THE FUNERAL OF ONE MORE VICTIM AT MONTE CARLO.
NOT a franc he had, not a louis nor note,
As forth from the tables he hurried;
Resolved to discharge one fatal shot,
And leave his corpse to be buried.
They buried him deeply at dead of night,
The soil with their mattocks turning;
When the sinking moon refused her light,
And the lamps had ceased from burning.
A useful coffin enclosed his breast,
Which the Administration found him;
And he lay like a suicide sadly at rest,
With none of his friends around him.
* * * * *
Silent and secret they left him there,
The wound in his head fresh and gory;
Replaced all the plants and the shrubs as they were,
And hoped to discredit the story.
JANE KENNEDY.