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While at this he wonders blindly,
Nor their meaning can divine, Proud she turns them round, and kindly,
"All of these are mine and thine !"
Here he pines and grows dyspeptic,
Losing heart he loses pithHints that Bishop Tait's a sceptic,
Swears that Moses was a myth. Sees no evidence in Paley,
Takes to drinking ratafia : Shies the muffins at Miss Bailey,
While she's pouring out the tea. One day, knocking up his quarters,
Poor Miss Bailey found him dead, Hanging in his knotted garters, Which she knitted ere they wed.
I envy not the plodding boor,
Whose stupid ignorant content
Cares not if odds on an event
And says, “I take the wiser way,
I feel it when I lose the most,
'Tis better to have play'd and lost Than never to have played at all.
(Name of Author not known).
PUNCH TO SALISBURY. I hold it true, whate'er befall, Though Jingo bounce and patriot rail, 'Twere better far to meet and fail, Than never try to meet at all.
£ s. D. "Abiit ad plures." BADEN-BADEN, MDCCCLXVIIT,
THE RINKER'S SOLACE. I hold it true whoe'er may fall,
I feel it when I tumble most, 'Tis better to have rinked and lost Than never to have rinked at all.
I Hold it truth, with him who rings · His money on a testing stone
To judge its goodness by its tone,
That gold wili buy all other things. It hides the ravages of years;
It gilds the matrimonial match;
It makes desormity “a catch ;" And dries the sorrowing widow's tears. Let love grasp cash, lest both be drowned ;
Let Mammon keep his gilded gloss;
Ah, easier far to bear the loss
While of his winnings he may boast,
And now is weak and overworn."
0, Fortune, fickle as the breeze !
O, Temptress, at the shrine of gain !
O, sweet and bitter !-- all in vain I come to thee for monied ease ! ". The chances surely run," she says;
But prick the series with a pin ;
Mark well ; and then go in and win !Or lose ! for there are but two ways. And still the phantom, Fortune, stands
And sings with siren silvery tone ;
With constant energies pursue ?
Or do as other people do-Escape the tangles of her hair?
The smile that once lured one and all,
For him she loved ;- divinely tall;
Small sparks of anger you might catch,
And yet those eyes you could not match,
Waiting here for Fred ;
He's not come yet,” she said.
If I would like a sail or row ;
He said at one o'clock we'd go.
And where is he, I'd like to know?
Oh! if I did not love him so
When I am not with Fred ;
Why won't he come ?" she said.
And down her damask cheek they crept ;
She cried, “I'll no excuse accept.
When suddenly, approaching near,
She cried, “ Qh, here comes Fred !"
H. C. NEWTON. From Tom Hood's Comic Annual, 1884.
XXVII. I envy not in any mood
The mortal void of Mammon's lust,
Who never to a chance will trust, And never Fortune's favours woo'd.