And if they dared to grumble, why, I used to raise my rents,
For I always held that the Mob were made to keep up the Cent-per-cents,
And now in this Square I hear BURNS's blare, see the Red Banner wave,
And Society swished by the Socialist; so I cannot rest in my grave."

_CHORUS._

Another Ghost commenced. He said: "I was a great R.A.
(I remember the time when we used to meet in "the pepper-pots," over
the way),
My daubs were always hung on the line, for ourselves we used to judge,
Our sole Ideal conventional cant, our _technique_ broad brown smudge.
And now BURNE JONES's pictures _sell_!!!"--here he writhed with a
spectral twist--
"And our 'broad brown smudge' gives way to the fudge cranks call
'Impressionist.'
I've lost my head, as perhaps you mark--though I keep a ventriloquist
tongue.
What's the use of a head to an Artist Ghost, who has never a chance
to be hung?"

_CHORUS_--SOME OF THE GHOSTS, &C.

A Lawyer's Ghost wept on his post, and then began to state
That the Revolution of Sixty-eight--he meant of Six-_and_-eight--
For the abolition of needless fees, and the stopping of useless jaw,
Had capped the murder of Privilege by the massacre of Law:
Order, this Spook went on to state, was the prey of police--less prank,
All the real jam of life was lost with the abolition of Rank.
Here he wept! Ah! _can_ there be a sight a pitiful breast to thrill