“Dun!” I cried, “inhuman creature, human still in form and feature, Much I’ve hoped you’d take my orders as you’ve always done before; Tell me――for although you’re fuddled, you’re not utterly bemuddled―― Tell me if this hope I’ve cuddled is well-founded, I implore; Will they, will they give me credit? tell me clearly, I implore?” Quoth the tailor, “Tick-no-more!” XVI. “Dun!” I cried, “inhuman creature, human still in form and feature, By the piper who performed for Moses in the days of yore, Tell me won’t, oh! brainless brute, your firm supply to me in future Raiment of unequalled suture――genuine make of Baize and Blore, Clothes of rare and radiant suture――splendid make of Baize and Blore?” Quoth the tailor, “Tick-no-more!” XVII. “Then be off, you sour curmudgeon!” cried I, starting up in dudgeon, “Get you back to goose and scissors, get you back to Baize and Blore; Leave no long account suggestive of reflections most unfestive, Such as make me sleepless, restive――quit my chamber, quit my door; Take your bill from off my table, take yourself from out my door!” Quoth the tailor, “Tick-no-more!” XVIII. Thus the tailor dunned for payment for the raiment, for the raiment Mentioned in the bill he did not take from out my chamber door; Thus he left me grimly staring, and that long account up tearing, Part went up the chimney flaring, part lay scattered on the floor; But that bill whose shreds went flying, or lay scattered on the floor Now is settled ever more. _Odd Echoes from Oxford_, by A. Merion, B.A. (John Camden Hotten, London, 1872.) ―――――――― THE SHAVIN’. (A piece of ravin’ _à la_ Edgar A. Poe.) One morning after sleeping I thought I heard a creeping, As if some one were approaching close to my bedroom door: Then a loud impatient tapping put an end unto my napping, And I wondered who was rapping, rapping at my bedroom door, So I timidly enquired who was at my bedroom door―― Only that, and nothing more. When there came another knock, with, “Sir, ’tis eight o’clock,” And, only half awakened, I leaped out upon the floor; And by want of proper care hit my leg against a chair, Which improperly stood there, as ’twas left the night before, And I limped a very little as I crept towards the door―― Just a little, nothing more. Then on asking, “What’s the matter?” said the servant, “Here’s your water,” And you’ve slept in rather later than you ever did before; So as I was rather press’d I got very quickly drest In my trousers and my vest; then I opened up the door, And I muttered as I took it and shut to my bedroom door―― “Oh, that shavin’, what a bore!”