Yours truly,

CROESUS.

[Footnote 2:  N.B.—­Note change of address.]

* * * * *

SHORTLY TO APPEAR.—­A Morning without Boots, by the Author of A
Knight without Spurs.

* * * * *

POPULAR SONGS RE-SUNG;

OR, MISS BOWDLER AT THE MUSIC HALLS.

NO.  III.—­THE SPOOKS IN THE SQUARE.

AIR—­“THE GOBLINS IN THE CHURCHYARD.”

  I went down to the Psychical Society one night,
  And heard them talk of Spooks and things that filled me with affright. 
  The Psychical Society, as every member boasts,
  Was founded with the object of investigating Ghosts! 
  Now Ghosts, the modern species, are of very various sorts,
  For like some plants, as botanists say, they seem to run to “sports.” 
  I used to think a spectre was a spectre, but I find
  The “Psychical” can furnish Spooks of every class and kind.

CHORUS.

[Illustration]

  Some of the Ghosts are little, some of the Ghosts are big,
  Some come in the guise of a headless man, and some of a spectre pig. 
  Some of them laugh “Ha! ha!” Some of them wail “Heigho!”
  And I felt that night in a doose of a fright before it was time to go.

  I had read Phantasmagoria by that writer quaint but grand,
  Who penned The Hunting of the Snark and Alice in Wonderland. 
  And I thought I knew a thing or two, or might be even three,
  About a Ghoul, and a Fay or Troll, and a Brownie or Banshee. 
  I knew that a Banshee always howled, whilst a Goblin might but yawn,
  I also knew that a Poltergeist was not a Leprechaun,
  But the Psychicals, I’m bound to say, had me on “buttered toastes”
  With the wonderful changes which they rang on the good old Churchyard
      “Ghostes.”

CHORUS.

  Some of their Ghosts were sages, some of them seemed sheer noddies;
  Some of the same like a “Wandering Flame,” and others as “Astral
      Bodies.” 
  Some of theirs croaked “Ha! ha!” some of them chuckled “Ho! ho!”
  And I got so sad, I was heartily glad when I found it was time to go.

  I dropped into the “Rose and Crown,” a highly respectable tavern,
  For Ghosts are dry, and my thirst was high, my throat like a chalky
      cavern. 
  I didn’t have much, only four of cold Scotch, which is good to moisten
      chalk. 
  The night was fine, it was twelve twenty-nine, so I thought I might
      just as well walk. 
  But when I entered Trafalgar Square, I heard a mysterious sound;
  There was not even a Bobby in sight as I stole a glance around;
  But seated on NELSON’s lions four, and perched on the neighbouring
      “posteses,”
  I saw, as we said in our Nursery Rhyme, a dozen or so of “Ghosteses”!