o centuries ago
Joked, caramboled and wooed,
Of masques Venetian, Florentine,
Of moyen-age renown--
Of Harlequin and Columbine,
Of Pantaloon and Clown.

Not horseplay rough, the Saraband
They danced in vanished years,
But Love and Satire hand-in-hand,
And laughter linked with tears,
And Youth equipped his dove to win,
And Age, who grudged the boon;--
Sweet Columbine, bold Harlequin,
Cross Clown and Pantaloon.

Our Children-Critics now who deign
To greet this honoured jest,
Acclaiming, "Here we are again!"
With patronising zest,
They mark no soft Italian moon
Which once was wont to shine
On Harlequin and Pantaloon,
And Clown and Columbine!

But, spangled pair of lovers true,
And, whitened schemers twain,
The scholar hears in each of you
A note of that quatrain;
The dim Renaissance seems to spin
Around your satin shoon,
Fair Columbine, feat Harlequin,
Sly Clown and Pantaloon!

* * * * *

EVERYONE sincerely hopes that Sir WEST RIDGWAY will make a good bag
during his visit to the Moors. "Ridgway's Food" is something that can
be swallowed easily, and is so palatable as to be quite a More-ish
sort of dish. Good luck to the experienced and widely-travelled Sir
EAST-AND-WEST RIDGWAY. Our English ROSEBERY couldn't have made a
better choice.

* * * * *

TO A BREWER (_by Our Christmas Clown_).--"Wish you a Hoppy New Year!"

* * * * *

THE MAN WHO WOULD.

VI.--THE MAN WHO WOULD BE A SOUL.

LINCOLN B. SWEZEY was a high-toned and inquiring American citizen, who
came over to study our Institootions. He carried letters to almost
everybody; Dukes, Radicals, Authors, eminent British Prize-fighters,
Music-hall buffoons, and he prosecuted his examination steadily. He
did not say much, and he never was seen to laugh, but he kept a
note-book, and he seemed to contemplate in his own mind, The Ideal
American, and to try to live up to that standard. When he did speak,
it was in the interrogative, and he pastured his intellect on our
high-class Magazines.

LINCOLN B. discovered many things, and noted them down for his work on
_Social Dry Rot in Europe_, but one matter puzzled him. He read in
papers or reviews, and he vaguely heard talk of a secret institution,
the Society of Souls. They were going to run a newspaper; they were
_not_ going