THE LAST MATCH.

This is the last, the very, very last.

Its gay companions, who so snugly lay

Within the corners of their fragile home,

All, all are lightly fled and surely gone;

And their survivor lingers in his pride,

The last of all the matches in the house;

For Mr. Siftings says he has no more,

And Siftings is an honourable man,

And would not state a fact that was not so.

For now he has himself to do without

The flaming boon of matches, having none,

And cannot furnish us as he desires,

Being a grocer and the best of men,

But murmurs vaguely of a future week

When matches shall be numerous again

As leaves in Vallombrosa and as cheap.

Blinks, the tobacconist, he too is spent

With weary waiting in a matchless land;

What Siftings cannot get cannot be got

By men like Blinks, that young tobacconist,

Who tried with all a patriot's fiery zeal

To join the Army, but was sent away

For varicose and too protuberant veins;

And being foiled of all his high intent

Now minds the shop and is a Volunteer,

Drilling on Sundays with the rest of them;

He too, amid his hoards of cigarettes,

Is void of matches as he's full of veins.

So here's a good match in a naughty world,

And what to do with it I do not know,

Save that somehow, when all the place is still,

It shall explode and spurt and flame and burn

Slowly away, not having thus achieved

The lighting of a pipe or any act

Of usefulness, but having spent itself

In lonely grandeur as befits the last

Of all the varied matches I have known.

"Wanted at once.—Reliable Man for carrying off motor lorry."—Clitheroe Advertiser.

"To-day the man possesses a second tumb, serviceable for all ordinary purposes."—Belfast Evening Telegraph.

In these days of restricted rations it seems a superflous luxury.

"Diamond Brooch, 15 cwt., set with three blue white diamonds; make a handsome present; £9 9s."—Derby Daily Telegraph.

It seems a lot for the money; but personally we would sooner have the same weight of coals.