I leaned forward and tenderly deposited him in the Fourpenny Bin.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _The Visitor_. "BY JOVE, PERSEUS, I NEVER KNEW YOU WENT
IN FOR SCULPTURE. GOOD STUFF, TOO, BUT A TRIFLE REALISTIC."
_Perseus_. "OH, JUST A HOBBY. BUT, BETWEEN OURSELVES, IT'S THE
MEDUSA'S HEAD THAT DOES IT. TURNS PEOPLE INTO STONE, AND THERE YOU
ARE."]
* * * * *
TO A DEAR DEPARTED.
["Georgina," the largest of the giant tortoises at the Zoo,
has died. She was believed to be about two hundred and fifty
years old.]
Winds blow cold and the rain, Georgina,
Beats and gurgles on roof and pane;
Over the Gardens that once were green a
Shadow stoops and is gone again;
Only a sob in the wild swine's squeal,
Only the bark of the plunging seal,
Only the laugh of the striped hyaena
Muffled with poignant pain.
Long ago, in the mad glad May days,
Woo'd I one who was with us still;
Bade him wake to the world's blithe heydays,
Leap in joyance and eat his fill;
Sang I, sweet as the bright-billed ousel, a
Paean of praise for thy pal, Methuselah.
Ah! he too in the Winter's grey days
Died of the usual chill.
He was old when the Reaper beckoned,
Ripe for the paying of Nature's debt;
Forty score--if he'd lived a second--
Years had flown, but he lingered yet;
But you had gladdened this vale of tears
For a bare two hundred and fifty years;
You, Georgina, we always reckoned
One of the younger set.
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