Said Mr. Clay to Mr. Bray, "And so I say to you, unless I, who have shot and hit bulls' eyes, Now gold is oft for silver changed, 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, 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. 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, In time and tune, Correct as clocks, and musical as glasses! Whether this grand harmonic scheme Is more than I pretend to guess T. Hood In one of those small, quiet streets, To shun the daily bustle and the noise But land, joint-companies, and life-insurance In one of these back streets, to peace so dear, Began to sing with all his might, "I have a silent sorrow here!" Heard in that quiet place, His voice had all Lablache's body, in it; 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 In vain were sashes closed, And doors against the persevering Stentor; 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, They had to draw ; With dreadful incongruities In posting legers, making up accounts, Or casting up annuities Stunned by that voice so loud and hoarse, No invoice stood a chance, of course! From room to room, from floor to floor, "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 Will crash a curse in setting down a cup, |