Second Pass. (with irritation).  Well, at least you take an unselfish view of the case.

First Pass. (smiling sweetly).  I don’t see that!  As a matter of fact, I am sufficiently successful not to care for competition.  I believe that I am first-rate in my own walk; and, however the School Board may educate, they will not reach my standard.

Second Pass. (drily).  I was not thinking of that, although it is a consideration.  But how about the rates, my dear Sir—­the rates?

First Pass. (with a good-humoured laugh).  Oh, bother the rates!  I don’t see where they come in.

Second Pass. (with ghastly jocularity).  But I do—­by the front door.

First Pass. (condescendingly).  Tut, tut!  But what have the rates to do with the matter?

Second Pass. (astonished).  Why, at a shilling in the pound and more to follow, you must admit they make a hole in a modest income?

First Pass. (enthusiastically).  And what if they do, Sir—­what if they do?  Have we no duty to our fellow man?  Ought we not to sacrifice something on his behalf—­for his sake?  And, my dear Sir, I speak all the more dispassionately, because my rates are paid—­by my Landlord! [Curtain.

* * * * *

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.—­“HISTORICAL GARDENER.”—­Yes, certainly—­it was “The Gallows-tree,” from which “The Hanging Gardens of Babylon” took their name.  Any school-boy knows this.—­“INQUIRING BUOY.”—­No; the Nore Light is not a candelabraham.

* * * * *

HOW IT’S DONE!

[Illustration]

DEAREST MADGE,

  You have asked me to tell you some scandal! 
    You seem to forget how I hate such a theme—­
  How I loathe and detest every girl who’s a Vandal,
    Destroying that fine work of Art, Nature’s Scheme. 
  Why, I never talk scandal, you goose, and you know it;
    It’s no fascination whatever to me. 
  I could tell some, of course, for we county folk grow it
    Like so many apples and pears on a tree.

  I repeat, I detest such a thing beyond measure. 
    I’m not like dear MAUD, who my husband declares
  Was invented and made to exist on the pleasure
    Of dragging to light other people’s affairs.
  She would forward you scandalous tales by the dozen—­
    There’s no one like her if you want any news. 
  I declare she’s as bad as her wretch of a cousin,
    Who’s bolted with Major FITZ-DASH, of the Blues.

  Now, for instance, she told me (in confidence, mind you)
    That Captain BLANK CARTRIDGE, when playing at Nap,
  Has an odious habit of getting behind you,
    And calling according to what’s on your lap. 
  (By the way, we have only just heard that the Major,
    Who gave Lady B. such a beautiful horse,
  Is a perfect Don Juan, and quite an old stager
    At playing a prominent part in divorce.)