Part 4 (1/2)

Their lofty position our children may lose, And, reduced to all-fours, must then narrow their views, Which would shortly unfit them for wearing our shoes, Which n.o.body can deny.

Their vertebrae next might be taken away, When they'd sink to an oyster, or insect, some day, Or the pitiful part of a polypus play, Which n.o.body can deny.

LORD NEAVES, _Songs and Verses_.

It's dreadful to think on, people playing with their own insides in that way! And it's flying i' the face o' Providence; for what are the doctors for, if we aren't to call 'em in?

_Mrs. Pullet_, in GEORGE ELIOT's _Mill on the Floss_.

Brief, in two rules he summed the ends of man-- Keep all you have, and try for all you can!

LORD LYTTON, _King Arthur_.

_LOVE SONG._

What mistress half so dear as mine, Half so well dressed, so pungent, fragrant, Who can such attributes combine, To charm the constant, fix the vagrant?

Who can display such varied arts, To suit the taste of saint and sinner, Who go so near to touch their hearts, As thou, my darling dainty dinner?

Still my breast holds a rival queen, A bright-eyed nymph of sloping shoulders, Whose ruddy cheeks and graceful mien Entrance the sense of all beholders.

Oh! when thy lips to mine are pressed, What transports t.i.tillate my throttle!

My love can find new life and zest, In thee, and thee alone, my bottle!

HORACE SMITH, _The Tin Trumpet_.

Fas.h.i.+on with us is like the man in one of Le Sage's novels, who was constantly changing his servants, and yet had but one suit of livery, which every newcomer, whether he was tall or short, fat or thin, was obliged to wear.

_Wormwood_, in LORD LYTTON's _Pelham_.

Unmarketable maidens of the mart, Who, plumpness gone, fine delicacy feint, And hide your sins in piety and paint.

ALFRED AUSTIN, _The Season_.

Seeing O. Smith, the popular melodramatic actor, on the opposite side of the Strand, Knowles rushed across the road, seized him by the hand, and inquired eagerly after his health. Smith, who only knew him by sight, said, ”I think, Mr. Knowles, you are mistaken; I am O. Smith.” ”My dear fellow,” cried Knowles, ”I beg you ten thousand pardons: I took you for your _namesake_, T. P. Cooke!”

J. R. PLANCHe, _Recollections_.

_A PRACTICAL ANSWER._

_Says Hyam to Moses, ”Let's cut off our noses,”

Says Moses to Hyam, ”Ma tear, who would buy 'em?”_

s.h.i.+RLEY BROOKS, _Wit and Humour_.