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Rh the table, hemmed, and, having stared hard at Mr. Snodgrass, who was tilting back in his chair, till he arranged himself properly, began to read,—

Again we meet to celebrate With badge and solemn rite, Our fifty-second anniversary, In Pickwick Hall, to-night.

We all are here in perfect health, None gone from our small band; Again we see each well-known face, And press each friendly hand.

Our Pickwick, always at his post. With reverence we greet. As, spectacles on nose, he reads Our well-filled weekly sheet.

Although he suffers from a cold, We joy to hear him speak, For words of wisdom from him fall, In spite of croak or squeak.

Old six-foot Snodgrass looms on high, With elephantine grace, And beams upon the company, With brown and jovial face.

Poetic fire lights up his eye, He struggles 'gainst his lot; Behold ambition on his brow, And on his nose a blot!

Next our peaceful Tupman comes, So rosy, plump and sweet, Who chokes with laughter at the puns, And tumbles off his seat.

Prim little Winkle too is here, With every hair in place, A model of propriety, Though he hates to wash his face.

The year is gone, we still unite To joke and laugh and read, And tread the path of literature That doth to glory lead.

Long may our paper prosper well, Our club unbroken be, And coming years their blessings pour On the useful, gay "P. C." 1em

Gondola after gondola swept up to the marble steps, and left its lovely load to swell the brilliant throng that filled the stately halls of Count de Adelon. Knights and ladies, elves and pages, monks and flower-girls, all mingled gaily in the dance. Sweet voices and rich melody filled the air; and so with mirth and music the masquerade went on.