You read my verse; the praises you bestow
Can make innocuous the critic's curse,
Vain his attack, unfelt his shrewdest blow,
_You_ read my verse.
You like the rhymes; think not their writer worse
If just one hint he cannot well forego,
The bard, to put it in a manner terse,
Does not exist on praise alone, you know,
And sympathy can hardly fill his purse;--
You borrow, and you do not _buy_, although
You read my verse!
* * * * *
"GONE NAP!"--It is all up with Mr. G.! The distinguished M.P. for St.
Pancras, in whose lineaments _Mr. Punch_ traced a marked resemblance
to the features of the Great Emperor of the French, and there and
thenceforth raising him from the rank of Mr. PELL as he was formerly
known, immediately christening him "NAPOLEON BOLTONPARTY" (with
likeness drawn by LIKA-JOKO), even he has joined the Unionist
Opposition. He is no longer "Going Nap," he has gone. Doubtless,
Conservatives have their eye on him: but NAPOLEON BOLTONPARTY is too
wary to be caught "napping."
* * * * *
[Illustration: INEXPENSIVE HOSPITALITY.
_Fussy Wife._ "MY DEAR, WHAT COULD HAVE INDUCED YOU TO INVITE ALL
THOSE PEOPLE? WHY, OUR LITTLE DINING-ROOM WON'T HOLD THEM! AND FOR A
SUNDAY, TOO!!"
_Sagacious Husband._ "MY DEAR, DON'T FUSS YOURSELF! THERE IS A SORT
OF A '_DON'T-DINE-OUT-ON-A-SUNDAY_' LOOK ABOUT THEM WHICH MADE IT
PERFECTLY SAFE!"]
* * * * *