IV.

  King DEATH no longer drenches
    With “coal-black wine” his throttle. 
  But slakes the drouth of his awful mouth
    With pulls at the absinthe bottle.

V.

  And why should we repine
    At the poison that’s in his cup,
  Since the fools we can spare are everywhere
    And “ab” will use them up?

VI.

  Then heigh! for the wormwood shrub. 
    And ho! for the sea-green liquor
  That softens the brain to sillybub
    And turns the blood to ichor!

* * * * *

GRAIN ELEVATORS.

Rye cocktails.

* * * * *

ODD REQUEST.

Bishop Potter having forbidden the celebration of the Holy Communion privately at St. Sacrament Mission, when a priest is the only communicant, it seems that Father BEADLEY “has asked for the formation of thirty persons, one of whom shall commune with him each day.”

When Father B.’s thirty communing persons are fully “formed,” we should like to take a look at them.  We should expect to find that a new race is started at last.  This would be disagreeable news to Professor DARWIN, but there are plenty of other and rival Professors who would be delighted at the phenomenon.  Twenty-nine at least of the newly-formed “persons” will always be “on view,” as but one of the thirty can be engaged at a time.  Doubtless they will be able to converse in the American language, and it will be so interesting to hear them talk!  To tell how they feel, and what they think of things!

We should look for original and piquant views of everything and everybody.  If they should appeal to Nature’s Standard, and pronounce Mr. PUNCHINELLO the handsomest man in New York, who could wonder?  They would simply confirm the opinions of connoisseurs.

We hope they will give us a call as soon as “formed.”  Give us but the opportunity, and we promise to make something of these unsophisticated “persons.”  If we can but succeed in impressing on their plastic young minds the principles which have hitherto guided us in our own glorious path, we shall have no idle fears of their future.  They will be all right from the start.  Just as the twig is bent, or rather straightened, the high old tree has got to shoot up.

We look with interest for news of this unique formation.

* * * * *

Rebottling his Wrath.

  BOTTLED BUTLER talks fierce against poor JOHN BULL,
    All the British he’d kill at one slap,
  With their bones Bully BEN a canal would fill full—­
    The one that he dug at Dutch Gap.

* * * * *

Con by a Switch-tender.

Why is a railway accident like a dandy?  Because it’s death on the Ties.