ator left. They have all
been bored to death!

_Ponsch_. All bored to death? Now then, lift your head a little, and I
will fondle you. [_Pulls the cord towards himself._

_Djak._ Oh, what have you put round my neck? Oh me! You are going to
... oh, you _are_!

_Ponsch_. Oh, I _am_!

_Djak._ Then--oh!

_Ponsch_. Oh!

[_Exeunt all, except DJAKKETCH, who ceases kicking
gradually. A peacock is heard warbling in a cemetery round the
corner; a barn-door fowl jumps on a wheelbarrow, and crows._

FINIS.

* * * * *

HORACE IN LONDON.

TO A CRUSTED OLD PORT. (_AD AMPHORAM_.)

[Illustration]

Old liquor born on my birthday, a twin to me,
Whether ordained wit and mirth to put into me,
Or passions that witch and defy us,
Or, peradventure, the sleep of the pious.

Vaunt not its shippers, my friend, but produce it--an
Actual, "forty-five," languorous Lusitan,
Befitting, whate'er be its label,
You, my good host, and the guest at your table.

Steeped though you frown in this dryasdust clever age,
Dare you presume to resist such a beverage?
Why, ELDON, that dragon of virtue,
Never imagined its vintage could hurt you.

Liquor like this from a bottle whose crust is whole,
Liquor like this rubs the rust from the rusty soul;
The faddist it mellows: the private
Secrets of State it can somehow arrive at.

Under its spell frolics Hypochondriasis;
Poverty learns what a millionnaire's bias is,
Yes, Poverty, such a spell under,
Laughs at the County Court's impotent thunder.

Fill, then! A bumper we'll empty between us to
Bacchus, the _Pas-de-trois_ Graces, and Venus too,
With all of that classical ilk, man--
Till the stars fade with the morn and the milkman.

* * * * *

THE "TA-RA-RA" BOOM.

(_BY OUR OWN MELANCHOLY MUSER._)

I am shrouded in impenetrable _gloom_-de-ay,
For I feel I'm being driven to my _doom_-de-ay,
By an aggravating ditty
Which I don't consider witty;
And they call the horrid thing, "Ta-ra-ra-_boom-de-ay_!"

Every 'bus-conductor, errand-boy, and _groom_-de-ay,
City clerk, and cheeky crossing-sweep with _broom_-de-ay
Makes my nervous system bristle
As he tries to sing or whistle
That atrocious and absurd "Ta-ra-ra-_boom_-de-ay!"

So I sit in the seclusion of my _room_-de-ay,
And deny myself to all