"A what?" said Kitty, blushing red,
And gave his cap a toss over;
"Are you? Oh, phi!" and off she sped,
Whilst he bewail'd the "los-oph-er!"
"The learned lover, sir, who bewailed the 'los-oph-er'(said a visitor, who now favoured us with his company) was the last man in the world to die of love. No man ever died of love, who did not kill himself; and no man ever killed himself, who knew what philosophy was. True philosophy may buy prussic-acid, but, like Tantalus, taste not a drop; true philosophy saunters to the Serpentine, and then saunters back to supper and a cigar. This," said Dr. Bulgardo, L.S.D., "I shall endeavour to illustrate in a poetical tribute to
THE GRAVE OF THE SUICIDE (WHO THOUGHT BETTER OF IT).
My eye grew as dull as a half-scallop'd oyster,
And soon would my death in the Times have rejoiced her;
So to Battersea-fields, for no meadows are moister,