Trade is real-trade is active,
Better times again we'll see;
To remain stagnation's captive,
Is against all history.
Time is long-bill maturing
Must be paid without delay;
Such the only way insuring
Better trade at early day.
Shun this reckless competition,
Look beyond the moment's gain,
Learn that honest coalition

Is far better in the main.

Stop this scheme of future dating,
Ere it has become too late;
Act at once and cease all prating-
Leave consignments to their fate.

Lives of others all remind us,

If our dealing's just and fair, That a better time will find us Getting all our honest share,

American Exchange.

A PHASE OF LIFE.

(The Yankee Merchant to his book-keeper.)

TELL me not in rows of numbers,

Of his assets as they seem,

That if I would loan 1,000

He could bridge the turbid stream.

Debts are real, debts are earnest,
No transferring makes them less;
"Dust" thou borrow, "dust" returnest
Still as great thy sore distress.
Trust no more the men who owe me,
Let the debts just due be paid;
Act, act promptly in collecting,

Ere the last faint hope shall fade.

Failures of great men remind us

How they bought their goods on time, And departing left behind them

For each dollar's debt a dime.

Seeing which perhaps another
Almost ready to collapse,
Takes a lesson from his brother-
Leaves behind a few old traps.

Let us then be up and doing,
With a cheek quite undismayed,
Every debtor close pursuing
Till his bills have all been paid.

American Paper.

A PSALM OF LIFE.

(As exhibited in Christmas Annuals.) TELL me not, O Soul that slumbers, Life is placid, Life is pale! 'Tis not so in Christmas Numbers; There quite other views prevail.

Life is Foaming, Life is Frantic,
Here the dagger, there the bowl;
"Stick at nothing that's romantic!"
Says my Printer to my Soul.
Not to live as boys and girls would
Is our men's and maidens' way;
But to act as if in Earlswood

You might find them any day.

Write of fire, and flood, and battle,
Write of Earls that gaily sin,
Write of Governesses-that'll
Bring the sweet subscribers in !
Lives of Great Highwaymen show it,
How to make our tales sublime;
Bother sense and grammar. Go it-
Give us something new in Crime
Crimes that ne'er, perchance, another,
As he reached his volume's end,
Dreamed of-give us these my brother,
Something fresh in guilt, my friend!

Let us then be up and raving,

Rave of ghosts, and sin, and fate; These the gentle reader's craving, And he does not like to wait!

Punch, January 10, 1885.

-:0:

BEWARE!

I KNOW a youth who can flirt and flatter,

Take care!

He loves with the ladies to gossip and chatter, Beware! Beware

Trust him not

He is fooling thee!

He has a voice of varying tone
Take care!

It echoes many beside thine own,

Beware, &c.

He has a hand that is soft and white,
Take care!

It pressed another than thine last night,
Beware, &c.

His letters are glowing with love I ween,

Take care!

One half that he writes he does not mean,
Beware, &c.

He talks of truth and of deep devotion,
Take care!

Of loving truly he has no notion,

Beware, &c.

Your heart he will gain with his dangerous wiles,

Take care!

Of his whispered words, of his sighs, of his smiles. Beware! Beware!

Trust him not.

He is fooling thee!

ANONYMOUS.

Whilst sitting, in ungraceful pose,

On chair, on chair;

Resent it not,

He is shaving thee.

And he has dyes of every hue ;

Take care

Lest russet locks be turned to blue, Or fair, or fair

-:0:

SONG OF THE OYSTER LAND.

By a Longing Fellow.

"Oysters are abnormally dear in the New York market." Daily News.

INTO the Oyster Land!

Ah! who shall lead us thither?

Our hopes from the New World now pale and wither, There is no joy in Cheapside and the Strand. Who'll lead us with a friendly hand,

Thither, oh thither,

Into the Oyster Land?

Into the Oyster Land!

To you, ye nameless regions

Of Native worth. Delicious daily vision:
Of some Ostrealia, beautiful and bland.
Where at the bar a man might stand,

Gulping cheap bivalve beauties
Down, in the Oyster Land.

