C. F. Browne, Artemus Ward's Lecture.
HOULD yours (kind heaven, avert the omen!)
Like the cravats of vulgar, low men,
Asunder start—and, yawning wide,
Disclose a chasm on either side;
Or should it stubbornly persist
To take some awkward tasteless twist,
Some crease, indelible, and look
Just like a dunce's dog-eared book,
How would you parry the disgrace?
In what assembly show your face?
How brook your rival's scornful glance,
Or partners' titter in the dance?
How in the morning dare to meet
The quizzers of the park and street?
Your occupation's gone; in vain
Hope to dine out, or flirt again.
The ladies from their lists would put you,
And even I, my friend, must cut you!
H. Luttrell, Letters to Julia.
MAN can never manage a woman. Till a woman marries, a prudent man leaves her to women; when she does marry, she manages her husband, and there's an end of it.
Kenelm Chillingly, in Lord Lytton's novel.
HOMAGE TO THE SCOTCH RIFLES, BY A SPITEFUL
COMPETITOR.
