I try to play Sharpe in these matters,
I dodge all the bricks and spittoons--
(Curse that bull-dog! he's torn to tatters
The seat of my best pantaloons!)

A tailor refused me admission,
And said he "vould shoot mit his gun,"
So I, out of Shear opposition,
Counted him and eight others for one.

While not in the habit of swearing,
I can't but be slightly profane
To hear these New Yorkers declaring
Their names have been taken in vain.

* * * * *

The most appropriate kind of dish on which to serve up Horseflesh

A Charger.

* * * * *

[Illustration: SEVERE ON BYRON BUBBS.

_Bubbs_. "DOES YOUR SISTER NETTIE EVER TALK ABOUT ME?"

_Little Rose_. "OH, YES! I HEARD HER TELL MA, YESTERDAY, YOU HAD SUCH A
BEAUTIFUL NECK, SO LONG THAT IT WOULD DO TO TIE IN A DOUBLE BOW-KNOT!"]