If you'll only indulge in a shrug and some winks,
You'll perhaps set _me_ off," said the Stick to the Sphinx.
"Nay, long 'inhibition,'" the Sphinx made reply,
"Has imparted rigidity, love, to my eye."
"'Emotional movement' no longer is mine,"
Sighed the Stick to the Sphinx; "though I greatly incline
To a dig in your ribs, or a slap on your back
(As a sign of my love), all my muscles are slack.
My poor 'motor-centres' are all out of gear,
And I can't even 'chuck' your soft chin, sweet, I fear.
I'm sure such a stolid inflexible 'stick' you'll hate,
But, though I adore you, I _cannot_ gesticulate--"
"My case is as bad," sighed the Sphinx to the Stick,
"For I cannot 'bridle'--no more than a brick."
Said the Stick to the Sphinx, "Ah, we once knew what love meant!
But, thanks to the loss of 'emotional movement,'
We can't give it 'graceful and chastened expression,'
And so it seems slipping fast out of possession.
Heigho! we had far better die, darling, quick!
Since you are a Sphinx, love, and I'm but a Stick!"

* * * * *

VERY LIKELY--JUST NOW.--A place to spend a Quiet Sunday--Eastbourne.

* * * * *

[Illustration: MR. PUNCH ON TOUR IN YORKSHIRE.]

* * * * *