I AM down in the mouth, I am out at the pockets! Ah, me! I've no pockets at all; And all I have left, is a braid and a locket; That's all!
It was rather solemn; quite touching, alas! As she got on a stool to be higher, I acted, no doubt, the entire jack-ass-- Yes, entire!
Arms and lips came together, and staid, as I reckon, With as much as you please of a linger, Till a finger was seen at the window to beckon, A finger!
We'd forgotten the shutters!--the world was forgot, Till we saw that sign, from her father, Which was rather a poser, just then, was it not? 'Twas, rather!
He knew I was ruined--all gone to smash! And he was a man of that stamp, Would call you a scamp if you hadn't the cash-- Ay, a scamp!
His bonds and investments--not in such brains As a poet makes up into verses; His remarks--upon never so beautiful strains, Were curses!
I called the next day, but the stool was removed, And the delicate foot, with a twirl, Walked off somewhere with the girl that I loved-- The girl!
Hang her! hang him! hang the whole planet! The stars!--they do hang--well, hang every body, And hang me, if I ain't a noddy --d ----n it! A noddy!
'THE blank-verse _halts_ for it' in the lines entitled '_Mournful Memories_.' Beside, the tendency of the sentiment is not, we think, a useful one. Were all the dangers or ills of life to present themselves to the imagination in a body, drawn up in battle array, the prospect would indeed be dreadful; but coming individually, they are far less formidable, and successively as they occur are conquered. Foreboded, their aspect is terrific; but seen in retrospect, they frequently excite present satisfaction and future fortitude. 'It is with human life as with the phases of nature, whose regular course is calm and orderly; tempests and troubles being but lapses from the accustomed sobriety with which Providence works out the destined end of all things.' * * * MUCH is said of the 'freedom' or 'licentiousness' of our public press; but we are far behind the press of London in this regard. Look for example at the comments in some of the London journals upon the recent marriage of the Hereditary Duke of Mecklenburg, a 'royal pensioner,' with the Princess AUGUSTA of Cambridge. The produce of his dukedom is described by the '_Charivari_' as consisting of 'nothing in particular; its revenue purely nominal.' The wedding is turned into the broadest ridicule. The Duke had an audience of himself in the morning in the glass of his dressing-case; his 'master of the wardrobe, who was also comptroller of the leather portmanteau and groom of the hat-box,' being the only person in attendance. 'He wore the _white seam_ of the German order of princes, and was looking remarkably well--as all the annuitants of England contrive generally to look.' The ceremony was performed in the usual style of royalty. And when the prelate who performed the office came to the words 'With all my worldly goods I thee endow,' the Duke of Cambridge, who always thinks out loud, kept up a running accompaniment: 'Well, that's capital! worldly goods, indeed! I should like to see some of 'em!' and other pleasant observations; all which were taken to be a gush of fervent ejaculations from the father of the bride, invoking the happiness of the newly-married couple. The happy pair set out for Kew, to which place the Duke's Lord of the Luggage had already conveyed his carpet-bag! The _trousseau_ of the Princess had been laid out at Cambridge House for the inspection of the bride's friends; 'but the illustrious bridegroom, with more modesty, laid out _his_ trousseau on the bed in his private apartment, previous to packing.' Various articles are enumerated; among the rest, 'a splendid uniform for state occasions, consisting of the superb coat of an officer of the Blues, with Grenadier trowsers and a Lifeguards-man's helmet;' 'twelve false collars; nine pairs of cotton socks; two stocks, with long ends,' etc., etc. Such an invasion of aristocratic privacy may be termed 'licentiousness of the press' with as much truth, we conceive, as any of the gossipry of the American newspapers. * * * IN looking lately over the '_Souvenirs Historiques_' of NAPOLEON and MARIA LOUISA, by the Baron MENEVAL, his 'ancient secretary,' we were forcibly impressed with a passage which depicts the love of the Great Captain for his infant son. The child was brought every morning to his apartment: