Page images
PDF
EPUB

thirty-third time that Sir Harry hath been thus arch, and I can bear it no longer.

As the telling of stories is a great help and life to conversation, I always encourage them if they are pertinent and innocent, in opposition to those gloomy mortals who disdain everything but matter of fact. Those grave fellows are my aversion, who sift everything with the utmost nicety, and find the malignity of a lie in a piece of humour pushed a little beyond exact truth. I likewise have a poor opinion of those who have got a trick of keeping a steady countenance, and cock their hats and look glum when a pleasant thing is said, and ask, "Well, and what then?" Men of wit and parts should treat one another with benevolence; and I will lay it down as a maxim that if you seem to have a good opinion of another man's wit, he will allow you to have judgment.

A COUNTRY BALL ON THE ALMACK'S PLAN.

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.

OH! joy to her, who first began
A country ball on the Almack's plan!
Hogsnorton's queen she walks erect;
The ball exclusive and select:

Four Ladies Patronesses sit,

From morn to night arranging it;
And when hear the names of all,
you
the merits of the ball.
Plebeian persons they reject,
Hogsnorton balls are so select !

You'll guess

The squire's own lady, Mistress Pearl,
Her sister (quite a stylish girl),
And then the wife of Mr. Flaw,
(Churchwarden, and a man of law),

And Mistress Pitts, the Doctor's bride,
Related on the mother's side

To Mr. Biggs (who was, you know,
Lord Mayor of London long ago!)

By these, all upstart claims are check'd,
Hogsnorton balls are so select !

They've quite excluded Mr. Squills,
Who makes the antibilious pills;
Not 'cause he makes 'em, but they say
He sells 'em in a retail way;
But Mr. Squills declares his wife
Has seen a deal of stylish life,
And votes Hogsnorton people low,
So if she could, she wouldn't go-

A strange remark, when you reflect
Hogsnorton balls are so select !

And then you know there's Mr. Flinn,
The rich old mercer, can't get in;
And Sweet the grocer has applied!
But Sweet the grocer was denied ;
And both appear to think it hard
That Slush the brewer has a card;
And say, "Why should a brewer be
One bit more fit for hops than we?"

But Slush of course is quite correct,
Hogsnorton balls are so select !

Of course, all those they wont admit
Discuss the ball, and censure it;
And strange opinion they express
About each Lady Patroness;
Says Mrs. Flinn to Mrs. Sweet,
"I wash my hands of the élite ;"
Says Mrs. Sweet to Mrs. Flinn,
"For all the world I'd not go in!"

Here envious feelings we detect;
Hogsnorton balls are so select!

Says Mrs. Squills, "There's Mrs. Pearl,
You'd think her father was an earl!
So high and mighty! bless your heart,
I recollect her much less smart,
Before she married; and I knew
That people said—('tis entre nous)
She was a leetle indiscreet-
So much, my dear, for the élite !”
"Dear me! don't say she's incorrect,
Hogsnorton balls are so select!"

Woe, woe to her who first began
A country ball on the Almack's plan!
Grim war is raging in the town,
The men are raving up and down;
And, what may lead to worse mishaps,
The ladies all are pulling caps;
Indeed we hear, from one and all,
As much of bullets as the ball!

Why was Hogsnorton's comfort wreck'd?
Because her balls were so select!

ON VISITING THE FALLS OF NIAGARA,

1841.

THE LATE EARL OF CARLISLE.

THERE'S nothing great or bright, thou glorious Fall!
Thou may'st not to the fancy's sense recall-
The thunder-riven cloud, the lightning's leap-
The stirring of the chambers of the deep-
Earth's emerald green, and many-tinted dyes-
The fleecy whiteness of the upper skies-
The tread of armies thickening as they come-
The boom of cannon, and the beat of drum—
The brow of beauty, and the form of grace-
The passion, and the prowess of our race—

The song of Homer in its loftiest hour-
The unresisted sweep of Roman power—
Britannia's trident on the azure sea-
America's young shout of Liberty!

Oh! may the wars that madden in thy deeps
There spend their rage, nor climb th' encircling steeps,
And till the conflict of thy surges cease,
The nations on thy banks repose in peace.

SOMETHING CHEAP.

CHARLES SWAIN.

THERE'S not a cheaper thing on earth,
Nor yet one half so dear;
"Tis worth more than distinguish'd birth,
Or thousands gain'd a year;
It lends the day a new delight;
'Tis virtue's firmest shield;
And adds more beauty to the night
Than all the stars may yield.

It maketh poverty content,
To sorrow whispers peace;
It is a gift from Heaven sent
For mortals to increase:

It meets you with a smile at morn;
It lulls you to repose;

A flower for peer and peasant born,
An everlasting rose.

A charm to banish grief away,

To snatch the frown from care;
Turn tears to smiles, make dulness gay--
Spread gladness everywhere:
And yet 'tis cheap as summer dew,

That gems the lily's breast;

A talisman for love, as true

As ever man possess'd.

As smiles the rainbow through the cloud
When threatening storm begins-

As music 'mid the tempest loud,

That still its sweet way wins-
As springs an arch across the tide,
Where waves conflicting foam,
So comes this seraph to our side,
This angel of our home.

What may this wondrous spirit be,
With power unheard before-
This charm, this bright divinity?
Good temper-nothing more!
Good temper!-'tis the choicest gift
That woman homeward brings,
And can the poorest peasant lift
To bliss unknown to kings.

(By permission of the Author.)

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.

An ancient story Ile tell you anon

Of a notable prince, that was called King John ; And he ruled England with maine and with might, For he did great wrong, and maintain'd little right.

And Ile tell you a story, a story so merrye,
Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye;
How for his housekeeping, and high renowne,
They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men, the king did heare say,
The abbot kept in his house every day;
And fifty gold chaynes, without any doubt,
In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

« PreviousContinue »