Page:A Bayard from Bengal.djvu/185

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"How truly the Poet sang that: 'we may rise on stepping-stones of our dead selves to higher things! remarked the Chicken's Merry-thought, when it found itself apotheosised into a Penwiper.

"I shall not have perished in vain!" gasped an altruistic Cockroach, immediately before expiring from an overdose of Insect Powder, "for, after this fatality, the Owners of the House will doubtless be more careful how they leave such stuff about!"