A SONG OF THE RULING SENSATION.

I'd be a criminal, born in a slum,

Where refuse, and rowdies, and raggedness meet;

For when to the court for my trial I come,

I'll be gazed on by all that is gracious and sweet.

Fair dames of the land will acknowledge my power,

And Scientists sage will be slaves at my feet;

Offers of marriage I'll get in full shower,

And fools in my cause in their thousands will meet.

They'll trot out each new "scientific" vagary,

Some hope of escape to my prison to bring,

And scribes on my case will be sportive and airy

And tell how I look, eat, sleep, dress, talk or sing.

Those I have butchered will get scant attention,

Interest's sure to be centred in me.

Painters will picture me, poets may mention,

Beauties discuss me at five o'clock tea.

Mad doctors will fight o'er my mental condition,

Hypnotists swear I was somebody's tool;

And if I'm condemned, why a Monster Petition

Will promptly be signed by each faddist and fool.

Murder—and good Dr. LIÈGOIS of Nancy

Will back you, LABRUYÈRE will help you away.

I'd be a Murderer, that is my fancy,

He is the only true Hero to-day!