ced to fall back upon this venerable subject
(which should only be broached in the wilds of Cornwall, or other
equally primitive spots), of course you can speak of a hard frost
being "_an ice_ day for a hunting-man, although he is sure to swear at
it." If the weather breaks, you may observe, "_You thaw so_," but not
when you have to shout the quibble through the ear-trumpet of a deaf
old maid. And this, with the other witticisms recorded above, should
carry you (by desire) into the middle of next week.

* * * * *

A DEADLY KISS.--The Hotch-kiss.

* * * * *

A PANTOMIMIC REVERIE.

(_BY A "SLIPPERED PANTALOON."_)

[Illustration]

Tax-gatherers molest one's door,
The streets are choked with messy mist;
I'm the proverbial Bachelor,
An old, prosaic Pessimist.
Yet somehow--who can tell me why?--
Urged by the Past's dim Phantom, I'm
Disposed my cosy Club to fly,
And prank it at the Pantomime.

A Phantom weird of things forgot!
My mother, proud of me at her
Sweet side--our yellow chariot--
The long, long drive--the theatre--
My fear to miss--my thrill when in--
The Fairy Queen, the jolly King--
The laughter flung at Harlequin,
And Pantaloon arollicking.

And sister PRUE, and brother TIM,
(I scarcely recollected them),
Magnificent in gala trim:
Dear me, how I respected them!
I deemed them quite grown up, so bold
Seemed they, glared so defiantly:
Yet they, too, cowered to behold
Prone before JACK the Giant lie.

Yes! Where is TIM, where PRUE, alack!
Where mother fondly pliant now?
Where for that matter too is JACK,
And where the grisly Giant now?
In lonely stall, with vacant brow
I sit and eye the _coryphees_:
In my time they were Fairies; now
They seem to me but sorry fays.

The pageantry is twice as grand,
The wealth of wealth embarrasses;
And yet this is not elfinland
But great AUGUSTUS HARRIS's.
The _blase_ children vote it flat,
When Mister Clown cries, "Here's a go!"
Yes, there's the box where erst we sat
And laughed so, sixty years ago.

The very box: I think, you know,
The reason I'm so queer to-night
Is merely because long ago
Here faces were not here to-night.
I'd best be off--Bless me! no Clown?
No Stage?--no Past invidious?
No Orchestra?--but simply BROWN
Snoring the midnight hide