* * * * *

IN MEMORY OF DORA.

(_A JOYOUS ANTICIPATION_.)

Walk very softly here and very slowly;
Let no sound pass the barrier of your teeth;
Not that the spot whereon you tread is holy,
But lest you rouse her up that lies beneath.

She ruthlessly curtailed our golf and skittles;
She vetoed daily sprees and nightly jinks;
She doled our baccy and weighed out our victuals,
And watered (cruellest of all) our drinks.

Anathema (by order) were our races;
Joy-riding was taboo in car or train;
And when they ventured to kick o'er the traces
She strafed her victims till they roared again.

Now where she sleeps the sleep that knows no waking
A simply graven sentence marks the place
(The Latin's shaky but bears no mistaking):--
"_Hic jacet DORA and hic let her jace_."

* * * * *

AN UNHAPPY CHRISTMAS.