You, skewered in rows, with bacon-fat.

"Where art thou, ALICE?" cried the bard.
"Where art thou, Oyster?" I exclaim.
It really is extremely hard,
To know thee nothing but a name.
For this is surely torment worse
Than DANTE heaped upon his dead;--
To find thee quite beyond my purse,
And so go oysterless to bed.

* * * * *

_À PROPOS_ OF THE SECRETARY FOR WAR'S ROSEATE AFTER--DINNER
SPEECH (_on the entirely satisfactory state of the Army
generally_).--(STAN-)"HOPE told a flattering tale."

* * * * *

UNIVERSITY MEM.--The Dean of Christ Church will keep his seat till
Christmas, and just a LIDDELL longer.

* * * * *

THE RAVEN.

(_Very Latest War-Office Version. See Mr. Stanhope's After-Dinner
Speech at the Holborn Restaurant (Oct. 17), and Letter in "Times"
(Oct. 21) on "Pangloss at the War Office."_)