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A Walking Stick
Erudite
An Honor To Tipperary
Welsh Wig-ging
White Teeth
An East Indian Chaplaincy
Idolatry
Witty Coward
A New Sign
Epigram
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Epigram
A Good Reason
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Black And White
Extremes Meet
Walpoliana
A Nice Distinction
Confidence
Measure For Measure
Good Advice
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A Proper Answer
Rather Hard
Quaint Epitaph
Hoaxing An Audience
Full Proof
A Stout Swimmer
On A Stone Thrown At A Very Great Man But Which Missed Him
A Wife At Forty
Lord Chesterfield
A Voluminous Speaker
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The Railroad Engineer
Jests Home
THOUGH a railroad, learned Rector,
Passes near your parish spire;
Think not, sir, your Sunday lecture
E'er will overwhelmed expire.
Put not then your hopes in weepers,
Solid work my road secures;
Preach whate'er you will--my sleepers
Never will awaken yours.
These lines will be read with a deep interest, as being literally the
last ever written by their highly-gifted and deeply-lamented
author,--James Smith.
Next: The Specific Gravity Of Folly
Previous: Fire And Water
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