Volume 98 — THE NEW DANCE OF DEATH.

"Starving to make a British holiday"— And plump his pockets with the gobemouches' pay! A pretty picture, full of fine humanity And creditable to the public sanity! "Sensation" is a most despotic master. First Higgins and then Succi! Fast and faster The flood of morbid sentiment rolls on. Lion-kings die, and the Sword-swallower's gone The way of all such horrors, slowly slain By efforts to please curious brutes, for gain. What next, and next? Stretch some one on the rack And let him suffer publicly. 'Twill pack The show with prurient pryers, and draw out The ready shillings from the rabble rout Of well-dressed quidnuncs, frivolous and fickle Who'll pay for aught that their dull sense will tickle. Look on, crass crowd; your money freely give To see Sensation's victims die to live; For Science knows, and says beneath her breath, That this "Fast Life" (like other sorts) means Death!