But HANCE’S powers began to fail— His constitution was not strong— And PIERRE, who once was stout and hale, Grew thin from shouting all day long. Their mothers saw them pale and wan, Maternal anguish tore each breast, And so they met to find a plan To set their offsprings’ minds at rest. Said MRS. HANCE, “Of course I shrinks From bloodshed, ma’am, as you’re aware, But still they’d better meet, I thinks.” “Assurément!” said MADAME PIERRE. A sunny spot in sunny France Was hit upon for this affair; The ground was picked by MRS. HANCE, The stakes were pitched by MADAME PIERRE. Said MRS. H., “Your work you see— Go in, my noble boy, and win.” “En garde, mon fils!” said MADAME P. “Allons!” “Go on!” “En garde!” “Begin!” (The mothers were of decent size, Though not particularly tall; But in the sketch that meets your eyes I’ve been obliged to draw them small.) Loud sneered the doughty man of France, “Ho! ho! Ho! ho! Ha! ha! Ha! ha! The French for ‘Pish’” said THOMAS HANCE. Said PIERRE, “L’Anglais, Monsieur, pour ‘Bah.’” Said MRS. H., “Come, one! two! three!— We’re sittin’ here to see all fair.” “C’est magnifique!” said MADAME P., “Mais, parbleu! ce n’est pas la guerre!” “Je scorn un foe si lache que vous,” Said PIERRE, the doughty son of France. “I fight not coward foe like you!” Said our undaunted TOMMY HANCE. “The French for ‘Pooh!’” our TOMMY cried. “L’Anglais pour ‘Va!’” the Frenchman crowed. And so, with undiminished pride, Each went on his respective road. A DISCONTENTED SUGAR BROKER. A GENTLEMAN of City fame Now claims your kind attention; East India broking was his game, His name I shall not mention: No one of finely-pointed sense Would violate a confidence, And shall _I_ go And do it? No! His name I shall not mention. He had a trusty wife and true, And very cosy quarters, A manager, a boy or two, Six clerks, and seven porters. A broker must be doing well (As any lunatic can tell) Who can employ An active boy, Six clerks, and seven porters. His knocker advertised no dun, No losses made him sulky, He had one sorrow—only one— He was extremely bulky. A man must be, I beg to state, Exceptionally fortunate Who owns his chief And only grief Is—being very bulky. “This load,” he’d say, “I cannot bear; I’m nineteen stone or twenty! Henceforward I’ll go in for air And exercise in plenty.” Most people think that, should it come, They can reduce a bulging tum To measures fair By taking air And exercise in plenty.