So Death has paid the Zoo a call, And claimed you for his own, Who "neck or nothing" had been left To bloom--and die--alone. From far I gazed into your face, I did not know your name, You looked uncomfortable, but I loved you all the same. Your neck _was_ just a trifle long, I think you must confess. I've often thought if, as a fact, You could have done with less. But we must take you all in all, And so I hear with pain That probably we shall not look Upon your like again. I could have spared a buffalo Or elephant with ease, An armadillo, or a bear, A dozen chimpanzees. When _Jumbo_ left for foreign skies, I did not shed a tear, For though his _Alice_ mourned his loss, I knew that _you_ were here. You've gone to heaven, if that's where The good giraffes all go. I wonder if you'll ever see What happens down below. I hope, for your own comfort, not, But, if you ever do, Please recognise me as the Man Who sadly haunts the Zoo. * * * * * THE POET AND THE SONGS. [Illustration] I HAD a thought, a dainty thought, A quaint and cunning fancy, I said, "A theme with humour fraught Within my grasp I can see. This thought will work into a set Of verses fit for singing." A voice rasped, "Oh, a deal o' wet!" And off that thought went winging. And once again that thought returned, With yet more brightness on it-- This time with the desire I burned To weave it in a sonnet. I'd get an artist chum to do The subject in a rare cut. Alas! before 'twas grasped it flew, Alarmed by, "Git yer 'air cut!" I strayed in silent solitude That lost thought to recover, And, as my journey I pursued, 'Twould still around me hover. Almost I grasped, one fatal day, That fancy, quaint and clever, A cad shrieked, "Tara-boom-de-ay!" And off it flew--for ever! * * * * * SUNDAY OBSERVANCE. [Illustration] WHAT a shocking state of things, Oh, my goodness, Mrs. GRUNDY! There's a man that plays and sings In a Blackpool hall on Sunday! Oh, what wickedness, oh, dear! Sunday music! What a scandal! Folks might even go and hear Things by HAYDN or by HANDEL! Rush and find some obsolete Act of wise and pious GEORGES, Which will help us to defeat Such abominable orgies! But here's worse news, I declare; Gracious patience, Mrs. GRUNDY! Eastbourne people cannot bear Nice Salvation bands on Sunday! Acts, not words, again we need, Just to show them they are silly. Sunday Music stopped? Indeed, They _must_ like it, willy nilly! * * * * * THEATRES AND MUSIC HALLS COMMISSION. (_A Matinée, by Our Own Reporter._) [Illustration]