OUR dressing, dancing, gadding, where's the good in?
Sweet lady, tell me—can you make a pudding?
Epigrams in Distich.
ORD BRAXFIELD, at whist, exclaimed to a lady with whom he was playing, "What are ye doing, ye damned auld ——?" and then, recollecting himself, "Your pardon's begged, madam; I took ye for my ain wife."
Lord Macaulay, Life.
HEN life was thornless to our ken,
And, Bramble-Rise, thy hills were then
A rise without a bramble.
Frederick Locker, London Lyrics.