"I've studied human nature, and I know a thing or two; Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do, A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall When she looks upon his body chopped particularly small." He traced that gallant sorter to a still suburban square; He watched his opportunity and seized him unaware; He took a life-preserver and he hit him on the head, And MRS. BROWN dissected him before she went to bed. And pretty little ALICE grew more settled in her mind, She never more was guilty of a weakness of the kind, Until at length good ROBBER BROWN bestowed her pretty hand On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band. [Illustration] [Illustration] A MAN WHO WOULD WOO A FAIR MAID A man who would woo a fair maid Should 'prentice himself to the trade; And study all day, In methodical way, How to flatter, cajole, and persuade. He should 'prentice himself at fourteen, And practise from morning to e'en; And when he's of age, If he will, I'll engage, He may capture the heart of a queen! It is purely a matter of skill, Which all may attain if they will: But every Jack He must study the knack If he wants to make sure of his Jill! If he's made the best use of his time, His twig he'll so carefully lime That every bird Will come down at his word. Whatever its plumage or clime. He must learn that the thrill of a touch May mean little, or nothing, or much; It's an instrument rare, To be handled with care, And ought to be treated as such. It is purely a matter of skill, Which all may attain if they will: But every Jack, He must study the knack If he wants to make sure of his Jill! Then a glance may be timid or free; It will vary in mighty degree, From an impudent stare To a look of despair That no maid without pity can see. And a glance of despair is no guide-- It may have its ridiculous side; It may draw you a tear Or a box on the ear; You can never be sure till you've tried. It is purely a matter of skill, Which all may attain if they will: But every Jack He must study the knack If he wants to make sure of his Jill! [Illustration] THE SORCERER'S SONG Oh! my name is JOHN WELLINGTON WELLS-- I'm a dealer in magic and spells, In blessings and curses, And ever-filled purses, In prophecies, witches, and knells! If you want a proud foe to "make tracks"-- If you'd melt a rich uncle in wax-- You've but to look in On our resident Djinn, Number seventy, Simmery Axe.