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 HE tea-urn is singing, the tea-cups are gay,
 * And the fire sparkles bright in the room of D. K.

For the first time these six months, a broom has been there, And the housemaid has brushed every table and chair; Drugs, minerals, books, are all hidden from view, And the five shabby pictures are varnished anew; There’s a feast going on, there’s the devil to pay In the furnished apartments of Doctor D. K.82

What magic has raised all this bustle and noise, Disturbing the bachelor’s still quiet joys; A pair of young witches have doomed them to death, They are distant relations to those in Macbeth. Not as ugly, ’tis true, but as mischievous quite, And like them in teasing and talking delight; This morning they sent him a billet to say, “To-night we take tea with you, Doctor D. K.”

There is Mrs. J. D.,83 in her high glee and glory, And E. McC.,84 with her song and her story;