“’Oh—­him!  Yes—­oh, yes, yes.  Certainly—­certainly.  Punch—­punch—­oh, this misery will kill me!’

“’Bless you! bless you, sir, for these sweet words!  I, too, suffer in this dear loss.  Were you present during his last moments?’

“‘Yes.  I—­whose last moments?’

“‘His.  The dear departed’s.’

“’Yes!  Oh, yes—­yes—­yes!  I suppose so, I think so, I don’t know!  Oh, certainly—­I was there I was there!’

“’Oh, what a privilege! what a precious privilege!  And his last words —­oh, tell me, tell me his last words!  What did he say?’

“’He said—­he said—­oh, my head, my head, my head!  He said—­he said—­he never said anything but Punch, punch, punch in the presence of the passenjare!  Oh, leave me, madam!  In the name of all that is generous, leave me to my madness, my misery, my despair!—­a buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip slip for a three-cent fare—­endu—­rance can no fur—­ther go!—­Punch in the presence of the passenjare!”

My friend’s hopeless eyes rested upon mine a pregnant minute, and then he said impressively: 

“Mark, you do not say anything.  You do not offer me any hope.  But, ah me, it is just as well—­it is just as well.  You could not do me any good.  The time has long gone by when words could comfort me.  Something tells me that my tongue is doomed to wag forever to the jigger of that remorseless jingle.  There—­there it is coming on me again:  a blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip slip for a—­”

Thus murmuring faint and fainter, my friend sank into a peaceful trance and forgot his sufferings in a blessed respite.

How did I finally save him from an asylum?  I took him to a neighboring university and made him discharge the burden of his persecuting rhymes into the eager ears of the poor, unthinking students.  How is it with them, now?  The result is too sad to tell.  Why did I write this article?  It was for a worthy, even a noble, purpose.  It was to warn you, reader, if you should came across those merciless rhymes, to avoid them—­avoid them as you would a pestilence.

THE GREAT REVOLUTION IN PITCAIRN

Let me refresh the reader’s memory a little.  Nearly a hundred years ago the crew of the British ship Bounty mutinied, set the captain and his officers adrift upon the open sea, took possession of the ship, and sailed southward.  They procured wives for themselves among the natives of Tahiti, then proceeded to a lonely little rock in mid-Pacific, called Pitcairn’s Island, wrecked the vessel, stripped her of everything that might be useful to a new colony, and established themselves on shore.  Pitcairn’s is so far removed from the track of commerce that it was many years before another vessel touched there.  It had always been considered an uninhabited island; so when a ship did at last drop its anchor there,