The Editor's Wooing

VII

BY THM-S B-IL - Y ALD CH

THE little brown squirred hops in the corn,
The cricket quaintly sings,

The emerald pigeon nods his head,
And the shad in the river springs,
The dainty sunflow'r hangs its head
On the shore of the summer sea;
And better far that I were dead,
If Maud did not love me.

I love the squirrel that hops in the corn,
And the cricket that quaintly sings;
And the emerald pigeon that nods his head,
And the shad that gaily springs.

I love the dainty sunflow'r, too,

And Maud with her snowy breast;

I love them all;—but I love—I love—
I love my country best.

389

Robert H. Newell

THE EDITOR'S WOOING

We love thee, Ann Maria Smith,
And in thy condescension
We see a future full of joys

Too numerous to mention.

There's Cupid's arrow in thy glance,
That by thy love's coercion

Has reached our melting heart of hearts,
And asked for one insertion.

With joy we feel the blissful smart;

And ere our passion ranges,

We freely place thy love upon

The list of our exchanges.

There's music in thy lowest tone,
And silver in thy laughter:

And truth-but we will give the full
Particulars hereafter.

Oh, we could tell thee of our plans
All obstacles to scatter;

But we are full just now, and have
A press of other matter.

Then let us marry, Queen of Smiths,
Without more hesitation:

The very thought doth give our blood
A larger circulation.

Robert H. Newell

THE BABY'S DÉBUT 1

A BURLESQUE IMITATION OF

WORDSWORTH-REJECTED

ADDRESSES

[Spoken in the character of Nancy Lake, a girl eight years of age, who is drawn upon the stage in a child's chaise by Samuel Hughes, her uncle's porter.]

My brother Jack was nine in May,
And I was eight on New-year's-day;
So in Kate Wilson's shop

Papa (he's my papa and Jack's)
Bought me, last week, a doll of wax,
And brother Jack a top.

Jack's in the pouts, and this it is

He thinks mine came to more than his;

"The author does not, in this instance, attempt to copy any of the higher attributes of Mr. Wordsworth's poetry; but has succeeded perfectly in the imitation of his mawkish affectations of childish simplicity and nursery stammering. We hope it will make him ashamed of his Alice Fell, and the greater part of his last volumes of which it is by no means a parody, but a very fair, and indeed we think a flattering, imitation."-Edinburg Review.

.

The Baby's Début

So to my drawer he goes,

Takes out the doll, and, O, my stars!
He pokes her head between the bars,
And melts off half her nose!

Quite cross, a bit of string I beg,
And tie it to his peg-top's peg,

And bang, with might and main,
Its head against the parlor-door:
Off flies the head, and hits the floor,
And breaks a window-pane.

This made him cry with rage and spite:
Well, let him cry, it serves him right.
A pretty thing, forsooth!

If he's to melt, all scalding hot,
Half my doll's nose, and I am not
To draw his peg-top's tooth!

Aunt Hannah heard the window break,
And cried, "O naughty Nancy Lake,
Thus to distress your aunt:
No Drury Lane for you to-day!"
And while papa said, "Pooh, she may!"
Mamma said, "No, she sha'n't!”

Well, after many a sad reproach,
They got into a hackney-coach,

And trotted down the street.

I saw them go: one horse was blind,
The tails of both hung down behind,
Their shoes were on their feet.

The chaise in which poor brother Bill
Used to be drawn to Pentonville,

Stood in the lumber-room:

I wiped the dust from off the top,
While Molly mopped it with a mop,
And brushed it with a broom.

391

My uncle's porter, Samuel Hughes,
Came in at six to black the shoes,
(I always talk to Sam:)

So what does he, but takes, and drags
Me in the chaise along the flags,
And leaves me where I am.

My father's walls are made of brick,
But not so tall and not so thick

As these; and, goodness me!

My father's beams are made of wood,
But never, never half so good
As those that now I see.

What a large floor! 'tis like a town!
The carpet, when they lay it down,
Won't hide it, I'll be bound;
And there's a row of lamps!-my eye!
How they do blaze! I wonder why
They keep them on the ground.

At first I caught hold of the wing,
And kept away; but Mr. Thing-

umbob, the prompter man,

Gave with his hand my chaise a shove,
And said, "Go on, my pretty love;
Speak to 'em little Nan.

"You've only got to curtsy, whisp-
er, hold your chin up, laugh and lisp,
And then you're sure to take:

I've known the day when brats, not quite
Thirteen, got fifty pounds a night;

Then why not Nancy Lake?"

But while I'm speaking, where's papa?
And where's my aunt? and where's mamma?
Where's Jack? O there they sit!

They smile, they nod; I'll go my ways,
And order round poor Billy's chaise,

To join them in the pit.

The Cantelope

And now, good gentlefolks, I go
To join mamma, and see the show;
So, bidding you adieu,

I curtsy like a pretty miss,

And if you'll blow to me a kiss,

I'll blow a kiss to you.

[Blows a kiss, and exit.]

393

James Smith.

THE CANTELOPE

SIDE by side in the crowded streets,

Amid its ebb and flow,

We walked together one autumn morn; ('Twas many years ago!)

The markets blushed with fruits and flowers;
(Both Memory and Hope!)

You stopped and bought me at the stall,
A spicy cantelope.

We drained together its honeyed wine,
We cast the seeds away;

I slipped and fell on the moony rinds,
And you took me home on a dray!

The honeyed wine of your love is drained;
I limp from the fall I had;

The snow-flakes muffle the empty stall,
And everything is sad.

The sky is an inkstand, upside down,
It splashes the world with gloom;
The earth is full of skeleton bones,
And the sea is a wobbling tomb!

Bayard Taylor.