"YES; I WRITE VERSES NOW AND

THEN."

ES; I write verses now and then,
But blunt and flaccid is my pen,
No longer talkt of by young men
As rather clever :

In their last quarter are my eyes,
You see it by their form and size;
Is it not time then to be wise?
Or now, or never.

Fairest that ever sprang from Eve!
While Time allows the short reprieve,
Just look at me! Would you believe
'Twas once a lover?

I cannot clear the five-bar gate,
But, trying first its timber's state,
Climb stiffly up, take breath, and wait
To trundle over.

Thro' gallopade I cannot swing

The entangling blooms of Beauty's spring : I cannot say the tender thing,

Be't true or false,

And am beginning to opine
Those girls are only half-divine
Whose waists you wicked boys entwine
In giddy waltz.

I fear that arm above that shoulder,
I wish them wiser, graver, older,
Sedater, and no harm if colder

And panting less.

Ah! people were not half so wild
In former days, when, starchly mild,
Upon her high-heel'd Essex smiled.
The brave Queen Bess.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

TU QUOQUE.

AN IDYLL IN THE CONSERVATORY,

NELLIE.

F I were you, when ladies at the play, sir,

Beckon and nod, a melodrama
through,

I would not turn abstractedly away, sir,
If I were you!

FRANK.

If I were you, when persons I affected,

Wait for three hours to take me down to Kew, I would, at least, pretend I recollected,

If I were you!

NELLIE.

If I were you, when ladies are so lavish,
Sir, as to keep me every waltz but two,
I would not dance with odious Miss M' Tavish,
If I were you!

FRANK.

If I were you, who vow you cannot suffer

Whiff of the best,-the mildest "honey-dew," I would not dance with smoke-consuming Puffer, If I were you!

NELLIE.

If I were you, I would not, sir, be bitter,
Even to write the "Cynical Review;"

FRANK.

No, I should doubtless find flirtation fitter,

If I were you!

NELLIE.

Really you would? Why, Frank, you're quite delightful,

Hot as Othello, and as black of hue;

Borrow my fan. I would not look so frightful, If I were you!

FRANK.

"It is the cause." I mean your chaperon is
Bringing some well-curled juvenile. Adieu!
I shall retire. I'd spare that poor Adonis,
If I were you!

Go, if

NELLIE.

you will. At once! And by express, sir!

Where shall it be? To China-or Peru? Go. I should leave inquirers my address, sir, If I were you!

FRANK.

No, I remain. To stay and fight a duel

Seems, on the whole, the proper thing to do— Ah! you are strong, I would not then be cruel, If I were you!

NELLIE.

One does not like one's feelings to be doubted,

FRANK.

One does not like one's friends to misconstrue,—

NELLIE.

If I confess that I a wee-bit pouted?

FRANK.

I should admit that I was piqué, too.

NELLIE.

Ask me to dance. I'd say no more about it,

If I were you!

(Waltz-Exeunt.)

AUSTIN DOBSON.

"LE ROMAN DE LA ROSE."

OOR Rose! I lift you from the street,-
Far better I should own you

Than you should lie for random feet
Where careless hands have thrown

you.

Poor pinky petals, crushed and torn!
Did heartless Mayfair use you,
Then cast you forth to lie forlorn,
For chariot-wheels to bruise you?

I saw you

last in Edith's hair,

Rose, you

would scarce discover That I she passed upon the stair

Was Edith's favoured lover,

A month-" a little month".
”—ago—

O theme for moral writer!

"Twixt you and me, my Rose, you know,
She might have been politer;

But let that pass. She gave you then—

Behind the oleander

To one, perhaps, of all the men—
: Who best could understand her,-

D

E

F

Cyril, that, duly flattered, took,
As only Cyril's able,

With just the same Arcadian look
He used, last night, for Mabel;

Then, having waltzed till every star
Had paled away in morning,
Lit up his cynical cigar,

And tossed you downward, scorning.

Kismet, my Rose! Revenge is sweet,—
She made my heart-strings quiver;
And yet You shan't lie in the street;
I'll drop you in the River.

A. B. C.

AUSTIN DOBSON.

is an Angel of blushing eighteen :
B is the Ball where the angel was

seen:

C is her Chaperon, who cheated at

cards:

is the Deuxtemps, with Frank of the Guards: is her Eye, killing slowly but surely:

is the Fan, whence it peeped so demurely: G is the Glove of superlative kid:

H is the Hand which it spitefully hid;

I is the Ice which the fair one demanded :
J is the Juvenile, that dainty who handed:
K is the Kerchief, a rare work of art;

L

is the Lace which composed the chief part: M is the old Maid who watched the chits dance: N is the Nose she turned up at each glance:

O is the Olga (just then in its prime):

Р

is the Partner who wouldn't keep time;