Fell work upon those poor old-dears,
Nor PITT nor Venus drew my tears
And set me slowly sobbing;
I hailed them with a happy laugh
And slapped old Samson on the calf,
And asked a member of the staff
For "Officers Demobbing."

That evening, being then dispersed,
I swear (as I had sworn it first
When three of us went on the burst
With Aunt, or Great-Aunt, Alice),
"Although one finds, as man or boy,
A thousand pleasures to enjoy,
For happiness without alloy
Give me the Crystal Palace!"
A.A.M.

* * * * *

COAL-DUST.

"Had a good day?" said Frederic cheerily, stamping the snow off his
boots as I met him at the front-door.

"That depends," I said, "on what you call a good day."

"You haven't been dull?" said Frederic.

"Oh, no," I said, indicating the comforting blaze as I pushed
Frederic's chair to the fire; "behold the result of my day's labours
in your behalf. Your hot bath and hot breakfast, dear, were just
camouflage to keep from you, the centre of gravity, our desperate
straits. When I went to give Cook her orders this morning I found her
as black as a sweep and in a mood to correspond. She pointed to a few
lumps of coal in the kitchen scuttle and said, 'I've sifted all that
dust in the cellar, Ma'am, and these are the only lumps I could find.
There's only enough to cook one more dinner.'"

"My dear girl," said Frederic, "why wait till th