O Land O Land!

No longer hopeful joy stirs

Within my bosom. Rubbish, tinned and potted,
Mocks one, by no bright herald now doth stand,
To lead us, with a liberal hand,

Into the land of the cheap good Oysters,
Into the Oyster Land!

Punch, October 21, 1882.

·:0:

THE BUBBLE AND THE BULLET.

(A sweet thing in Morals, not even remotely suggested by Longfellow's "Arrow and Song.")

I BLEW a bubble into the air,
And bright and high it floated there;
Till all who gazed both near and far,
Declared the bubble was a star.

I shot a bullet into the air,

Worth twenty bubbles bright and fair ;
But the bullet's flight was all in vain,

It only fell to the earth again.

Learn hence, in catching the public eyeBullets are difficult things to fly;

So bubble on bubble upward send

And keep your lead for the heart of a friend!

WILLIAM SAWYER,

THE ROMAN PRELATE.

(From a Mediæval Legend.)

After Longfellow's Norman Baron.

IN his chamber grand and fitting,
Was the Roman Prelate sitting,
By his side St. Philip Neri

Stood, the window looking thro'
When a strange, unpleasant feeling,
O'er the Cardinal came stealing
While, as if by wand of fairy,
All things alter'd to his view.

Vanished street, and dome, and steeple, Vanished crowds of priests and people, Lo, instead, a place of torture

(Which politeness would not name), There he saw the souls tormented, Suffer all the pangs invented By the old Arch-fiendish Scorcher, He whose element is flame.

Writhing in and out among them,
Snakes and demons bit and stung them,
Never ceased, the victims, therefore,

Ne'er from anguish could be free,
In their midst a seat most splendid,
Seem'd for some great Prince intended,
Asked the Prelate-"What's that chair for ?"
Quoth St. Philip-"'tis for thee."

Then the Cardinal, in terror,
Thought upon his life of error,
Ask'd the Saint on what condition

Heaven his soul would deign to spare,
""Tis, relinquish worldly pleasure,
Love of sway and greed of treasure,
Banish envy and ambition,

Satan else will seat you there!"

Then the Cardinal repenting,
Soon the holy Saint, relenting,
Gave him pardon, warning, blessing,

Preaching, too, (without a text),
Vanish'd then the Prelate's panic,
Vanish'd then that scene Satanic,
Never more his soul distressing
In this world-or in the next !

He tries to tempt that countryman
(Flinging a pair o' dice),

But having fleeced him once before,
Upon his back he lies;

And with his skinny hand he wipes
A pair of blackened eyes.

Swindling-skedaddling-borrowing
Onward through life he goes;
No morning sees him taken in,
No evening sees him lose;

Somebody tempted, some one "done,
Earns him a night's repose.

Judy, September 4, 1867.

NUDITY.

(Set to the Tune of an Old Ditty.)

["A British Matron" addressed an indignant letter to the Times, anent the nudities which are now exhibited at our annual picture shows.]

BEFORE a study of the nude

The British Matron stands,
A vivid blush is on her cheek,
She raises both her hands,
And for that hussy all undraped
A petticoat demands.

Her air is shocked, her face is long,
Her mission is to ban;

Her brow is set in lines of fret,

As may be seen by man,

And oft while gazing she exclaims,

"I wonder painters can!

Sneak in, sneak out, brush-wielding wights,
Tread softly and talk low,

Take note of Mrs, Grundy's scowl,
Observe her wrathful glow;
She don't approve of frockless daubs
And that she'd have you know!
The Matron's wishing even now
She'd never sought your door,
Since here are pictures on the line,
Some ten, if not a score,

That make her almost long to sink
Unnoticed through the floor.

Crimson, indignant, horrified,

On through the room she goes;
Each glance to left augments her pain,
Each glance to right but shows

Some one who's classic, some one stripped

Of decency and clo'es!

