Unless you now give up your suit,
    You may repent your love
  I who have shot a pigeon match,
    Can shoot a turtle dove.

  So pray before you woo her more,
    Consider what you do;
  If you pop aught to Lucy Bell—­
    I’ll pop it into you.

  Said Mr. Clay to Mr. Bray. 
    Your threats I quite explode;
  One who has been a volunteer
    Knows how to prime and load.

  And so I say to you unless
    Your passion quiet keeps,
  I who have shot and hit bulls’ eyes
    May chance to hit a sheep’s.

  Now gold is oft for silver changed,
    And that for copper red;
  But these two went away to give
    Each other change for lead.

  But first they sought a friend a-piece,
    This pleasant thought to give—­
  When they were dead, they thus should have
    Two seconds still to live.

  To measure out the ground not long
    The seconds then forbore,
  And having taken one rash step,
    They took a dozen more.

  They next prepared each pistol-pan
    Against the deadly strife,
  By putting in the prime of death
    Against the prime of life.

  Now all was ready for the foes,
    But when they took their stands. 
  Fear made them tremble so they found
    They both were shaking hands.

  Said Mr. C. to Mr. B.,
    Here one of us may fall,
  And like St. Paul’s Cathedral now,
    Be doom’d to have a ball.

  I do confess I did attach
    Misconduct to your name;
  If I withdraw the charge, will then
    Your ramrod do the same?

  Said Mr. B. I do agree—­
    But think of Honour’s Courts! 
  If We go off without a shot,
    There will be strange reports

  But look, the morning now is bright,
    Though cloudy it begun;
  Why can’t we aim above, as if
    We had call’d out the sun?

  So up into the harmless air
    Their bullets they did send;
  And may all other duels have
    That upshot in the end.

* * * * *

We next quote brief illustrations of the Cuts on the opposite page.  It may be observed that the articles themselves have but little esprit, and that, unlike most occasions, the wit lies in the wood.

First is a Sonnet accompanying the cut “Infantry at Mess.”

    “Sweets to the sweet—­farewell.”—­Hamlet.

  Time was I liked a cheesecake well enough;
  All human children have a sweetish tooth—­
  I used to revel in a pie or puff,
  Or tart—­we all are tarters in our youth;
  To meet with jam or jelly was good luck,
  All candies most complacently I cramped. 
  A stick of liquorice was good to suck,
  And sugar was as often liked as lumped;
  On treacle’s “linked sweetness long drawn out,”
  Or honey, I could feast like any fly,
  I thrilled when lollipops were hawk’d about,
  How pleased to compass hardbake or bull’s eye,
  How charmed if fortune in my power cast,
  Elecampane—­but that campaign is past.