Hark now at Irma, the stork-neck.

Aie! what a long way it is from your throat to your head, Mademoiselle Irma! You were reared upon lemons.

The split hair of your mural crown is not thinner than that voice of yours.

It is a mockery to hear you; but you are good enough for the people, my dear, and you do work, running up and down that ladder of wires between your throat and your head;--you work, it is true, you puss! sleek as a puss, bony as a puss, musical as a puss.

But you are good enough for the people.