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Hair-locks! There are probably many
Good things to be said about those. Give me time-that's the best guess of any
"Lock” has several meanings, one knows. Iron locks-iron-gray locks—a “deadlock”
That would set up an every-day wit: Then of course there's the obvious “wedlock";
But that wasn't it.
No! mine was a joke for the ages:
Full of intricate meaning and pith; A feast for your scholars and sages
How it would have rejoiced Sydney Smith! 'Tis such thoughts that ennoble a mortal;
And, singling him out from the herd, Fling wide immortality's portal
But what was the word ?
Ah me! 'tis a bootless endeavor.
As the flight of a bird of the air
See the same one again, you may swear.
'Twas my first-born, and oh! how I prized it!
My darling, my treasure, my own! This brain and none other devised it
And now it has flown.
C. S. CALVERLEY.
FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA.
From “Bab Ballads."
At a pleasant evening party I had taken down
to supper One whom I will call Elvira, and we talked of
love and Tupper,
Mr. Tupper and the poets, very lightly with
them dealing, For I've always been distinguished for a strong
Then we let off paper crackers, each of which
contained a motto, And she listened while I read them, till her
mother told her not to. Then she whispered, “To the ball-room we
had better, dear, be walking; If we stop down here much longer, really peo
ple will be talking.” There were noblemen in coronets, and military
cousins, There were captains by the hundred, there
were baronets by dozens, Yet she heeded not their offers, but dismissed
them with a blessing ; Then she let down all her back-hair which had
taken long in dressing; Then she had convulsive sobbings in her agi
tated throttle, Then she wiped her pretty eyes and smelt her
So I whispered, “Dear Elvira, say—what can
the matter be with you? Does anything you've eaten, darling Popsy,
disagree with you?" But spite of all I said, her sobs grew more and
more distressing, And she tore her pretty back-hair, which had
taken long in dressing. Then she gazed upon the carpet, at the ceiling
then above me, And she whispered, “Ferdinando, do you
really, really love me?” “ Love you?” said I, then I sighed, and then I
gazed upon her sweetlyFor I think I do this sort of thing particularly
neatly“Send me to the Arctic regions, or illimitable
azure, On a scientific goose-chase, with my Coxwell
or my Glaisher!
“Tell me whither I may hie me, tell me, dear
one, that I may knowIs it up the highest Andes? down a horrible
But she said, “ It isn't polar bears, or hot vol
canic grottoes, Only find out who it is that writes those lovely
“Tell me, Henry Wadsworth, Alfred, Poet
Close, or Mister Tupper, Do you write the bonbon mottoes my Elvira
pulls at supper r?"
But Henry Wadsworth smiled, and said he
had not had that honor: And Alfred, too, disclaimed the words that
told so much upon her. .