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THE TROUBLESOME WIFE.-ANON.

A MAN had once a vicious wife—

(A most uncommon thing in life ;)

His days and nights were spent in strife unceasing,

Her tongue went glibly all day long,
Sweet contradiction still her song,
And all the poor man did was wrong,

and ill-done.

A truce without doors, or within,
From speeches long as tradesmen spin,
Or rest from her eternal din, he found not.

He every soothing art displayed;

Tried of what stuff her hide was made.
Failing in all, to Heaven he prayed to take her.

Once walking by a river's side,

In mournful terms, "My dear," he cried,

"No more let feuds our peace divide: I'll end them.

Weary of life, and quite resigned,

To drown, I have made up my mind,

So tie my hands as fast behind, as can be;

Or nature may assert her reign,

My arms assist, my will restrain,

And swimming, I once more regain my troubles."

With eager haste the dame complies,

While joy stands glistening in her eyes:

Already, in her thoughts, he dies before her.

"Yet, when I view the rolling tide,
Nature revolts," he said; "beside,
I would not be a suicide, and die thus.

It would be better far, I think,
While close I stand upon the brink,

You push me in-nay, never shrink, but do it."

To give the blow the more effect,

Some twenty yards she ran direct,

And did what she could least expect she should do.

He slips aside, himself to save,

So souse she dashes in the wave,

And gave, what ne'er she gave before, much pleasure.

"Dear husband, help! I sink!" she cried;

"Thou best of wives," the man replied,

"I would, but you my hands have tied: heaven help you."

LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.-COLMAN.

Who has e'er been in London, that overgrown place,
Has seen, "lodgings to let," stare him full in the face.
Some are good and let dearly; while some 't is well known
Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone.-

Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hired logings that took single gentlemen only;
But Will was so fat, he appeared like a tun,—
Or like two single gentlemen rolled into one.

He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated;
But, all the night long, he felt fevered and heated;
And, though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep,
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep.

Next night 't was the same!—and the next! and the next!
He perspired like an ox; he was nervous, and vexed;
Week after week, till by weekly succession,

His weakly condition was past all expression:

In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him; For his skin "like a lady's loose gown," hung about him. He sent for a doctor, and cried, like a ninny,

"I've lost many pounds-make me well-there's a guinea.”

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The doctor looked wise:-" a slow fever," he said;
Prescribed sudorifics, and going to bed.

"Sudorifics in bed," exclaimed Will, "are humbugs!
I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs !"

Will kicked out the doctor:-but when ill indeed,
E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed;
So, calling his host-he said-" Sir, do you know,
I'm the fat single gentleman, six months ago?

Look ye, landlord, I think," argued Will with a grin,
"That with honest intentions you first took me in:
But from the first night—and to say it I'm bold—
I've been so very hot, that I'm sure I caught cold!"

Quoth the landlord,-" Till now, I ne'er had a dispute,
I've let lodgings ten years, I'm a baker to boot;

In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven;
And your bed is immediately-over my oven."

"The oven!!!"-says Will;-says the host, "Why this pas sion ?

In that excellent bed died three people of fashion.

Why so crusty, good sir ?"-" Odds!" cried Will in a taking "Who would not be crusty, with half a year's baking?"

"Will paid for his rooms ;"-cried the host with a sneer, "Well, I see you 've been going away half a year.” "Friend, we can't well agree;-yet no quarrel," Will said: "But I'd rather not perish, while you make your bread."

THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR MAN.-KHEMNITZER.

So goes the world; if wealthy, you may call
This friend, that brother, friends and brothers all;

Though you are worthless-witless-never mind it;

You may have been a stable-boy-what then? 'Tis wealth, good sir, makes honorable men.

You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it. But if you're poor, heaven help you! though your sire Had royal blood within him, and though you Possess the intellect of angels too

"T is all in vain;-the world will ne'er inquire On such a score:-Why should it take the pains? 'Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains. I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever, Witty and wise-he paid a man a visit, And no one noticed him, and no one ever Gave him a welcome. 66

Strange," cried I, "whence is it !"

He walked on this side, then on that,
He tried to introduce a social chat;
Now here, now there, in vain he tried;
Some formally and freezingly replied,
And some

Said by their silence" Better stay at home."
A rich man burst the door,

As Croesus rich, I'm sure

He could not pride himself upon his wit;
And as for wisdom, he had none of it;
He had what's better;—he had wealth.

What a confusion !—all stand up erect-
These crowd around to ask him of his health;
These bow in honest duty and respect;
And these arrange a sofa or a chair,
And these conduct him there.

"Allow me sir, the honor;"-Then a bow
Down to the earth-Is 't possible to show
Meet gratitude for such kind condescension?
The poor man hung his head,

And to himself he said,

This is indeed beyond my comprehension:"

Then looking round,

One friendly face he found,

And said "Pray tell me why is wealth preferred
To wisdom?"—"That's a silly question, friend!"
Replied the other have you never heard,

A man may lend his store

Of gold or silver ore,

But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend ?"

THE MAN OF TWO SHADOWS.-STAHL.

A KNOT of watchmen might have been seen, about eleven o'clock last night, consulting under the veranda of a house at the corner of Canal and Rampart streets. Occasionally one of them pointed his rattle down Canal street, towards the slowlyretreating figure of a man, who, certainly, was conducting himself in a very singular manner.

"Is he a burglar, d'ye think, Bill ?" whispered one of the watchmen.

Bill shook his head, as much as to say, till I knows more, John."

"Can't tell you

"Look-look-look!" muttered a third policeman.

The retreating figure was violently leaping forward, and to one side, thrusting his cane right and left, stamping, and uttering deep-throated imprecations and threats of death!

The guardians of the city rushed incontinently to the spot where the figure-Statius Humbrar, by name, who had imbibed strong drink over freely, was rehearsing a solo of quarterstaff.

"Come, stop this here, will you?" demanded one of the municipal guards.

"Sh! Sh! Don't you see there are two of them? There, that long-bodied, dark-browned fellow, on the pavement, and that crooked-shanked scoundrel shrinking against the wall! But, I'll do for them-I'll fix 'em! Have at you villains! Lay on, McDoodle, and blamed be he who first says Nuff! Sessa!-Sessa!" and Statius plied his cane more vigorously than ever.

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