gentleman has "not closed his
eyes all night" seems only to stimulate them to further effort. As
I feel that even twenty minutes of this recreation will certainly
drive me mad, I beg Mrs. COBBLES to send the boy who comes to clean
the boots and knives to disturb the One Policeman in his first sweet
slumber. If nothing else will stir him, he is to be. informed that No.
34 on the Esplanade is on fire, or if that fails, he may throw in 33
and 35 as well. In fact, he need not be particular as to facts, but
_return with the Policeman he must!_ There is a good-sized crowd
assembled on the Esplanade, but as I am attired in a scarlet flannel
dressing-gown, white nightcap, and am arguing the Act of Parliament
with the deserted Christy Minstrel with some warmth, it may account
for it.

* * * * *

THE KING OF THE BEASTS.

_A ZOOLOGICAL ELEGY._

[CHARLES JAMRACH, the celebrated naturalist and
menagerie-keeper, of St. George's-in-the-East, died on
September 6, at the age of 76.]

The news on the town like a thunderbolt burst,
_The_ loss of the Season 'tis reckoned;
We mourned long ago for King JAMRACH THE FIRST,
Now we weep for King JAMRACH THE SECOND.
There's grief at the Zoo, all the Lions bohoo,
And the Elephants dolefully trumpet;
The Tiger's in tears, and the lonely Koodoo
With sorrow's as cold as a crumpet.
He was seventy-six; but to cross o'er the Styx
At that age--for a JAMRACH--was premature;
There are lots of young cubs who feel quite in a fix
At the thought that he will not see _them_ mature.
They howl with wide gorges to think that St. George's
Will see him no more--ah! no, never!
He will not preside at their shin-of-beef orgies,
Or nurse them through phthisis or fever.
The travelling menagerie must wait an age 'ere he--
JAMRACH--will find any fellow.
BARNUM, 'tis well you are gone we can tell you!
Bison, old boy, do not bellow
There quite so tremendously! Sad? Oh, stupendously!
So is the Ornithorhynchus.
But don't howl the roof off, your anguish in proof of,
Or Regent's Park swells mad may think us.
Yes, Marsupial Mole, we _are_ "left in the hole,"
But still we must think of our dignity.
Animal sorrow from bardlings must borrow
The true elegiac benignity.
That Japanese pug I could willingly hug,
He yaps out his grief so discreetly,
And dear Armadillo knows how to sing "W