"No matter if the fellow be a knave, Provided that the razors shave: It sartinly will be a monstrous prize." So, home the clown, with his good fortune, went, And quickly soap'd himself to ears and eyes. "Twas a vile razor!-then the rest he tried- "I wish my eighteen-pence within my purse!" In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces, His muzzle, form'd of opposition stuff, Razors! a damn'd confounded dog! Not fit to scrape a hog!" Hodge sought the fellow-found him, and began— That people flay themselves out of their lives: Friend," quoth the razor-man, I am no knave: Upon my soul, I never thought That they would shave." 64 [faces, Not think they'd shave!" quoth Hodge, with wondering And voice not much unlike an Indian yell; [eyes, "What were they made for then, you dog!" he cries. "Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile,-" to sell.” Pindar: The Case Altered. HODGE held a farm, and smiled content, For rent must come when rent was due. But luckless still poor Hodge's fate: And thus within himself he said: - If Hodge, for once, don't sting the Squire, May people post him for a liar!" He said- -across his shoulder throws "I come, an't please you, to unfold The law my damage shall decide; 66 Sir, I'm so struck when here before ye, 'Fore George! but I'll not blunder now : The Turban Hat. BEAUTIFUL girl in the turban hat! Anonymous. I lost my heart when you mounted that; Remember, when combing your locks to-night, In moments of courage I've been inclined To give you, dear girl, a piece of my mind; Artists may picture and poets praise Irwin. 379 ADDITIONAL HUMOROUS SELECTIONS. The Duel. IN Brentfield town, of old renown, there lived a Mister Bray, Who fell in love with Lucy Bell—and so did Mr Clay. Said Mr Bray to Mr. Clay, "You choose to rival me, And court Miss Bell; but there your court no thoroughfare shall be. "Unless you now give up your suit, you may repent your love; I, who have shot a pigeon match, can shoot a turtle dove." Said Mr. Clay to Mr. Bray, "Your threats I quite explode; One who has been a volunteer knows how to prime and load. "And so I say to you, unless your passion quiet keeps, I, who have shot and hit bull's eye, may chance to hit a sheep's." red; Now gold is oft for silver changed, and that for copper But these two went away to give each other change for lead. to give But first they sought a friend a-piece, this pleasant thought [still to live. When they were dead, they thus should have two seconds To measure out the ground, not long the seconds then forbore, And, having taken one rash step, they took a dozen more. They next prepared each pistol-pan against the deadly strife, By putting in the prime of death against the prime of life. Now all was ready for the foes; but when they took their stands [shaking hands. Fear made them tremble, so they found they both were Said Mr. C. to Mr. B., “Here one of us may fall, And, like St. Paul's Cathedral, now be doomed to have a ball. "I do confess I did attach misconduct to your name ; If I withdraw the charge, will then your ramrod do the same?" Said Mr. B. "I do agree—but think of Honour's Courts ! If we go off without a shot, there will be strange reports. "But look, the morning now is bright, though cloudy it begun ; Why can't we aim above, as if we had called out the sun ?” So up into the harmless air their bullets they did send; And may all other duels have that upshot in the end! Thomas Hood. Cupid's Arrow. YOUNG Cupid went storming to Vulcan one day, ""Tis useless," he cried; "you must mend it, I say! There's something that's wrong in the shaft or the dart, For it flutters, quite false to my aim; 'Tis an age since it fairly went home to the heart, And the world really jests at my name. "I have straightened, I've bent, I've tried all, I declare ; I've perfumed it with sweetest of sighs; "Tis feathered with ringlets my mother might wear, He's complaining his torch burns so dull and so low Little Cupid went on with his pitiful tale, "There, take it, young sir; try it now-if it fail, The urchin shot out, and rare havoc he made; But no wonder the rogue had such slaughtering trade, Eliza Cook. |