the company, to receive his
meed of praise for conducting. Opera perfectly put on Stage by Herr
von DRURIOLANUS, and though the Season is coming to an end, yet the
Opera is still "going strong."

* * * * *

NOTE AND QUERY BY MRS. R.--Our old friend wants to know from what Poet
comes this quotation--

"A needless Salamander ends the line."

Mrs. R. thinks it's from POPE; but if so, she asks what Pope? as there
are so many of 'em.

* * * * *

ORNAMENTAL STRUCTURE IN NEW NORFOLK.--A Triumphal ARCH.

* * * * *

STUDIES IN THE NEW POETRY.

NO. IV.

In offering this fourth example of the New Poetry to his readers, _Mr.
Punch_ wishes it to be distinctly understood, that he is in no way
responsible, personally, for the curious mixture of divinities and
semi-divinities who figure in it. It is one of the distinguishing
marks of this particular sort of New Poetry to pile up a confusion of
more or less mythological names in a series of swinging and resonant
lines. In one line the reader may imagine himself to be embarked in
the River Cocytus. In the next, he will be surprised to find himself
in Eden. Blood, battle, bumptiousness, and an aggressive violence, are
special characteristics of this style of writing. Some of the lines
apparently mean nothing at all, others are calculated to make timid
people tremble; and the effect of the whole is generally picturesque,
lurid, and uncomfortable.

One of the great advantages of a poem like this, is that it may be
used for all kinds of purposes. For example, if it was originally
written as an invective against an opponent, it may afterwards, with
the utmost ease, be made to serve as a threnody. Here then without
further preface is:--

THE SUNDERED FLEA.

BY MR. R*DY*RD K*PL*NG.

Out on the path of the blazing ball that has hurtled a million
years,
Where the uttermost light glows red by night in the clash of the
angry spheres,
Where never a tear-drop dims the eye, and sorrows are stifled young,
And the Anglo-Indians snigger and sneer with the jest of a bitter
tongue.

Where the tribesmen mock at the Bengalee and shiver their spears
in vain,
And officers steep their souls chin-deep in brandy and dry
champagne;
Where the Rudyard river runs, flecked with foam, far forth to the
Kipling seas,
And the ma