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Who is prone to catch chills, like all old Ben
galese : But at bedtime I trust he'll remember to
grease The bridge of his nose, and preserve his
rupees From the premature clutch of his fond lega
tees; Or at least have no fees to pay any M. D.'s For the cold his niece caught sitting under the trees.
C. S. CALVERLEY.
A, B, C.
A is an Angel of blushing eighteen;
G is the Glove of superlative kid ;
C. S. CALVERLEY.
O MEMORY! that which I gave thec
To guard in thy garner yestreenLittle deeming thou e'er couldst behave
thee Thus basely-hath gone from thee clean! Gone, fled, as ere autumn is ended
The yellow leaves flee from the oakI have lost it forever, my splendid
What was it? I know I was brushing
My hair when the notion occurred: I know that I felt myself blushing
As I thought, “ How supremely absurd ! How they'll hammer on floor and on table
As its drollery dawns on them-how They will quote it”—I wish I were able
To quote it just now.
I had thought to lead up conversation
To the subject—it's easily doneThen let off, as an airy creation
Of the moment, that masterly pun. Let it off, with a flash like a rocket's;
In the midst of a dazzled conclave, While I sat, with my hands in my pockets,
The only one grave. I had fancied young Titterton's chuckles,
And old Bottleby's hearty guffaws As he drove at my ribs with his knuckles,
His mode of expressing applause: While Jean Bottleby-queenly Miss Janet
Drew her handkerchief hastily out, In fits at my slyness—what can it
Have all been about?
I know 'twas the happiest, quaintest
Combination of pathos and fun: But I've got no idea-the faintest
Of what was the actual pun.
I think it was somehow connected
With something I'd recently readOr heard-or perhaps recollected
On going to bed. What had I been reading ? The “Standard":
“Double Bigamy";“ Speech of the mayor." And later-eh? yes ! I meandered
Through some chapters of “ Vanity Fair.” How it fuses the grave with the festive!
Yet e’en there, there is nothing so fineSo playfully, subtly suggestive
As that joke of mine.
Did it hinge upon “parting asunder"?
No, I don't part my hair with my brush. Was the point of it “ hair"? Now I wonder!
Stop a bit-I shall think of it-hush! There's hare, a wild animal.--Stuff!
It was something a deal more recondite: Of that I am certain enough;
And of nothing beyond it.