ALONE--LOST IN THE WILD MOORLAND. SUDDENLY A CHEERY YOUNG VOICE SMOTE UPON
HIS EAR: "WHAT'S UP, OLD CHAP? CAN I BE ANY USE?"]

[Illustration: "OH, I'M SO FEARFULLY SORRY!" SAID A SWEET YOUNG VOICE IN
DISTRESSED ACCENTS. AND THEN HE BECAME AWARE OF A DAINTY LITTLE FOOT AND
ANKLE COYLY PROTRUDING FROM A BLUE TROUSER ALMOST AT A LEVEL WITH HIS EYE.]


* * * * *

IN MEMORIAM.

FRANCIS COWLEY BURNAND,

1836--1917.

EDITOR OF "PUNCH," 1880--1906.

Hail and Farewell, dear Brother of the Pen,
Maker of sunshine for the minds of men,
Lord of bright cheer and master of our hearts--
What plaint is fit when such a friend departs?
Not with mere ceremonial words of woe
Come we to mourn--you would not have it so;
But with our memories stored with joyous fun,
Your constant largesse till your life was done,
With quips, that flashed through frequent twists and bends,
Caught from the common intercourse of friends;
And gay allusions gayer for the zest
Of one who hurt no friend and spared no jest.