"Oh, what a model he would make!" I rushed outside-impulsive me!"Forgive the liberty I take,

But you're so very"-"Stop!" said he.

'You needn't waste your breath or time,I know what you are going to say,— That you're an artist, and that I'm

Remarkably like SHAKESPEARE.

Eh?

"You wish that I would sit to you?"
I clasped him madly round the waist,

And breathlessly replied, "I do!"

"All right," said he, "but please make haste."

I led him by his hallowed sleeve,
And worked away at him apace,
I painted him till dewy eve,—
There never was a nobler face!

"Oh, sir," I said, "a fortune grand

Is yours, by dint of merest chance,To sport his brow at second-hand,

To wear his cast-off countenance !

"To rub his eyes whene'er they ache-
To wear his baldness ere you're old-
To clean his teeth when you awake—
To blow his nose when you've a cold!"

His eyeballs glistened in his eyes—

I sat and watched and smoked my pipe; "Bravo!" I said, "I recognize

The phrensy of your prototype!"

His scanty hair he wildly tore :

"That's right," said I, "it shows your breed." He danced-he stamped-he wildly swore"Bless me, that's very fine indeed!"

"Sir," said the grand Shakesperian boy (Continuing to blaze away),

"You think my face a source of joy;

That shows you know not what you say.

66

Forgive these yells and cellar-flaps :

I'm always thrown in some such state When on his face well-meaning chaps This wretched man congratulate.

"For, oh! this face--this pointed chin-
This nose-this brow-these eyeballs too,

Have always been the origin

Of all the woes I ever knew!

"If to the play my way I find,

To see a grand Shakesperian piece, I have no rest, no ease of mind Until the author's puppets cease.

"Men nudge each other-thus-and say, 'This certainly is SHAKESPEARE's son,' And merry wags (of course in play)

Cry Author!' when the piece is done.

In church the people stare at me,
Their soul the sermon never binds;

I catch them looking round to see,

And thoughts of SHAKESPEARE fill their minds.

"And sculptors, fraught with cunning wile,
Who find it difficult to crown

A bust with BROWN's insipid smile,
Or TOMKINS's unmannered frown,

"Yet boldly make my face their own, When (oh, presumption !) they require To animate a paving-stone

With SHAKESPEARE'S intellectual fire.

"At parties where young ladies gaze,
And I attempt to speak my joy,
'Hush, pray,' some lovely creature says,
"The fond illusion don't destroy !'

"Whene'er I speak, my soul is wrung
With these or some such whisperings:
Tis pity that a SHAKESPEARE's tongue
Should say such un-Shakesperian things!'

"I should not thus be criticised
Had I a face of common wont:
Don't envy me-now, be advised!"
And, now I think of it, I don't!

Bal

THE KING OF CANOODLE-DUM.

HE story of FREDERICK GOWLER,

THE

A mariner of the sea,

Who quitted his ship, the Howler,

A-sailing in Caribbee.

For many a day he wandered,

Till he met in a state of rum
CALAMITY POP VON PEPPERMINT DROP,
The King of Canoodle-Dum.

That monarch addressed him gaily,
"Hum! Golly de do to-day?
Hum! Lily-white Buckra Sailee "-
(You notice his playful way?)-