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!
* * * * *
[Illustration: 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!"]
* * * * *
"ROUGE GAGNE"?
[Illustration: "ROUGE GAGNE"?
[M. HENRI ROCHEFORT AT MONTE CARLO.] ]
Make your Game! Is't fortune, fame,
Power supreme, mere notoriety,
'Tis mere gambling all the same,--
Craving knowing not satiety.
Marquis or Gavroche, what matter?
Rabagas or Noble Red;
How the bullion's clink and clatter
Fires the eye and heats the head!
Mammon-Mephistopheles
At the sight in shadow grins;
And the player, at his ease,
With a dream his heart may please,
Red wins!
_Will_ it win, or, winning, will
_La République_ lose or gain?
Is the game chance _versus_ skill,
Sly intrigue 'gainst heart and brain?
Sanguine as sanguineous,
The Mob-loving Marquis sits.
Exile, will _finesse_ and fuss,
Clack of tongues, and clash of wits,
Play the patriotic game?
Fall the cards, the ball re-spins!
Blood a-fire and walls a-flame
Menace if--to Wisdom's blame--
Red wins!
* * * * *
THE LONG FROST.--Sportsmen are coming up to town in despair. Their
hunters are "eating their heads off," and very soon there will be
nothing left to tell the tail!
* * * * *