What was the white you touched,

There, at his side?

Paper his hand had clutched

Tight ere he died;

Message or wish, maybe ;

Smooth the folds out and see.

Hardly the worst of us

Here could have smiled!

Only the tremulous

Words of a child;-
Prattle, that has for stops
Just a few ruddy drops.

BEFORE THE CURTAIN

ISS PEACOCK 's called." And who

"MISS

demurs?

Not I who write, for certain ;

If praise be due, one sure prefers

That some such face as fresh as hers
Should come before the curtain.

And yet, most strange to say, I find
(E'en bards are sometimes prosy)
Her presence here but brings to mind
That undistinguished crowd behind
For whom life's not so rosy.

The pleased young premier led her on,
But where are all the others?

Where is that nimble servant John?
And where's the comic Uncle gone?

And where that best of Mothers?

Where is "Sir Lumley Leycester, Bart."?

And where the crafty Cousin ?— That man may have a kindly heart, And yet each night ('tis in the part) Must poison half-a-dozen !

Where is the cool Detective,-he
Should surely be applauded?
The Lawyer, who refused the fee?—
The Wedding Guests (in number three)?—
Why are they all defrauded?

The men who worked the cataract?
The plush-clad carpet-lifters?—
Where is the countless host, in fact,
Whose cue is not to speak, but act,—
The "supers" and the shifters?

Think what a crowd whom none recall,
Unsung, unpraised,-unpitied;
Women for whom no bouquets fall,

And men whose names no galleries bawl,
The Great un Benefit-ed!

Ah, Reader, ere you turn the page,

I leave you this for Moral :— Remember those who tread Life's stage With weary feet and scantest wage, And ne'er a leaf for laurel !

1874.