nters; they come
off and on again like a stage army; and year after year people pretend
to buy and pretend to sell them, with a vivacity that seems to indicate
a talent for the stage. But in the course of these illusory
manoeuvres, a great deal of money is given in charity, and that in a
picturesque, bustling, and agreeable manner. If you have to travel
somewhere on business, you would choose the prettiest route, and desire
pleasant companions by the way. And why not show the same spirit in
giving alms?

_The Ingenuous Public._--Sir, I am profoundly indebted to you for all
you have said. I am, Sir, your absolute convert.

_The Wife._--Let us lose no time, but enter the Charity Bazaar.

_The Ingenuous Public._--Yes; let us enter the Charity Bazaar.

_Both_ (_singing_).--Let us enter, let us enter, let us enter, Let us
enter the Charity Bazaar!

(_An interval is supposed to elapse. The Ingenuous Public and his Wife
are discovered issuing from the Charity Bazaar._)

_The Wife._--How fortunate you should have brought your cheque-book!

_The Ingenuous Public._--Well, fortunate in a sense. (_Addressing the
Tout._)--Sir, I shall send a van in the course of the afternoon for the
little articles I have purchased. I shall not say good-bye; because I
shall probably take a lift in the front seat, not from any solicitude,
believe me, about the little articles, but as the last opportunity I may
have for some time of enjoying the costly entertainment of a drive.

THE SCENE CLOSES

THE LIGHT-KEEPER

I

The brilliant kernel of the night,
The flaming lightroom circles me:
I sit within a blaze of light
Held high above the dusky sea.
Far off the surf doth break and roar
Along bleak miles of moonlit shore,
Where through the tides the tumbling wave
Falls in an avalanche of foam
And drives its churned waters home
Up many an undercliff and cave.

The clear bell chimes: the clockworks strain:
The turning lenses flash and pass,
Frame turning within glittering frame
With frosty gleam of moving glass:
Unseen by me, each dusky hour
The sea-waves welter up the tower
Or in the ebb subside again;
And ever and anon all night,
Drawn from afar by charm of light,
A sea-bird beats against the pane.

And lastly when dawn ends the night
And belts the semi-orb of sea,
The tall, pale pharos in the light
Looks white and spectral as may be.
The early ebb