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Copyright, 1892,
By Frederick A. Stokes Company,

New York

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What's not destroy'd by Time's devouring hand ?
Where's Troy—and where's the Maypole in the Strand?

-BRAMsto.'s “ART of Politics." It stands in the stable yard, under the Sce,-here came the bearing straps; here eaves,

were the holes Propped up by a broomstick, and covered for the poles of the bearers—when once with leaves.

there were poles; It once was the pride of the gay and the It was cushioned with silk, it was wadded fair,

with hair,-But now 'tis a ruin, that old Sedan As the birds have discovered,—that old chair!

Sedan chair.

It is battered and tattered, -it little "Where's Troy?" says the poet! Look,avails

under the seat That once it was lacquered, and glistened Is a nest with four eggs,—'tis the favored with nails,

retreat For its leather is cracked into lozenge and Of the Muscovy hen, who has hatched, I square,

dare swear, Like a canvas by Wilkie,that old Sedan Quite an army of chicks in that old Sedan chair!


And yet-can't you fancy a face in the It has waited by portals where Garrick frame

has played; Of the window,—some high-headed dam- It has waited by Heidegger's “Grand sel or dame,

Masquerade"; Be-patched and be-powdered, just set by Formy Lady Codille, for my Lady the stair,

Bellair, While they raise up the lid of that old It has waited,-and waited, that old Sedan chair?

Sedan chair!

Can't you fancy Sir Plume, as beside her Oh, the scandals it knows! Oh, the tales he stands,

it could tell With his ruffles a-droop on his delicate Of Drum and Ridotto, of Rake and of hands,

Belle, With his cinnamon coat, with his laced Of Cock-fight and Levee, and (scarcely solitaire,

more rare!) As he lifts her out light from that old Of Fête-days at Tyburn, that old Sedan Sedan chair?


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