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He pressed my hand and kissed my cheek;
Then, warmer growing, kissed the other,
While I exclaimed, and strove to sh rit*k
"Be quiet, do! —I'll call my mother!"
He saw my anger was sincere,
And lovingly began to chide me; Then wiping from my cheek the tear.
He sat him on the grass beside
He feigned such pretty amorous
Breathed such sweet vows one after other,
I could but smile, while whispering low,
"Be quiet, do! —I'll call my mother!"
He talked so long, and talked so well,
And swore he meant not to deceive me;
I felt more grief than I can tell. When with a sigh he rose to leave me.
"O John!" said I; "and must thou go?
I love thee better than all other; There is no need to hurry so,— I never meant to call my mother."
THE LITTLE MAN.
There was a little, very little,
Quiet little man.
The color of the tan;
On Saturday, at night,
To keep his spirits light;
"But that," quoth he, and twirled his thumb,
So blithe he was, and free, "Is quite enough for happiness
For a little man like me."
And oft this little, very little,
Would talk a little to himself
I feel I'm very glad. And this I'm sure could scarcely be
If I were very bad. Rich knaves who cannot rest o' n ights,
At every turn I see.
To a quiet man like me.
"For though I'm little, very little,
Do whate'er I can.
I shave an honest man;
My winsome little wife,
And loves Die more than life: — And this is joy that kings themselves,
If thoughts were spoken free, might give their sceptres to exchange With a little man like me.
"And I've a little, quite a little,
Bonnie little child.
And blue eyes bright and mild;
She's merry as a song,
She keeps my heart from wrong.
I'll earn my daily fee, And think the world is good enough
For a little man like me."
Two travellers of conceited cast,
Of the chameleon's form and nature.
"A stranger animal," cries one,
"Hold there," the other quick repl ies;
"'Tis green — I saw it with these eyes.
As late with open mouth it lay,
And saw it eat the air for food."
"I've seen it, sir, as well as you,
"'Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye."
"Green! " cries the other, in a fury: "Why, sir. d'ye think I've lost my
"'Twere no great loss," the friend replies;
"For if they always serve you thus, You'll find them but of little use."
So high at last the contest rose, From words they almost came to blows;
When luckily came by a third —
Whether the thing was green, or blue?
"Sirs," cried the umpire, "cease
your pother. The creature's neither one nor
t'other; I caught the animal last night, And viewed it o'er by candle-light; I marked it well — 'twas black as jet; You stare! but. sirs, I've got it yet. And can produce it." "Pray, sir,
I'll lay my life the thing is blue."
"And I'll engage that, when you've seen
The reptile, you'll pronounce him green."
"Well, then, at once, to ease the doubt,"
Replies the man, "I'll turn him out; And, when before your eyes I've set him.
If you don't find him black, I'll eat him."
He said; then full before their sight Produced the beast, and lo — 'twas white!
Both stared; the man looks wondrous
"My children," the chameleon cries (Then first the creature found a tongue),
"You all are right, and all are wrong;
When next you talk of what you
Think others see as well as you;
[From an FpMIe to Samuel Rogers.] THE MODERN PUFFING SYSTEM.
Unlike those feeble gales of praise
We find them the best trade-%eindu going.
What storm is on the deep — and more
Is the great power of Puff on shore, Which jumps to glory's future tenses Before the present even commences. And makes "immortal " and "divine" of us. Before the world has read one line of us.
In old times when the god of song Drew his own two-horse team along, Carrying inside a bard or two Booked for posterity "all through," Their luggage, a few close-packed rhymes
(Like yours, my friend, for aftertimes)
So slow the pull to Fame's abode That folks oft slumbered on the road: And Homer's self sometimes, they say,
Took to his nightcap on the way. But now, how different is the story With our new galloping sons of glory, Who, scorning all such slack and
slow time. Dash to posterity in no time! Raise but one general blast of puff To start youranthor— that's enough: In vain the critics sit to watch him Try at the starting-post to catch him; He's off — the pullers carry it hollow—
The critics, if they please, may follow;
Ere they've laid down their first positions,
He's fairly blown through six editions!
In vain doth Edinburgh dispense
To catch the Unread One comes too late;
And nonsense, littered in a hurry. Becomes ••immortal" spite of Murray.
[From The FuiTga Fami'y in Paris],
EXTRACTS FROM MISS BIDDY'S LETTERS.
