* * * * * What do we care That this long flowing curl, Such a charm to a girl, Is a dead woman's hair? Our changeable sex, Do as fashion directs; And so long as the hair Is a grace to the head, So long will we wear The locks of the dead. _The Figaro_, May 5, 1875. (At that date ladies were wearing very large chignons). * * * * * On the occasion of an inebriated "swell" being expelled from the Prince of Wales's Theatre, by P. C. 22 Z.:-- Take him up tendahly, Lift him with caah; Clothes are made slendahly Now, and will taah! Punch not that nob of his, Thus I imploah; Pick up that bob of his, Dropped on the floah! Pwaps he's a sister, Pwaps he's a bwother, Come to the play with him-- Let 'em away with him-- One or the other. Ram his hat lightly, Yet firmly and tightly, Ovah his head. Turn his coat-collah back, Get his half-dollah back. 22 Z. * * * * * THE RINK OF SIGHS. One more unfortunate Knocked out of breath-- "Rashly importunate," Jealousy saith. Lift her up tenderly-- Mind her back hair; Fashioned so slenderly-- Fetch her a chair. Burst are her garments, Hanging in cerements, While buttons constantly Fall from her clothing. Take her up instantly Loving, not loathing; Scornfully touch her not-- Think of the bump she got, All through those wheels of hers Which she used killingly; And those high heels of hers-- Sat she unwillingly. She in a mess is All things betoken, And spoilt her gay dress is, While wonderment guesses: "Are the bones broken?" "Who is her milliner?" "Has she a glover?-- P'raps a two-shilliner;" "Or has she a dearer one Still?" P'raps a nearer one-- Gifts from her lover! Alas, for the rarity Of Christian charity, There isn't one Who's a bit pitiful, While that sad, witty fool, Woffles, makes fun. She, as she shivers And mournfully quivers, Sits bolt upright. From window to casement, From roof unto basement She stares with amazement, Mournful of plight. Never this history Tell--'tis a mystery. How her wheels twirled. Anywhere, anywhere, Facing the world; Whirled her skates boldly, No matter how coldly Regarded by man. Oh, but the Rink of it-- Picture it--think of it, When it began; Rave at it, wink at it, Now if you can. Take her up tenderly-- Mind her back hair; Fashioned so slenderly-- Fetch her a chair. Can't she sit down on it? Is she in pain? True. She doth frown on it-- "Shan't rink again!" _Funny Folks_, February 26, 1876. * * * * *