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And court Miss Bell; but there your court
No thoroughfare shall be.

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Said Mr. Clay to Mr. Bray,
"Your threats I do explode;
One who has been a volunteer
Knows how to prime and load.

"And so I say to you, unless
Your passion quiet keeps,

I, who have shot and hit bulls' eyes,
May chance to hit a sheep's!"

Now gold is oft for silver changed,
And that for copper red;
But these two went away to give
Each other change for lead.

But first they found a friend apiece,

This pleasant thought to give

That when they both were dead, they'd have Two seconds yet to live.

To measure out the ground, not long

The seconds next forbore;

And having taken one rash step,

They took a dozen more.

They next prepared each pistol pan,
Against the deadly strife;
By putting in the prime of death,
Against the prime of life.

Now all was ready for the foes;

But when they took their stands, Fear made them tremble so, they found They both were shaking hands.

Said Mr. C. to Mr. B.,

"Here one of us must fall,

And, like St. Paul's Cathedral now,

Be doomed to have a ball.

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MUSIC FOR THE MILLION

AMONGST the great inventions of this age,

Which every other century surpasses,

Is one, just now the rage,

Called "Singing for all classes,"

That now, alas! have no more ear than asses,
To learn to warble like the birds in June.

In time and tune,

Correct as clocks, and musical as glasses!

Whether this grand harmonic scheme
Will ever get beyond a dream,
And tend to British happiness and glory,
May be no, and may be yes,

Is more than I pretend to guess
However here's my story.

T. Hood

In one of those small, quiet streets,
Where business retreats,

To shun the daily bustle and the noise
The shoppy Strand enjoys,

But land, joint-companies, and life-insurance

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In one of these back streets, to peace so dear,
The other day a ragged wight

Began to sing with all his might,

"I have a silent sorrow here!"

Heard in that quiet place,
Devoted to a still and studious race,
The noise was quite appalling!
To seek a fitting simile, and spin it,
Appropriate to his calling,

His voice had all Lablache's body, in it;
But oh! the scientific tone it lacked,
And was in fact

Only a forty-boatswain power of bawling!

"T was said indeed for want of vocal nous

The stage had banished him when he 'tempted it, For though his voice completely filled the house, It also emptied it. However, there he stood

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In vain were sashes closed,

And doors against the persevering Stentor;
Though brick and glass, and solid oak opposed,
The intruding voice would enter,
Heedless of ceremonial or decorum,
Den, office, parlor, study, and sanctorum ;
Where clients and attorneys, rogues and fools,
Ladies, and masters who attend the schools,

Clerks, agents all provided with their tools,

Were sitting upon sofas, chairs, and stools,

With shelves, pianos, tables, desks, before 'em How it did bore 'em!

Louder and louder still,

The fellow sang with horrible good-will,
Curses, both loud and deep, his sole gratuities,
From scribes bewildered, making many a flaw,
In deeds of law

They had to draw ;

With dreadful incongruities

In posting legers, making up accounts,
To large amounts,

Or casting up annuities

Stunned by that voice so loud and hoarse,
Against whose overwhelming force

No invoice stood a chance, of course!

From room to room, from floor to floor,
From Number One to Twenty-four,
The nuisance bellowed; till all patience lost,
Down came Miss Frost,
Expostulating at her open door-

"Peace, monster, peace!

Where is the new police?

I vow I cannot work, or read, or pray,

Don't stand there bawling, fellow, don't!

You really send my serious thoughts astray, Do- there's a dear, good man — - do, go away." Says he, "I won't! "

The spinster pulled her door to with a slam,

That sounded like a wooden d- -n;

For so some moral people, strictly loth
To swear in words, however up,

Will crash a curse in setting down a cup,
Or through a door-post vent a banging oath,—
In fact, this sort of physical transgression
Is really no more difficult to trace,

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