Thanks, thanks to thee, our British M.,

For the lesson thou hast taught.

Not to these Academic halls

Must nudities be brought;

In France the artist comes it strong,
But here he "didn't ought."

Funny Folks, June 6, 1885,

-:0:

FLOWERS.

SPAKE full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers so blue and golden, Stars that in earth s firmament do shine.

LONGFELLOW

FLOWERS (OF ROTTEN-ROW).

SPAKE full well in language most descriptive,
One who walked by the Serpentine,
When he called these ladies fair, deceptive,
Beauties lost in crinoline.

Monstrous are those petticoats inflated,
Altering the syrens' figures quite,
While the swells who unto them are mated
Are eclipsed from the beholders' sight.
Wondrous fashions, manifold as wondrous,
Modern genius cuts its cloth into,

From the head-dress to the sandals under us,
From the "tile" unto the walking shoe.

And the costume-connoisseur, observant,
Sees alike in male or female dress,
More than is by wearer, him or her, meant,
More of folly-but of beauty less:

Gorgeous neck-ties, glistening in the sunlight,
Hats e'en whiter than their wearer's hands,
"All round" collars made to screw the neck tight,
Coats "high-church "-like, and suggesting

"bands."

Trousers in such "knee-plush-ultra" fashion,
Wide above and at the ancles tight,

As would put the ghost of Stultz into a passion,-
Thus ye see the swell in all his might!

"Hiawatha's author tells us in his verses, Men and flowers are very much alike,

But methinks-although his language trim and terse is,

Hyde-park flowers the simile won't strike.

Solomon, we know, in all his glory,

Couldn't to the lily's dress compare ; Shall then moderns, less than him in story, Likened be unto the flow'rets fair?

Most gladly would I have strangled
The Judge who lately said
The Londoner never must hope for
Repose in his little bed.

How often, oh how often,

In the nights that have gone by,

I have tossed on my pillow and wondered Why cats seem never to die!

How often, oh how often,

I have wished that some tempest drear Would bear away in its bosom,

My neighbour's Chanticleer!
And when his protest uplifteth
The mongrel over the way,

I look about for my pistol,
And long for the dawn of day,

And that terrible little Terrier-
Why cannot its mistress see
That it has no right to prowl at night
And bark at the moon and me?

When I think that this latest decision
Of the case-encumbered Judge
Will help my neighbours to beard me,
And to dub my threats as "fudge,

I seem to see a procession
Of ills which must spring from it-
The young man goaded to madness,
And the old going off in a fit.

And for ever and for ever,

As long as those Dogs delight To bark, and the Cats to bellow, And murder sleep in the night,

11

U-PI-DEE.

THE shades of night were coming down fast,

U-pi-Dee, U-pi-Day,

When through a Roman village pass'd

U-pi-Dee, U-pi-Day.

A youth who'd had champagne in ice
They'd marked him with this strange device,

U-pi-Dee I Day, U-pi-Dee-I-Day.

His hat was bad his eyes were black
A short tail'd coat adorned his back,
And like a cracked Pianner rung
The accents of this unknown tongue :-

U-pi-Dee-I-Day, U-pi-Dee-I-Day,

Try not the pass the old man said

Does your mother know you're not in bed?
He took the old man by the nose,

And said one word which I suppose

Was U-pi-Dee-I-Day, U-pi-Dee-I-Day,

"O stay!" the maiden cried, said she U-pi-Dee, U-pi-Day. We're all just a going to sit down to tea U-pi-Dee, U-pi-Day. A wink was in the bright blue eye,

As he said with a hiccough or a sigh,

Oh, U-pi-Dee-I-Day, U-pi-Dee-I-Day.

Remove the flags if you fall pat U-pi-Dee, U-pi-Day,

I say young man I'll have your hat U-pi-Dee, U-pi-Day, This was a cabman's last good night,

When a voice from somewhere out of sight

Said, U-pi-Dee-I-Day, U-pi-Dee-I-Day.