TO SOME EXPECTANT BARDS.
God rest you, merry gentlemen!
You twittering, chirping poetasters.
What though you ply for praise the pen,
'Tis a mad world, you know, my masters.
And therefore in our land of fools,
Where genius starves in many a gutter,
And all the lore of all the schools
Scarce finds a man in bread-and-butter;
Where rhymes abound, though small and few
The prizes are that any bard won,
Your lot, O facile rhyming crew
Of would-be laureates, is a hard one.
Go on and versify. God wot,
With bards and rhymes I would not quarrel.
You have my sympathies, but not
(And may it so remain) the laurel.
Extraordinary Fact in Natural History.—A Gentleman, whose name is well known in scientific circles, vouches for the following fact. He was, he says, passing a poulterer's shop, when he actually saw a hare buy a rabbit!! He subsequently added, that much depended on the way of spelling "buy."
Mrs. R., whose nephew broke his leg at
football the other day, told a friend that it
was a confounded fraction, but she hoped the
bones would ignite in the end.
