(Ad Cephissi Pontem-Submarinum; adhuc, imperpetuum sit! in nubibus.) CHORUS OF GEPHYRISTE. Through this tunnel— Fraternal funnel For the good things transmitting Of England to France- The Epopts must advance; We are French Communists, God-haters, humanists, And we own none as kin Whom the Father of Sin So now for fraternity! But, Time and Eternity! And turvy along, With their Bacchanal song, GEPHYRISTÆ. Come open your heart! You'll have much to impart- Of Satyric experience To us, your Hyperions What deeper rascality- In potentiality- Of Citizen Idas,— No better guide ass- ЕРОРТА. Brekekekex, koäx, koäx! Idas, sing Idas; and stick like wax! GEPHYRISTE. What, dumb every one of you? Won't you be civil? Each mother's son of you? Then, gobblers and guzzlers, Beer-barrel muzzlers, But, en passant, just listen You've mistaken To my admonition; your trade! Who deals in deep potions Owns human emotions— EPOPTE. Brekekekex, koäx, koäx! Hiccupedickupe, konxompax! Idas, sing Idas; and stick like wax! GEPHYRISTE. Not of soft paste; But sober, even chaste, Remorseless and cruel, Like me-he's the jewel For the brow of Our Lady, the Commune! Butchers and bakers! Dung your fat acres- Tailors and weavers ! They're arrant deceivers, EPOPTÆ. Brekekekex, koäx, koäx! Hiccupedickupe, konxompax! Idas, sing Idas; and stick like wax! GEPHYRISTÆ. 'Tis not for John Bull In the same boat to pull With the gay sons of France; Nor to flourish his legs Among heads-I mean, eggs— In the merry-go "Ça-ira" dance! Such as you'll never dish up At Antichrist's table; A martyr'd Archbishop Yours not the sluice is To purge from abuses EPOPTE (departing). Hiccupedickupe, konxompax! Get along, get along GEPHYRISTE. With your pottle-pot song; We scout such assistance; Epopts, sacristie ! You're but milksops of mystæ ; So off with you, scornfully hiss'd hence ! Ciel! how they draggle, Waggle and straggle! Saw you e'er such a swab array? But they're out of hearing; The last's disappearing, So now let's back to the cabaret! EPOPTE (in the distance). Wax, koax, quack, whack, kack, kk GEPHYRISTE. (Manet CORYPHÆUS). I'm sorry for Idas,— I'm certain he's tried as Hard as man could To send us recruits; But these English brutes ! Not one of them but has a brood Of brats and a wife; And leads a better life Than any of us, even sober; Content to plod In the ways of God, And only getting drunk in October. [Exit. ENVOI (JOHANNES moraliseth.) Not every son his own sire knows; When Time rings round his guilt with fire! That scourge us; and the fruit o' the lips We fondly laid up as divine, Press'd from the grape of sceptic licence, Not in God's vineyard grown, but Python's,— Stern Retribution crowns the cup, And bids us drink the venom up. Such Idas' fate! I don't suppose He sees six inches 'fore his nose; ALICE LORRAINE. A TALE OF THE SOUTH DOWNS. PART X.-CHAPTER LI. Ir may perhaps be said, without any painful exaggeration, that throughout the whole course of this grand war, struggle of great captains, and heroic business everywhere, few things made a deeper, sadder, and more sinister impression than the sudden disappearance of those fifty thousand guineas. On the other hand, it must not be supposed that the disappearance of guineas was rare. Far otherwise-as many people still alive can testify; and some of them perhaps with gratitude for their reappearance in the right quarter. But these particular fifty thousand were looked out for in so many places, and had so long been the subject of hope, as a really solid instalment of a shilling in the pound for heroes, that the most philosophical of these latter were inclined to use a short, strong word of distinctive nationality. Poor Hilary felt that for this bad verb his own name must be the receptive case; and he vainly looked about for any remedy or rescue. Stiff as he was in the limbs, by reason of the straps of Don Alcides, and giddy of head from the staff of that most patriotic Spaniard, he found it for some time a little hard to reflect as calmly as he should have done. Indeed it was as much as he could do to mount his horse, who (unlike his master) had stuck to his post very steadfastly, and with sadness alike of soul and body to ride down to the fatal ford. Sergeant-major Bones and Corporal Nickles also remounted and followed the bewildered captain, keeping behind him at a proper distance for quiet interchange of opinion. "Corporal, now," said the sergeant-major, sliding his voice from behind one hand, "what may be your sentiments as consarns this very pecooliar and most misfortunate haxident?" "Sergeant, it would be misbehooving," replied Nickles, who was a west-country man, 66 as well as an onceremonious thing for me to spake first in the matter. To you it belongeth, being the one as foretold it like a book; likewise senior hofficer." "Corporal, you are a credit to the army. Your discretion, at your age, is wonderful. There be so few young men as remember when a man has spoken right. I am the last man in the world to desire to be overpraised, or to take to myself any sense of it. And now I wants no credit for it. To me it seems to come natteral to discern things in a sort of way that I find in nobody else a'most." "You doos, you doos," answered Corporal Nickles. "Many's the time as I've said to myself-'Whur can I goo, to find sergeant-major, in this here trick of the henemy?' And now, sergeant, what do 'ee think of this? No fear to tell truth in spaking 'long of me." "Corporal, I have been thinking strongly, ever since us untied him. And I have been brought up in the world so much, that I means to think again of it." "Why, sergeant, you never means to say |