There is a sombre rumour in the air,
The shadow of a Presence dim, atrocious;
No human creature can be festive there,
Even the most ferocious.
An Omen in the place there seems to be,
Both sides with spectral perturbation covering.
The straining eyeballs are prepared to see
The Apparition hovering.
With doubt, with fear, their features are o'ercast;
SALISBURY at Covent Garden might have spoken,
But, save for Rumour's whispers on the blast,
The silence is unbroken.
And over all there hangs a cloud of fear,
The Spook of Dissolution all has daunted,
And says as plain as whisper in the ear,
The House is Haunted!

* * * * *

[Illustration: SOCIAL PROBLEMS NOT HAPPILY SOLVED.

_Husband._ "OH, SIR JOHN, SO GLAD YOU HAVE CALLED!--AND SO KIND OF
LADY DASHWOOD TO HAVE ASKED us TO HER PARTY!--BUT WE ARE QUITE IN A
FIX WHEN TO COME, BECAUSE THE CARD SAYS 'EARLY AND LATE.'"

_Sir John._ "OH, I THINK I CAN TELL YOU. SEND YOUR WIFE VERY EARLY
INDEED, AND YOU CAN COME AS LATE AS YOU LIKE!"

_Husband_ (_who does not quite see it_). "THANKS! THANKS! VERY MANY
THANKS!"]