They talk of ALEXANDER And Mrs. _Tanque-ray_, Now who would raise my dander Will just abuse that play. For few there are That can compare-- Well,--if so, give their names,-- With _Mrs. Tanque-ray_ Who has just gone away From the Theatre of St. James. * * * * * Mrs. R. says that of all SHAKSPEARE'S plays produced at the Lyceum, she liked _Henry the Eighth_ the best, because of the character of _Cardinal Bullseye_, which Mr. IRVING played so sweetly. * * * * * STATUES OF THE TWO NEW PARLIAMENTARY GIANTS TO BE ERECTED AS GUARDING THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.--Gag and Maygag. * * * * * THEATRICAL PEDESTRIAN MATCH.--Match between two "Walking Gentlemen." Date not yet fixed. Stake-holder "Walker, London." * * * * * A VISIT TO BORDERLAND. [Illustration] I called on Mr. STEAD last week, at least I seemed to call, For in this "visionary" world one can't be sure at all; And when I reached the great man's house he shook me by the hand, And talked, as only STEAD can talk, of Spooks and _Borderland_, I own that I was tired of men who live upon the earth, They hadn't recognised, I felt, my full and proper worth; "They'll judge me much more fairly," I reflected, "when they're dead,-- So I'll go and seek an interview with WILLIAM THOMAS STEAD." The reason why I went to STEAD is this: the great and good Has lately found that English ghosts are much misunderstood; Substantial man may swagger free, but, spite of all his boasts, STEAD holds there is a future, and a splendid one, for ghosts. And so he has an office, a sort of ghostly COOK'S, Where tours may be contracted for to Borderland and Spooks; And those who yearn to mix with ghosts have only got to go And talk, as I conversed, with STEAD for half an hour or so. The ghosts have got a paper too, the _Borderland_ I spoke of, Where raps and taps are registered that scoffers make a joke of: A medium's magazine it is, a ghostly gazetteer Produced by WILLIAM THOMAS STEAD, the Julianic seer. And everything that dead men do to help the men who live, The chains they clank, the sighs they heave, the warnings that they give, The coffin-lids they lift at night when folk are tucked in bed, Are all set down in black and white by WILLIAM THOMAS STEAD. While wide-awake he sees such shapes as others merely dream on; For instance there is JULIA, a sort of female daemon; Like some tame hawk she stoops to him, she perches on his wrist-- In life she was a promising, a lady journalist; And now that death has cut her off she leaves the ghostly strand And turns her weekly copy out by guiding WILLIAM'S hand. Yet, oh, it makes me writhe like one who sits him down on tin tacks To note that happy ghost's contempt for grammar and for syntax.