See my footman, how he runs! Ev'ry paltry street he shuns. I'm "at home" to Peers and Peeresses, I'm " at home to all the set Of exclusives I have met; All the coronets shall pass her doors; I'm "at home" to Guardsmen all, I'm 66 And the punning men of wit, I call Oh the matchless Collinet On his flageolet shall play; How I love to hear the thrill of it! THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. NOT AT HOME. OT at home! not at home! close my curtain again; Go and send the intruders away; They may knock if they will, but 'tis labour in vain, For I am not made up for the day. F Though my Ball was the best of all possible Balls, Not at home! not at home! bring strong coffee at two, But now leave me to doze in the dark ;— I'm too pale for my pink, I'm too brown for my blue, I'm too sick for my drive in the Park. If the man whose attentions are pointed should call (Eliza, you know who I mean), Oh! say, when he knocks, I'm knock'd up by my ball, "Not at home!"—I am not to be seen. Not at home to Sir John, not at home to the Count, Not at home till my ringlets are curl'd; Should the jeweller call, with his little account, Not at home! not at home for the world! I at midnight must shine at three splendid at homes, Then adieu to my morning chagrin ; Close my curtains again, for till candlelight comes, "Not at home!"-I am not to be seen. THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. "MY HUSBAND MEANS EXTREMELY M WELL." Y husband means extremely well,— Mama's,― It was a match of my One feature like fifteen, I long'd to leave the prosy set, Sir William's steeds were thoroughbred ; And I consented, though his head Was greyer than his greys, For, oh! I pin'd for Pineries, He grumbles now! A woman's whim At six he rises; as for me, THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. NO LONGER JEALOUS. REMEMBER the time ere his temples were grey, And I frown'd at the things he'd the boldness to say; But now he's grown old, he may say what he will, I laugh at his nonsense and take nothing ill. Indeed I must say he's a little improved, If he heard one of late, it has never transpired, MAMMA. A BASSINETTE BALLAD. T'S tea-time, nurse; I'll take your place- Is this my second wedding-day, And Where are the moths that buzzed about, To singe their wings, when I came out― Brief butterflies of ball or rout? I'm quite deserted. That foolish Archie over-sea, When only lazy plash of oars For as I sat last night at Caste, A In my old school days! But still he liked or loved in vain, At least the Times had this to show- Then Ferdinand, a clever bear A pallid youth, who lived apart, I think he only had a heart For me-and Ruskin. |