Ever in my actions quicker, I brought up the cage of wicker, Placed it on the paper basket, and gave one loud “H-s-s-h!” once more. When, with quite a storm of croaking, as though Dis himself invoking, And apparently half choking, in it rushed old “Never more!”―― Right into the cage of wicker quickly popped old “Never more!” And I smartly shut the door. Then without the least compunction, booking to St. John’s Wood Junction, To the “Zoo” my cage of wicker and its sable bird I bore. Saw the excellent Curator, showed him the persistent prater―― Now in manner much sedater――and said, “Take him, I implore! He’s a nuisance in my study, take him, Bartlett, I implore!” And he answered, “Hand him o’er.” “Be those words our sign of parting!” cried I, suddenly upstarting, “Get you in amongst your kindred, where you doubtless were before. You last night, I own, alarmed me (perhaps the cucumber had harmed me!), And you for the moment charmed me with your ceaseless ‘Never more!’―― Gave me quite a turn by croaking out your hollow ‘Never more!’ But ‘Good-bye!’ all that is o’er!” * * * * * Last Bank Holiday, whilst walking at the Zoo, and idly talking, Suddenly I heard low accents that recalled the days of yore; And up to the cages nearing, and upon the perches peering―― There, with steak his beak besmearing, draggle-tailed, sat “Never more!” Mutual was our recognition, and, in his debased condition, he too thought of heretofore; For anon he hoarsely muttered, shook his draggled tail and fluttered, drew a cork at me and swore―― Yes, distinctly drew three corks, and most indubitably swore! Only that, and nothing more! _Funny Folks Annual_, 1884. ―――――――― SEQUEL TO THE “RAVEN.” The author of the following was R. Allston Lavender, Jr., a maniac in the lunatic asylum at Raleigh, N.C. He fancied that it was dictated by the spirit of Edgar A. Poe: Fires within my brain were burning, Scorning life, despairing, yearning; Hopeless, blinded in my anguish; Through my body’s open door Came a Raven, foul and sable, Like those evil birds of fable, Downward swooping where the drooping Spectres haunt the Stygian’s shore. Ghosts of agonies departed, Festering wounds that long had smarted, Broken vows, returnless mornings, Griefs and miseries of yore, By some art revived, undaunted, I gazed steadfast; the enchanted, Black, infernal Raven uttered A wild dirge――not Evermore. Gazing steady, gazing madly On the bird, I spoke, and sadly Broke down, too deep for scorning, Sought for mercy to implore. Turning to the bird, I blessed it―― In my bosom I caressed it; Still it pierced my heart, and revelled In the palpitating gore.