Of heaven, his angel faces, orb on orb Grow out, stand full, fade slow against the sky All heaven, meanwhile, condensed into one eye Which fears to lose the wonder, should it wink. A LIKENESS OME people hang portraits up SOM In a room where they dine or sup: And her cousin, he stirs his cup, Asks, "Who was the lady, I wonder?" "'Tis a daub John bought at a sale," Quoth the wife,-looks black as thunder: "What a shade beneath her nose! 'Snuff-taking, I suppose, Adds the cousin, while John's corns ail. Of youth,-masks, gloves and foils, And the little edition of Rabelais: Where a friend, with both hands in his pockets, May saunter up close to examine it, And remark a good deal of Jane Lamb in it, "But the eyes are half out of their sockets; "That hair's not so bad, where the gloss is, "But they've made the girl's nose a proboscis: Jane Lamb, that we danced with at Vichy! "What, is not she Jane? Then, who is she? All that I own is a print, I keep my prints, an imbroglio, When somebody tries my claret, Chuckle o'er increase of salary, And the National Portrait Gallery: Then I exhibit my treasure. After we've turned over twenty, And the debt of wonder my crony owes Is paid to my Marc Antonios, He stops me “Festina lentè! "What's that sweet thing there, the etching?" How my waistcoat-strings want stretching, How my cheeks grow red as tomatos, How my heart leaps! But hearts, after leaps, ache. By the by, you must take, for a keepsake, What was able to take his breath away, A face to lose youth for, to occupy age But that, half in a rapture and half in a rage, "A thing of no value! Take it, I supplicate!" MR SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM" OW, don't, sir! Don't expose me! Just this once! This was the first and only time, I'll swear,Look at me,-see, I kneel,—the only time, I swear, I ever cheated,-yes, by the soul Of Her who hears-(your sainted mother, sir!) All, except this last accident, was truthThis little kind of slip !—and even this, It was your own wine, sir, the good champagne, (I took it for Catawba, you're so kind) Which put the folly in my head! "Get up?" You still inflict on me that terrible face? You show no mercy?-Not for Her dead sake, Go tell, then! Who the devil cares Aie-aie-aie! Please, sir! your thumbs are through my wind-pipe, sir! Ch-ch! Well, sir, I hope you've done it now! Oh Lord! I little thought, sir, yesterday, When your departed mother spoke those words These shirt-studs-(better take them back again, A trifle of trick, all through a glass too much Though, 'twas wrong. I know 'twas wicked of me. There's a thick What harm can mercy do? Would but the shade A rap or tip! What bit of paper's here? Forgiveness? There now! Eh? Oh! 'Twas your foot, |