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Rh :While I’m alive to wear it; And if, in whispering my name, There’s music in the voice of fame
 * Like Garcia’s,11 let me hear it!

The Christmas holidays are nigh, Therefore till New-Year’s Eve, good-by,
 * Then “revenons à nos moutons,”

Yourself and aldermen—meanwhile, Look o’er this letter with a smile; And keep the secret of its song As faithfully, but not as long, As you have guarded from the eyes Of editorial Paul Prys,
 * And other meddling, murmuring claimants,

Those Eleusinian mysteries,
 * The city’s cash receipts and payments.

Yours ever, T. C.