All is at sea behind the scenes,
          Why do they fear and funk? 
        Alas, alas, the Hunky Kid
          Is lamentably drunk! 
        He’s in that most unlovely stage
          Of half intoxication
        When men resent the hint they’re tight
          As a personal imputation!

        “Ring up!  Ring up!” Orlando cried,
          “Or we must cut the scene;
        For Charles the Wrestler is imbued
          With poisonous benzine;
        And every moment gets more drunk
          Than he before has been.”

        The wrestling scene has come and Charles
          Is much disguised in drink;
        The stage to him’s an inclined plane,
          The footlights make him blink. 
        Still strives he to act well his part
          Where all the honour lies,
        Though Shakespeare would not in his lines—­
          His language recognise. 
        Instead of “Come, where is this young——?”
          This man of bone and brawn,
        He squares himself and bellows:  “Time! 
          Fetch your Orlandos on!”

        “Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man,”
          Fair Rosalind said she,
        As the two wrestlers in the ring
          Grapple right furiously;
        But Charles the Wrestler had no sense
          Of dramatic propriety.

        He seized on Mr. Romeo Jones,
          In Graeco-Roman style: 
        He got what they call a grape-vine lock
          On that leading juvenile;
        He flung him into the orchestra,
          And the man with the ophicleide,
        On whom he fell, he just said—­well,
          No matter what—­and died!

        When once the tiger has tasted blood
          And found that it is sweet,
        He has a habit of killing more
          Than he can possibly eat.

        And thus it was with the Hunky Kid;
          In his homicidal blindness,
        He lifted his hand against Rosalind
          Not in the way of kindness;
        He chased poor Celia off at L.,
          At R.U.E. Le Beau,
        And he put such a head upon Duke Fred,
          In fifteen seconds or so,
        That never one of the courtly train
          Might his haughty master know.

* * * * *

And that’s precisely what came to pass,
Because the luckless carles
Belonging to the Am.  Dram.  Ass. 
Cast the Hunky Kid for Charles!

—­New York World.

A BALLAD OF A BAZAAR.

BY CAMPBELL RAE-BROWN.

First Day.