THE DRAMA OF THE DOCTOR'S WINDOW. IN THREE ACTS, WITH A PROLOGUE. "A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, "WELL, Prologue. I must wait!" The Doctor's Wore the severe official gloom And skinless Gladiator, The entering spectator. No one would call "The Lancet" gay, Few could avoid confessing That Jones, "On Muscular Decay," room, So, leaving both, to change the scene, Below, the Doctor's garden lay, Unused to vegetation, Filled with a dismal-looking swing. That brought to mind a gallows — An empty kennel, mouldering, And two dyspeptic aloes. No sparrow chirped, no daisy sprung, The vagrant cat that scanned it, A dreary spot! And yet, I own, Half hoping that, perchance, it Might, in some unknown way, atone For Jones and for "The Lancet," I watched; and by especial grace, Ah, World of ours, are you so gray For lo! the same old myths that made 66 The early stage successes," Stillhold the boards," and still are played, "With new effects and dresses." Small, lonely" three-pair-backs" behold, To-day, Alcestis dying; Ulysses' bones are lying; Still in one's morning "Times" one reads How fell an Indian Hector; Still clubs discuss Achilles' steeds, Briseis' next protector; Still Menelaus brings, we see, |