Page images




pretty page with the dimpled chin,

That never has known the Barber's shear,
All your wish is woman to win,
This is the way that boys begin-

Wait till you come to Forty Year.

Curly gold locks cover foolish brains,

Billing and cooing is all your cheer; Sighing and singing of midnight strains, Under Bonnybell's window panes

Wait till you come to Forty Year.

Forty times over let Michaelmas pass,

Grizzling hair the brain doth clear-
Then you know a boy is an ass,
Then you know the worth of a lass,

Once you have come to Forty Year.

Pledge me round, I bid ye declare,

All good fellows whose beards are grey,
Did not the fairest of the fair
Common grow and wearisome ere

Ever a inonth was pass'd away?

The reddest lips that ever have kissed,

The brightest eyes that ever have shone,
May pray and whisper, and we not list,
Or look away, and never be missed,

Ere yet ever a month is gone.

Gillian's dead, God rest her bier,

How I loved her twenty years syne!
Marian's married, but I sit here
Alone and merry at Forty Year,
Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine.

William Makepeace Thackeray.

Tell me, perverse young year!
Why is the morn so drear ?

Is there no flower to twine ?
Away, thou churl, away!
'Tis Rose's natal day,
Reserve thy frowns for mine.

Walter Savage Landor.


The grateful heart for all things blesses ;

Not only joy, but grief endears :
I love you for your few caresses,
I love you for your many tears.

Walter Savage Landor.

WHEN along the light ripple the far serenade
Has accosted the ear of each passionate maid,
She may open the window that looks on the stream,-
She may smile on her pillow and blend it in dream;
Half in words, half in music, it pierces the gloom,
“I am coming—Stali—but you know not for whom !

Stali—not for whom !”
Now the tones become clearer,-you hear more and more
How the water divided returns on the oar,-
Does the prow of the gondola strike on the stair ?
Do the voices and instruments pause and prepare ?
Oh! they faint on the ear as the lamp on the view,
“ I am coming-Premi—but I stay not for you !

Premi—not for
Then return to your couch, you who stifle a tear,
Then awake not, fair sleeper—believe he is here ;
For the young and the loving no sorrow endures,
If to-day be another's, to-moriow is yours ;
May, the next time you listen, your fancy be true,
“I am coming-Sciàr-and for you and to you !

Sciàr--and to you !

Richard, Lord Houghton.

you !"

CCCCLX. A LITERARY SQUABBLE. The Alphabet rejoiced to hear That Monckton Milnes was made a Peer ; For in this present world of letters But few, if any, are his betters : So an address by acclamation, They voted of congratulation, And H, O, U, G, T, and N, Were chosen the address to pen; Possessing each an interest vital In the new Peer's baronial title. 'Twas done in language terse and telling, Perfect in grammar and in spelling : But when 'twas read aloud, oli, mercy ! There sprang up such a controversy About the true pronunciation Of said baronical appellation, The vowels O and U averred They were entitled to be heard ; The consonants denied their claim, Insisting that they mute became. Johnson and Walker were applied to, Sheridan, Bailey, Webster, tried too ; But all in vain, for each picked out A word that left the case in doubt. O, looking round upon them all, Cried, “ If it be correct to call T, H, R, O, U, G, H, 'throo,' H, O, U, G, H, must be · Hoo,' Therefore there can be no dispute on The question, we should say, 'Lord Hooton.' U brought bought, “Tought,” and “sought,"

to show He should be doubled and not 0, For sure if " ought” was “awt,” then “nought" on Earth could the title be but “ Hawton." H, on the other hand, said he, In "cough” and “trough,” stood next to G, And like an F was thus looked sost on, Which made him think it should be “ Hofton." But G corrected H, and drew Attention other cases to,

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

“ Tough,


" and "chough” more than “ enough”
To prove O, U, G, H, spelt “utf,"
And growled out in a sort of gruff tone,
They must pronounce the title "Hufton.”
N said emphatically “No!”
There is D, O, U, G, H,doh,
And though (look there again ! that stuff
At sea, for fun, they nicknamed “ duff,”
They should propose they took a vote on
The question, “ Should it not be Hoton ?
Besides in French 'twould have such sorce,
A lord was of “Haut ton,” of course.
Higher and higher contention rose,
From words they almost came to blows,
Till T, as yet who hadn't spoke,
And dearly loved a little joke,
Put in his word and said, "Look there !
• Plough’in this row must have its share."
At this atrocious pun each page
Of Johnson whiter turned with rage ;
Bailey looked desperately cut up,
And Sheridan completely shut up;
Webster, who is no idle talker,
Made a sign indicating “Walker!”
While Walker, who had been used badly,
Just shook his dirty dog's-ears sadly.
But as we find in prose or rhyme
A joke made happily in time,
However poor, will often tend
The hottest argument to end,
And smother anger in a laugh,
So T succeeded with his chaff
(Containing as it did some wheat)
In calming this fierce verbal heat.
Authorities were all conflicting,
And T there was no contradicting ;
P, L, O, U, G, H, was plow,
Even “ enough

And no one who preferred “enough
Would dream of saying “ Speed the Pluff !
So they considered it more wise
With Í to make a compromise,
And leave no loop to hang a doubt on

James Robinson Planché.

was called os



Behold what homage to his idol paid
The tuneful suppliant of Valclusa's shade.
His verses still the tender heart engage,
They charm’d a rude, and please a polish'd age :
Some are to nature and to passion true,
And all had been so, had he lived for you.

Walter Savage Landor.



BEYOND the vague Atlantic deep,
Far as the farthest prairies sweep,
Where forest-glooms the nerve appal,
Where burns the radiant Western sall,
One duty lies on old and young, —
With filial piety to guard,
As on its greenest native sward,
The glory of the English tongue.
That ample speech! That subtle speech !
Apt for the need of all and each :
Strong to endure, yet prompt to bend
Wherever human feelings tend.
Preserve its force-expand its powers ;
And through the maze of civic life,
In Letters, Commerce, even in Strise,
Forget not it is yours and ours.

Richard, Lord Houghton



Dear Lucy, you know what my wish is,

I hate all your Frenchified fuss ; Your silly entrées and made dishes

Were never intended for us.

« PreviousContinue »