A PLEA FOR THE GHOSTS.
Reading edition
Once we dreamed of a magical clime, Powerful fairies lived there then, Ready to change, in the shortest time, Men to fishes, or fish to men; Science, alas, assails the land, Down the magical palaces fall, Fairies and elves, we understand, Never could really exist at all. Still remain to us spectres strange, Headless horsemen and monks severe, Some that arrive each night in the Grange, Others (like Christmas) once a year; Yet they linger, a fearful joy, Elderly relics of childhood's day. Now our "scientists" would destroy All their humorous, mild array! Mr. Maskelyne, learned man! Scoff at Theosophists as you will, Spot each fraudulent gambler's plan, Only allow us our Bogies still! Little we value prosaic truth, If it must scatter these shadowy hosts; Spare us a single belief of youth, Leave us, ah, leave us at least our Ghosts!
"ROUGE GAGNE"?
[M. Henri Rochefort at Monte Carlo.]
GOING TO THE DOGS.
Candid Vet (who has been called in to look at Mr. Noodle's new purchase, which is somehow amiss). "Ah, yer want to know what to do with 'im? Well now, he's been goin' pretty 'ard to Hounds for a Dozen Seasons or more, to my knowledge, has that 'Oss. Now, take my advice, don't keep 'em waitin' for 'im any longer,—you send 'im to 'em!"