illow,"
Like poor _Desdemona_, most sweetly.
My dear _Felis Leo_, I do feel that we owe
A debt to the urban proprieties.
Don't shame yourself, Ursa, but quite _vice versa_,
You know how impressive caste's quiet is!
But, JAMRACH! O JAMRACH! Woe's stretched on no sham rack
Of metre that mourns you sincerely;
E'en that hard nut o' natur, the great Alligator,
Has eyes that look red, and blink queerly.
Mere "crocodile's tears," some may snigger; but jeers
Must disgust at a moment so doleful.
For JAMRACH the brave, who has gone to his grave,
All our sorrow's sincere as 'tis soulful!

* * * * *

TELLING THE WASPS.

(_WITH ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY AND MR. ANDREW LANG._)

Cynics, and ye critics cold,
When the wasps return with Spring,
Tell them that THERSITES old
Perished in his fault-hunting,
Perished on an Autumn night.
Now no more he 'll ban and blight
In the "weeklies," as of yore;
But the valley and the height
Miss a biter and a bore!

* * * * *

[Illustration: MR. PUNCH HAS A LITTLE TOUR IN IRELAND.]

* * * * *

SOME CIRCULAR NOTES.

CHAPTER V.

_POPPERIE--NOISE--QUIET--DESCENT--CERBERUS--PICTURE--CATACOMBS
SENSATIONAL--STALACTITE--SURMISES--DREADS--POPPY--WEIRD--DESERTION--LOST--TERRORS--CANDLE--OUT!_

Arrived! These are the works that POPPERIE & Co. built. On a height,
commanding fine panoramic view. Approach to the house and stores is
through a fresh-looking garden, everything neat and trim. Quite a
surprise to find oneself suddenly among hundreds of casks and cases.
Distant sound of carts and horses, of pulleys and cranks, of bringing
in and sending out; but this sound is only a gentle hum--a murmuring
accompaniment as it were; for, considering the amount of work that
involves a lot of noise throughout the day, except, perhaps, during
the feeding hours, the note of this place is its air of quiet
activity. There is, I remark, a curious flavour in the atmosphere,
that causes me to smack my lips, quite involuntarily, as if tasting
wine. Remember somebody telling me, that the mere wine-laden
atmosphere of the London Docks is quite enough to make anyone feel
the worse for liquor, even though you do not touch a single drop in
the vaults. We have not yet reached the vaults, but somehow there's
something peculiarly exhilarating in the