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22 And the quid pro quo, magnificent and grand Sir!   Would be at the rate of four annas for every stanza, Now, thou who scale sidereal paths afar dost. Deign from thy brilliant boots to cast the superfluous star-dust Upon The head of him Whose fate depends On Thee!

(Signed)

The above was forwarded (post-paid) to Hon'ble official address at Poet's Corner, Westminster Abbey (opposite the Royal Aquarium), but—hoity-toity and mirabile dictu!—no answer has yet been vouchsafed to yours truly save the cold shoulder of contemptuous inattention!

What a pity! Well-a-day, that we should find such passions of envy and jealousy in bosom of a distinguished poet, whose lucubrated productions may (for all that is known to the present writer) be no great shakes after all, and mere food for powder!

The British public is an ardent lover of the scintillating jewellery of fair play, and so I confidently submit my claims and poetical compositions to be arbitrated by the unanimous voice of all who understand such articles.