“Cuss him money! Here’s a fuss!” exclaimed the culprit, quite worn out at last by the persecution. “Cuss him money! here’s a fuss! What me ’teal him for? What me do wid him? What anybody ’teal him for? Why, for sure, _to buy sugar_!” [Illustration: “LAWK! HOW THE BLACKS ARE FALLING.”] [Illustration: SHORT OF BAIT.--GIVE ME A WORM.] EPIGRAMS. COMPOSED ON READING A DIARY LATELY PUBLISHED. That flesh is grass is now as clear as day, To any but the merest purblind pup; Death cuts it down, and then, to make her hay, My Lady B---- comes and rakes it up. THE LAST WISH. When I resign this world so briary, To have across the Styx my ferrying, Oh, may I die without a DIARY! And be interr’d without a BURY-ing! * * * * * The poor dear dead have been laid out in vain, Turn’d into cash, they are laid out again! THE DEVIL’S ALBUM. It will seem an odd whim For a Spirit so grim As the Devil to take a delight in; But by common renown He has come up to town, With an Album for people to write in! On a handsomer book Mortal never did look; Of a flame-colour silk is the binding! With a border superb, Where through flow’ret and herb, The old serpent goes brilliantly winding! By gilded grotesques, And emboss’d arabesques, The whole cover, in fact, is pervaded; But, alas! in a taste That betrays they were traced At the will of a Spirit degraded! As for paper--the best, But extremely hot-pressed, Courts the pen to luxuriate upon it, And against ev’ry blank There’s a note on the Bank, As a bribe for a sketch or a sonnet. Who will care to appear In the Fiend’s Souvenir, Is a question to mortals most vital; But the very first leaf, It’s the public belief, Will be fill’d by a Lady of Title! THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD.