And my wife, when she espied me, said I wasn’t looking tidy.
And I told the awful story to the wife whom I adore,
And she said, “My dear, stop riding; do give up for evermore.”
And I have, for evermore.
A. J. Freeland.
Wheeling Annual, 1885.
A Cat-as-Trophy.
The other night as I lay musing, and my weary brain confusing o’er the topics of the day, suddenly I heard the rattling, as of serious hosts a-battling, as they mingled in the fray. “What’s that?” I cried, upstarting, and into the darkness darting, slap! I ran against the door. “Oh, ’tis “naught,” young Hornet grumbled, as o’er a huge arm-chair, I stumbled,” ’tis a flea, and nothing more.” “Then,” said I, my anger rising, for I thought it so surprising that a flea should thus offend, “do you think a small insect, sir, thus would all the air infect, sir? No, ’tis not a flea, my friend.”
Now becoming sorely frightened, round my waist my pants I tightened, and put on my coat and hat, and into the darkness peering, I saw, with trembling and much fearing, the glaring eyes of Thomas Cat, Esq.