notice, as _I_ can,
Why, unless he is a swaggering impostor,
I will gladly hail him as the Coming Man!

But he'll have to be a dab at drunken drivel,
And he'll have to be a daisy at sick gush,
To turn on the taps of swagger and of snivel,
Raise the row-de-dow heel-chorus and hot flush.
He must know the taste of sensual young masher,
As well as that of aitch-omitting snob;
And then--well, I'll admit he _is_ a dasher,
Who, as Laureate (of the Halls) is "on the job!"

[_Left lamenting._

* * * * *

THE MAN FROM BLANKLEY'S.

A STORY IN SCENES

SCENE I.--_Breakfast-room at No. 92a, Porchester Square,
Bayswater. Rhubarb-green and gilt paper, with dark olive dado:
curtains of a nondescript brown. Black marble clock on grey
granite mantelpiece; Landseer engravings; tall book-case,
containing volumes of "The Quiver," "Mission-Work in Mesopotamia,"
a cheap Encyclopedia, and the "Popular History of Europe." Time,
about 9:45._ Mr. MONTAGUE TIDMARSH _is leaving to catch his
omnibus_. Mrs. T. _is at her Davenport in the window_.

_Mr. T._ (_from the door_). Anything else you want me to do, MARIA?

_Mrs. T._ Don't forget the turbot--and mind you choose it yourself--and the
lobster for the sauce--oh, and look in at SEAKALE'S as you pass, and remind
him to be here punctually at seven, to help JANE with the table, and say I
insist on his waiting in _clean_ white gloves; and be home early yourself,
and--there, if he hasn't rushed off before I remembered half----(Mr. T.
_re-appears at the door_.) What is it _now_, MONTAGUE? I do wish you'd
start, and have done with it, instead of keeping JANE at the front door,
when she ought to be clearing away breakfast!

_Mr. T._ Very sorry, my love--I was just going, when I met a Telegraph-boy
with this, for you, I hope there's nothing wrong with Uncle GABRIEL, I'm
sure.

_Mrs. T._ Don't stand there holding it--give it to me. (_She opens it._)
"Regret impossible dine to-night--lost Great Aunt very suddenly.--BUCKRAM."
How provoking of the man! And I particularly wished him to meet Uncle
GABRIEL, because he is such a good listener, and they would be sure to get
on together. As if he hadn't all the rest of the year to lose his Aunt in!

_Mr. T._ That's BUCKRAM all over. Never can depend upon that fellow.
(_Gloomily._) Now we shall be thirteen at table!

_Mrs. T._ Nonsense, MONTAGUE--we _can't