'Tis time to toll Thy knell, and that of follies pantomimical: A twelve weeks' run, And thou hast done All thou canst do to make thyself inimical. Adieu, embodiment of all inanity! Excellent type of simpering insanity! Unwieldy, clumsy nightmare of humanity! Freed is thy soul! (_The Mask respondeth._) Oh! master mine, Look thou within thee, ere again ill-using me. Art thou aware Of nothing there Which might abuse thee, as thou art abusing me? A brain that mourns _thine_ unredeemed rascality? A soul that weeps at _thy_ threadbare morality? Both grieving that _their_ individuality Is merged in thine? [Illustration] THE REWARD OF MERIT DR. BELVILLE was regarded as the CRICHTON of his age: His tragedies were reckoned much too thoughtful for the stage; His poems held a noble rank, although it's very true That, being very proper, they were read by very few. He was a famous Painter, too, and shone upon the "line," And even MR. RUSKIN came and worshipped at his shrine; But, alas, the school he followed was heroically high-- The kind of Art men rave about, but very seldom buy; And everybody said "How can he be repaid-- This very great--this very good--this very gifted man?" But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan! He was a great Inventor, and discovered, all alone, A plan for making everybody's fortune but his own; For, in business, an Inventor's little better than a fool, And my highly-gifted friend was no exception to the rule. His poems--people read them in the Quarterly Reviews-- His pictures--they engraved them in the _Illustrated News_-- His inventions--they, perhaps, might have enriched him by degrees, But all his little income went in Patent Office fees; And everybody said "How can he be repaid-- This very great--this very good--this very gifted man?" But nobody could hit upon a practicable plan! At last the point was given up in absolute despair, When a distant cousin died, and he became a millionaire, With a county seat in Parliament, a moor or two of grouse, And a taste for making inconvenient speeches in the House! _Then_ it flashed upon Britannia that the fittest of rewards Was, to take him from the Commons and to put him in the Lords! And who so fit to sit in it, deny it if you can, As this very great--this very good--this very gifted man? (Though I'm more than half afraid That it sometimes may be said That we never should have revelled in that source of proper pride, However great his merits--if his cousin hadn't died!) [Illustration] THE GHOST, THE GALLANT, THE GAEL, AND THE GOBLIN