and out with 'Punch, brothers, punch with care, punch in the presence of the passenjare.' And the most distressing thing was that my delivery dropped into the undulating rhythm of those pulsing rhymes, and I could actually catch absent-minded people nodding time to the swing of it with their stupid heads. And, Mark, you may believe it or not, but before I got through the entire assemblage were placidly bobbing their heads in solemn unison, mourners, undertaker, and all. The moment I had finished, I fled to the anteroom in a state bordering on frenzy. Of course it would be my luck to find a sorrowing and aged maiden aunt of the deceased there, who had arrived from Springfield too late to get into the church. She began to sob, and said:-- “'Oh, oh, he is gone, he is gone, and I didn't see him before he died!' “'Yes!' I said, 'he is gone, he is gone, he is gone--oh, will this suffering never cease!' “'You loved him, then! Oh, you too loved him!' “'Loved him! Loved who?' “'Why, my poor George! my poor nephew!' “'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.