breeches; I see no reason why I myself Should not have a morning coat of red, white, and blue, Or a waistcoat emblazoned with the arms Of the Worshipful Company of Spectaclemakers. In fact, my dear Lord Mayor, To perpetrate a Mrs. Meynellism, The colour of life is the salt of it, Just as the Lord Mayor's Show is the salt of the Lord Mayoralty And the one beautiful thing About life as people expect you to live it In the Metropolis. Come hither, come hither, my dear Lord Mayor, And do not tremble so! We are all glad to see you going up Fleet Street, We are all glad to see you going home the other way; And we shall be equally glad to see your successor Getting through the same flowerful day's work Next year. Goodbye, my dear Lord Mayor! And Hooray? 

 

 

   TO THE MOTORIST 

 My dear Sir,— When men have nightmares, they dream about you. I myself have been chased over the tops of pinnacles By flaming-eyed Panhards and Durkopps In my sleep. Nor is this all, For if one brings oneself To read reports of the proceedings of police courts One finds that the average citizen Gets more or less chased by you sir, In his waking moments. The Police I know, sir, seldom speak the truth: They remember so well the day When a horseless carriage had to be taken through the street At the speed of a funeral march, And with a red flag in front of it, That the spectacle of an affable motorist Bowling through a Surrey village To the tune of six miles an hour Shocks ther imagination, And they believe for the rest of their natural lives That the affable motorist aforesaid Must have been travelling At the rate of anything from 60 to 600 miles per minute. Hence, my dear motorist, It comes to pass that you are afforded so many opportunities For airing your eloquence and the fatness of your purse Before the police magistrates. In my opinion it seems just possible That the real trouble lies in the fact That you, my dear sir, do actually Go through villages at a very low speed, And that really the best thing you can do Would be to make a point of going through them At the highest speed consistent With the safety of your own person. For if you did this, No policeman of my acquaintance would be able to catch you, Hence you would never be fined. I have been out of sympathy with motor cars Right up to the other night. The other night I had the felicity to take a small trip on one. The motorist would fain have driven me to my house, Which is half an hour's cab drive from Charing Cross. He offered to do the distance in ten minutes And started stirring up his petroleum, But I said "No. Let us go to the 

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