This is no spot for him to fall. I dread
The need--just here--of "sitting on his head."
Cutting the traces
Will leave us dead-lock'd, _here_ of all bad places!
Oh, do keep quiet, K-MB-RL-Y! You're twitching
My cape again! Mind, ASQ-TH! You'll be pitching
Over that barrier, if you are not steady.
Fancy us getting in this fix--already!
Cabbin' it in a fog is awkward work,
Specially for the driver, who can't shirk,
When once his "fare" is taken.
I feel shaken.
'd rather drive the chariot of the Sun
(That's dangerous, but rare fun!)
Like Phaëthon,
Than play the Jehu in a fog so woful
To this confounded "Shoful"!

* * * * *

[Illustration: REAL PRESENCE OF MIND.

POLICEMAN X 24, DRUNK AND ALMOST INCAPABLE, IS JUST ABLE TO BLOW HIS
WHISTLE FOR HELP!]

* * * * *

LADY GAY'S GHOST.

_Mount Street, Berkeley Square._