* * * *

WILDE FLOWERS.

Some other fellow, in the _P.M.G._, has been beforehand with us in
spotting "A Preface to _Dorian Gray_," by our OSCAR WILDE-r than
ever, in this month's _Fortnightly. Dorian Gray_ was published some
considerable time ago, so it belongs to ancient history, and now,
after this lapse of time, out comes the preface. And this "preface"
occupies the better part, I use this expression in all courtesy, of
two pages; which two pages represent a literary flowerbed, where rows
of bright asterisks are planted between lines of brilliant aphorisms.
The rule of the arrangement seems to be.--"when in doubt, plant
asterisks." _Sic itur ad astra._ The garden is open to all, let us
cull; here one and there one. "_To reveal Art and conceal the Artist,
is Art's aim._" Is there not in this the scent of "_Ars est celare
artem_"? "Art" includes "the Artist," of course. Then "_Puris omnia
pura_" is to be found in two other full-blown aphorisms, if I mistake
not. St. PAUL's advice to TIMOTHY is engrafted on to the stalk of
another aphorism. "Why lug in TIMOTHY?" Well, to "adapt" Scripture to
one's purpose is not to quote it. _Vade retro!_ Do we not recognise
something familiar in "_When Critics disagree the Artist is in accord
with himself?_"

But after it is all done, and the little flower-show is over, then
arises the despairing cry of our own cherished OSCAR. It is in the
_Last of the Aphorisms_; after which, exhausted, he can only sign his
name, fling away the goose-quill, and then sink back in his luxurious
arm-chair exhausted with the mental efforts of years concentrated into
the work of one short hour. Ah! "_La plupart des livres d'a present
ont l'air d'avoir ete faits en un jour avec des livres lus de la
veille._" Ask Messrs. ROCHEFOUCAULD, CHAMFORT, RIVAROL, and JEAN
MORLE. "_Ai! Ai! Papai! Papai!_ Phillaloo! Murther in Irish!" Let
us be natural, or shut up shop. Yet there is a chance,--to be
supernatural. The great Pan is dead, so there is a seat vacant among
the gods, open to any aspirant for immortality. "_All Art is quite
useless!_" cries OSCAR WILDE-ly. And has it come to this? "Is this
the Hend?" Yes, this is his last word--for the present. Pan is dead!
_Vive_ Pannikin!

* * * * *

[Illustration: "CES AUTRES."

(HEARD AT CHURCH-PARADE.)

_Captain Bergamot_. "ARE ANY OF YOUR BROTHERS IN THE SERVICE, MISS DE
BULLION?"

_Miss de Bullion_. "YES; ON