Lead them on with hopes-deceive them— Then turn coldly round, and leave them, Beauty Clare. Some new slave I note each season, In your box I see them dangling, Trophies ranged behind your chair; When at kettle-drums presiding, Lest one slave wax over-jealous, What perfection in your waltzing! How you light the smoldering embers Of decrepit Peers and Members! While you still have smiles to spare For a new-fledged boy from college, Sitting at your feet for knowledge! Beauty Clare! At your country-seat in Salop, With you on your chestnut mare! How the country misses hate you, All-accomplished little creature! Beauty Clare? ・田・ HAMILTON AÏDÉ. UNDER THE TREES. "UNDER the trees!" who but agrees he's An authority) lie very much at their ease, Not objecting at all, though its rather a squeeze, Or, if serious, on something of A. K. H. B.'s, Some sit in twos or (less frequently) threes, With their innocent lamb's-wool or book on their knees, And talk and enact any nonsense you please, As they gaze into eyes that are blue as the seas, And you hear an occasional "Harry, don't tease," From the sweetest of lips in the softest of keys, And other remarks which to me are Chinese. And fast the time flees, till a lady-like sneeze, Or a portly papa's more elaborate wheeze, Makes Miss Tabitha seize on her brown muf fetees And announce as a fact that it's going to freeze, And that young people ought to attend to their P's And their Q's, and not court every form of disease. Then Tommy eats up the three last ratafias, And pretty Louise wraps her robe de cerise Round a bosom as tender as Widow Machree's, And (in spite of the pleas of her lorn vis à vis) Goes and wraps up her uncle-a patient of Skey's, |