The Idiot

son Warren-and he was by profession a poet. Whether it was this that made it necessary for him to board or not, the rewards of the muse being ra

ted to have a waste-basket added to the furniture of his room seemed to indicate that they contained the latter. To this request Mrs. Pedagog had gladly acceded, because she had a notion that therein at some time or another would be found a clew to the new boarder's past history-or possibly some evidence of such duplicity as the good lady suspected he migh

," and closing with about thirteen reasons, any one or all of which might have been the main cause of the poet's disappointment. Had it not been for the kindly clause in the printed slip that insinuated in graceful terms that this rejection did not imply a lack of literary merit in the contribution itself, the good lady, knowing well that there was even less money to be made from rejected than from accepted poetry, would have been inclined to request th

hich desire was gratified a few days later, when the inspired boarder paid his week's bill

D BOARDER P

usions which showed no little merit, as well as indicating that Mr. Warren wrote for a literary syndicate; Mr. Whitechoker had known of him as the young man who was to have written a Christmas carol for his Sunday-sc

t number of the Observer, Mr. Warren," said the

en. "I am sorry to hear that, for it

-Master, with an indignant glance at the Idiot. "It was a very dign

us that I believe I'd laugh at a dirge if you should write one; but I really thought your lines in

ped loose, the

dead from t

d on at the

for the win

uggestive of 'Blow Ye Winds of the Morning!

the true poet, sir-and I hope I have some claim to be considered

poet takes the same thought that has previously

Poet, warmly, "it wa

fessedly funny poems we get nowadays can do. Therefore I say it was a funny

do deny i

rint if I were you. I know plenty of people who think it was a burlesque, and I overheard o

"I am innocent of any such intent as you have ascribed to me, and i

winburne's called 'The Boy at the Gate'?

ction of it," said

Mr. Whitechoker, anxious not to b

vouchsafed the School-Master, forgetting for a

ing like this,"

ere the slim

e leaves lie lo

ind with its w

loomy and ga

sycamore sol

ching in wo

ood for six

aiting the bo

er, "but I'd know it was Swinburne in a minute.

y glance at the Idiot. "It is Swinb

ea was that the sycamore was standing there for

ulness and fickleness. Such thoughts occur only to the wholly gifted. It is only to the poetic temperament that the conception of such a thought can

ly surprised in the Idiot. It is no small thing even to be able to repeat a poet's lines so car

t you and Mr. Whitechoker, mines of information though you are, have not as yet worked up a corne

ster. "He is full of pretence and hollowne

has just escaped being a smart man. I wish we could take him

e stairs. "I say," he said, "I've looked all

own. I was only trying to get a rise out of Mr. Pedagog and his Reverence with it. You have frequently appeared impre

N'T, BECAUSE I

o go into partnership with me and write for the funny papers? I

verything, too," said t

he Poet. "Even in

ttle, but he soon recovered his compos

e partnership have not

arned how they had been deceived, they were so indig