DUNRAVEN. (_A November Night’s Vision, after reading Edgar Poe and the Earl of Dunraven’s Address on “Fair Trade,” delivered by him, as President of the National Fair Trade League, at Sheffield, on November_ 12_th_, 1884.) Once upon a midnight dreary, as I pondered weak and weary Over many a dry and tedious tome of economic lore, Whilst I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a snapping As of some small terrier yapping, yapping at my study-door, ’Tis old _Ponto_ there, I muttered, yapping at my study-door,―― Only that, and nothing more. Ah, distinctly I remember it was early in November When to town the wearied Member came, and thought the thing a bore. Eagerly I hoped the morrow SALISBURY some sense might borrow, And I thought with ceaseless sorrow of the streamside and the moor, Of the rare and radiant raptures of the streamside and the moor. Heather’s sweep and trout-stream’s roar. Open then I flung the doorway, when, with blast as chill as Norway, In there stepped “Fair Trade” DUNRAVEN, solemn as a monk of yore; Not the least apology made he, though I thought his manners “shady,” But, as stiff as TATE and BRADY, stood within my study-door, Underneath a bust of COBDEN just above my study-door,―― Stood, and scowled, and nothing more. Then this sombre guest, beguiling my tired spirit into smiling By the _doctrinaire_ decorum of the countenance he wore, “Smugly trimmed and deftly shaven, though I trust I’m not a craven, You have startled me, DUNRAVEN,” said I, “yapping at my door. Tell me what your little game is, late at night at this my door?” Quoth DUNRAVEN, “Tax once more!” Much I chuckled (though urbanely) him to hear talk so insanely, For his answer little wisdom, little relevancy bore; And one cannot help agreeing no sane living human being In “Fair Trade” salvation seeing, could come yapping at one’s door, Snapping, late at night in winter, at a fellow’s study-door, Just to bid him, “Tax once more!” But DUNRAVEN, standing lonely under COBDEN’S bust, spake only Those same words as though his creed in those few words he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered; calm he looked, and quite unfluttered, Then unto myself I muttered, “Other fads have flown before; Very soon _this_ fad will vanish, as Protection did before.” Quoth DUNRAVEN, “Tax once more!” Startled at the silence broken by reply so patly spoken, “Doubtless,” said I, “what he utters is his only stock and store,―― Caught from some bad fiscal master, whom trade-loss or farm-disaster Followed fast and followed faster, till his talk one burden bore,―― Till the dirges of his craft one economic burden bore,―― Of ‘Tax――tax Corn once more!’