“Prophet,” said I, “Thing of evil! prophet still, if cat or devil! Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest toss’d thee here ashore; Battered thou, and all undaunted, in this room they say is haunted, If you are at all enchanted, tell me truly, I implore, _Will_ the coals be ever cheaper? Tell me, tell me, I implore!” Quoth the Tom-Cat, “Never more!” _The Figaro,_ August 27, 1873. ―――――――― DUNRAVEN. [The Earl of Dunraven, in protesting against the short time allowed for the consideration of the Irish Land Bill, said “he was not a strict Sabbatarian, and had even advocated in that House the desirability of enjoying reasonable recreation on the Sunday, but it was impossible that racking one’s brains over the tangled intricacies of that Bill could be considered wholesome recreation for anyone.”] And Dunraven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting O’er that blessed Bill of Billy’s, puzzling at it o’er and o’er; And his eyes have all the seeming of a child’s that hath been screaming, And the gaslight o’er him streaming shows them heavy, red, and sore; And his voice from out its pages rises in a muffled roar:―― “Hang the Bill! it _is_ a bore!” _Punch_, August 13, 1881. ―――――――― THE DOVE. _A Sentimental Parody._ I. Once upon a storm-night dreary, sat I pond’ring, restless, weary, Over many a text of Scripture, helped by ancient-sages’ lore, Anxious, nervous, far from napping; suddenly there came a tapping! As of some one gently rapping――rapping at my chamber-door. Night like this ’tis scarce a visitor, tapping at my chamber-door? This, I thought, and nothing more. II. Ah! distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember, glimmer’d ghostly on the floor: Earnestly I wished the morrow; vainly had I sought to borrow From my Bible ease of sorrow――sorrow for the lost Annore―― For a saintly, radiant matron, whom the angels name Annore Lately wife, now wife no more. III. She had passed the gloomy portals, which forever hide from mortals Spirit myst’ries, which the living are most eager to explore. Poring o’er the sacred pages, guides to all the good for ages, Sat I, helped by lore of sages, when the rapping at my door, Startled me as if a spirit had come to my chamber-door, Tapping thus, and meaning more. IV.