LESSON XXXII.

MADE TO SELL.

ANONYMOUS.

1. A FELLOW, in a market-town,

Most musical, cried razors, up and down,
And offered twelve for eighteen-pence;
Which, certainly, seem'd wondrous cheap,
And, for the money, quite a heap,

That every man would buy, with cash and sense.

2. A country bumpkin the great offer heard;
Poor Hodge who suffer'd by a broad, black beard,
That seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose,
With cheerfulness the eighteen-pence he paid,
And proudly to himself in whispers said—
"This rascal stole the razors, I suppose.

3. "No matter if the fellow be a knave,
Provided that the razors shave;

It certainly will be a monstrous prize."
So home the clown, with his good fortune, went
Smiling, in heart and soul content,

And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes.

4. Being well lathered from a dish or tub,
Hodge now began with grinning pain to grub,
Just like a hedger cutting furze;
'Twas a vile razor!—then the rest he tried;
All were impostors. "Ah!" Hodge sighed,

"I wish my eighteen-pence was in my purse."

5. In vain, to chase his beard, and bring the graces,

He cut, and dug, and whined, and stamped, and swore; Brought blood, and danced, blasphemed, and made wry faces,

And cursed each razor's body o'er and o'er.

His muzzle, formed of opposition stuff,
Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff;

So kept it, laughing at the steel and suds.

6. Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws, Vowing the direst vengeance, with clenched claws, On the vile cheat that sold the goods.

"Razors!" a vile, confounded dog! Not fit to scrape a hog!'

7. Hodge sought the fellow, found him, and begun, "P'rhaps, Master Razor-rogue, to you 'tis fun,

That people flay themselves out of their lives; You rascal! for an hour have I been grubbing, Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing, With razors just like oyster-knives.

8. "Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave,

To cry up razors that can't shave."

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'Friend," quoth the razor man, "I'm not a knave;

As for the razors you have bought,

Upon my soul, I never thought

That they would shave."

9. "Not think they'd shave," quoth Hodge, with wondering

eyes,

And voice not much unlike an Indian yell,

"What were they made for, then, you dog?" he cries; "Made," quoth the fellow, with a smile, "to sell! "

LESSON XXXIII.

THE MAD MAN AND HIS RAZOR.

ANONYMOUS.

1. His eye was stern and wild, his cheek
Was pale and cold as clay;
Upon his tightened lip a smile
Of dreadful meaning lay.-

2. He mused awhile, but not in doubt,
No trace of doubt was there;
It was the steady, solemn pause
Of resolute despair.

3. Once more he looked upon the scroll,
Once more its words he read,
Then calmly, with unflinching hand,
Its folds before him spread.

4. I saw him bare his throat, and seize
The blue, cold, glittering steel,
And grimly try the tempered edge
He was so soon to feel.

5. A sickness crept upon my heart,

And dizzy swam my

head;

I could not stay, I could not cry,

I felt benumbed and dead.

6. Black, icy horror struck me dumb, And froze my senses o'er;

I closed my eyes in utter fear,

And strove to think no more.

7. Again I looked-a fearful change
Across his face had passed;

He seemed to gasp-on cheek and lip
A flaky foam was cast.

8. He raised on high the glittering bladeThen first I found a tongue:

“Hold, madman! stay the frantic deed!" I cried, as forth I sprung.

9. He heard me, but he heeded not,
One glance around he gave,
And ere I could arrest his hand,
He had begun to shave!

LESSON XXXIV.

FIRM RESOLUTION.

ANONYMOUS.

1. No! I will never see him more,
Since thus he likes to roam;
And when his cab stops at the door,
John, say I'm not at home!

He smiled last night when Julia smiled,
(They must have met before,)

If thus by her he is beguiled,

I'll never see him more!

Nor play the waltzes o'er;
Nor wear the colors he approves,

I'll never please him more!
I'll conquer soon love's foolish flame

As thousands have before,

Look strange whene'er I hear his name

And ne'er pronounce it more!

3. The plait of hair I must resign,
That next my heart I wore;

He, too, must yield that tress of mine,
He stole when truth he swore.

The miniature I used trace,

And feel romantic o'er,

I'll tear from its morocco case,
And never kiss it more!

4. This ring, his gift, I must return,
(It makes my finger sore!)
Then there's his letters-those I'll burn,
And trample on the floor!

His sonnet, that my album graced,
(My tears thus blot it o'er,)
The leaves together thus I'll paste,
And ne'er behold it more!

5. I'll waltz and flirt with Ensign G-
(Though voted oft a bore!)

In short, I'll show my heart is free,
And sigh for him no more!

If we should meet, his eye shall shrink
My scornful glance before;

Pshaw! that's his knock! here, John, I think
I'll see him just once more!

LESSON XXXV.

TIT FOR TAT-COQUETRY PUNISHED.

ANONYMOUS.

1. ELLEN was fair, and knew it, too,

As other village beauties do,

Whose mirror: never lie;