being questioned as to his reason for making so preposterous a bet, he
confessed that he had been induced to do so by the specious promise of an
advertisement, in which somebody professed to have discovered "_a powder
for the removal of superfluous hairs_."

* * * * *


OUT OF SEASON.


A LYRIC, BY THE LAST MAN--IN TOWN.

Chaos returns! no soul's in town!
And darkness reigns where lamps once brightened;
Shutters are closed, and blinds drawn down--
Untrodden door-steps go unwhitened!
The echoes of some straggler's boots
Alone are on the pavement ringing
While 'prentice boys, who smoke cheroots,
Stand critics to some broom-girl's singing.

I went to call on Madame Sims,
In a dark street, not far from Drury;
An Irish crone half-oped the door.
Whose head might represent a fury.
"At home, sir?" "No! (_whisper_)--but I'll presume
To tell the truth, or know the _raison_.
She dines--tays--lives--in the back room,
Bekase 'tis not the London _saison_."