What a time since I wrote! — I'm a
sad naughty girl — Though, like a tee-totum, I'm all in
Yet even (as you wittily say) a teetotum
Between all its twirls gives a lettrr to note 'em.
But, Lord, such a place! and then, Dolly, my dresses,
My gowns, so divine! — there's no language expresses,
Except just the two words "superbe," "magnifique,"
The trimmings of that which I had home last week!
It is called—I forget — it In — something which sounded
Like alicampane— but, in truth, I'm confounded
And bothered, my dear, 'twixt that troublesome boy's
(Bob's) cookery language, and Madame Le Roi's :
What with fillets of roses, and fillets of veal,
Things garni with lace, and things garni with eel,
One's hair and one's cutlets both en
papillate, And a thousand more things I shall
ne'er have by rote, I can scarce tell the difference, at
least as to phrase, Between beef it la Psyche and curls
a la braise,— But, in short, dear, I'm tricked out
quite it la J'rancaUe, With my bonnet—so beautiful!—high
up and poking, Like things that are put to keep
chimneys from smoking.
Where shall I begin with the endless delights
Of this Eden of milliners, monkeys,
and sights — This dear busy place, where there's
nothing transacting, But dressing and dlmiering, dancing
and acting' !
Last night, at the Bcaujon, a place
where — I doubt If I well can describe — there are
cars, that set out From a lighted pavilion, high up in
And rattle you down, Doll — you
hardly know where. These vehicles, mind me, in which
you go through This delightfully dangerous journey,
Home cavalier asks, with humility, whether
You'll venture down with him — you smile. — 'tis a match;
In an instant you're seated, and down both together Go thundering, as if you went post to old Scratch!
Well, it was but last night, as I stood and remarked
On the looks and odd ways of the girls who embarked,
The impatience of some for the perilous flight.
The forced giggle of others, 'twixt pleasure and fright,
That there came up — imagine, dear Doll, if you can—
A fine, sallow, sublime, sort of Werter-faeed man,
With mustachios that gave (what we we read of so oft)
The dear Corsair expression, half savage, half soft.
As hya.iKis in love may be fancied to look, or
A something between Abelard and old Blucher!
Up he came, Doll, to me, and uncovering his head,
(Rather bald, but so warlike!) in bad English said,
"Ah! my dear—if Ma'mselle vill be so very good —
Just for von little course " — though I scarce understood
What he wished me to do, I said, thank him, I would.
Off we set — and, though 'faith, dear,
For 'twas like heaven and earth,
And oh! as I gazed on the features and air
Of the man who for me all this peril defied, I could fancy almost he and I were a pair
Of unhappy young lovers,who thus, side by side,
Were taking, instead of rope, pistol, or dagger, a
Desperate dash down the falls of Niagara!
Well, it isn't the king, after all, my
dear creature! But don't you go laugh, now—
there's nothing to qui» in't— For grandeur of air and for grimness
of feature, He might be a king, Doll, though,
hang him, he isn't. At first I felt hurt, for I wished it, I
If for no other cause than to vex Miss Malone,—
(The great heiress, you know, of Shandangan, who's here,
Showing off with such airs and a real Cashmere,
While mine's but a paltry old rabbitskin, dear!)
But says I'a. after deeply considering the thing,
"I am just as well pleased it should not be the king;
As I think for my Biddy so gentille and Jolie, Whose charms may their price in an honest way fetch. That a Brandenburg— (what is a Brandenburg, Dolly ?)— Would be, after all, no such very great catch.
William Pitt Palmer.
THE SMACK IN SCHOOL.
A district school, not far away, Mid Berkshire's hills, one winter's day,
Was humming with its wonted noise Of threescore mingled girls and boys; Some few upon their tasks intent. But more on furtive mischief bent. The while the master's downward look
Was fastened on a copy-book; When suddenly, behind his back, Rose sharp and clear a rousing smack! As't were a battery of bliss Let off in one tremendous kis3! "What's that?" the startled master cries;
"That, thir." a little imp replies, "Wath William YVillith, if you
pleathe, — I thaw him kithThuthannaPeathe!" With frown to make a statue thrill, The master thundered, "Hither,
Like wretch o'er taken in his track,
With stolen chattels on his back,
The thunderer faltered, — "I'm amazed
That you, my biggest pupil, should
"I did not mean to be so bad;
boo-hoo — I thought she kird o' wished me to!"