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And when my worship was most warm,
She “ never found it colder."
I don't object to wealth or land :
And she will have the giving
Some thousands, and a living.
Sings sweetly, dances finely,
And sits a horse divinely,
The desperate man who tried it,
And hang himself beside it!
MISS AMELIA JANE MORTIMER, LONDON,
TO SIR HENRY CLIFFORD, PARIS.
Dear Harry you owe me a letter-
I send you this brief billet-doux.
I can't overcome my regret :
And have never recovered it yet!
I have scarcely been out to a party,
But have sent an excuse, or been ill ; I have played but three times at ecarte,
And danced but a single quadrille ; And then I was sad, for my heart ne'er
One moment ceased thinking of theeI'd a handsome young man for a partner,
And a handsomer still vis-a-vis.
But I had such a pain in my forehead,
And I felt so ennuied and so tired,
Yet they say I was really admired !
As he whispered his friend, and, said he, “ The best and most beautiful danter
Is the lady in white”—meaning me!
I've been once to Lord Dorival's soirees,
Whose daughter in music excels— Do they still wear the silk they call moirees ?
They will know if you ask at Pardel'sShe begged me to join in a duett,
But the melody died on my tongue ; And I thought I should never get through it,
It was one we so often have sung.
In your last you desire me to mention
The news of the court and the town ; But there's nothing new worth your attention,
Or deserving of my noting down. They say things are bad in the city,
And pa thinks they'll only get worse;
And they say new bonnets are pretty,
But I think them quite the reverse.
Lady Black has brought out her three daughters,
Good figures but timid and shy;
And the doctors declare she will die.
He found they could never agree; Her temper's so very uneven,
I always said how it would be.
The Miss Whites are grown very fine creatures,
Though they look rather large in a room; Miss Grey is gone off in her features,
Miss Green has gone off with her groom !
His son has succeeded his sire ;
That you and I used to admire. .
Little Joe is advancing in knowledge,
He begs me to send his regard,
And Charles goes on Monday to college,
But mamma thinks he studies too hard. We are loosing our man.cook, he marries
My French femme de chambre, Baptiste ; Pa wishes you'd send one from Paris,
But he must be a first rate artiste.
I don't like my last new piano,
Its tones are so terribly sharp ;
And get pa to buy me a harp,
He was smoking just now a cigar!
And Lucy has learned the guitar.
I suppose you can talk like an artist,
Of statues, busts, paintings, virtu ; But pray, love, don't turn Bonapartist,
Pa will never consent if you do! “ You were born,” he will say, “Sir, a Briton,"
But forgive me so foolish a fear; If I thought you could blame what I've written,
I would soon wash it out with a tear!