Yet sweet it were, knit hand in hand, To lead thee through a better land.

Why wish the fleeting years to stay?-- When time for us is flown, There is this garden,--far away, An Eden all our own: And there I'll whisper in thine ear --Ah! what I may not tell thee here!

MR. PLACID'S FLIRTATION.

"Jemima was cross, and I lost my umbrella That day at the tomb of Cecilia Metella."

_Letters from Rome._

Miss Tristram's _poulet_ ended thus: "Nota bene, We meet for croquet in the Aldobrandini."

Says my wife, "Then I'll drive, and you'll ride with Selina,"

(The fair spouse of Jones, of the Via Sistina).

We started--I'll own that my family deem That I'm soft--but I'm not quite so soft as I seem; As we crossed the stones gently the nursemaids said "La!

There goes Mrs. Jones with Miss Placid's papa."

Our friends, some of whom may be mentioned anon, Had made _rendezvous_ at the Gate of St. John: That pa.s.sed, off we spun over turf that's not green there, And soon were all met at the villa--you've been there?

I will try and describe, or I won't, if you please, The cheer that was set for us under the trees: You have read the _menu_, may you read it again, Champagne, perigord, galantine, and--champagne.

Suffice it to say that, by chance, I was thrust 'Twixt Selina and Brown--to the latter's disgust.

Poor Brown, who believes in himself--and, another thing, Whose talk is so bald, but whose cheeks are so--t'other thing.

She sang, her sweet voice filled the gay garden alleys; I jested, but Brown would not smile at my sallies; And Selina remarked that a swell met at Rome, Is not always a swell when one meets him at home.

The luncheon despatched, we adjourned to croquet, A dainty, but difficult sport, in its way.

Thus I counsel the Sage, who to play at it stoops,-- _Belabour thy neighbour, and spoon through thy hoops_.

Then we strolled, and discourse found its softest of tones: "How charming were solitude and--Mrs. Jones."

"Indeed, Mr. Placid, I doat on these sheeny And shadowy paths of the Aldobrandini."

A girl came with violet posies--and two Soft eyes, like her violets, laden with dew; And a kind of an indolent, fine-lady air, As if she by accident found herself there.

I bought one. Selina was pleased to accept it; She gave me a rose-bud to keep--and I've kept it.

Thus the moments flew by, and I think, in my heart, When one vowed one must go, two were loth to depart.

The twilight is near, we no longer can stay; The steeds are remounted, and wheels roll away.

The ladies _condemn_ Mrs. Jones, as the phrase is, But vie with each other in chanting my praises.

"He has so much to say," cries the fair Mrs. Legge; "How amusing he was about missing the peg!"

"What a beautiful smile!" says the plainest Miss Gunn.

All echo, "He's charming! Delightful! What fun!"

This sounds rather nice, and it's perfectly clear it Would have sounded more nice if I'd happened to hear it; The men were less civil, and gave me a rub, So I happened to hear when I went to the Club.

Says Brown, "I shall drop Mr. Placid's society;"

But Brown is a prig of improper propriety.

"Confound him," says Smith (who from cant's not exempt), "Why, he'll bring immorality into contempt."

Says I (to myself), when I found me alone, "My wife has my heart, is it wholly her own?"

And further, says I (to myself), "I'll be shot If I know if Selina adores me or not."

Says Jones, "I've just come from the _scavi_, at Veii, And I've bought some remarkably fine scarabaei."

TO PARENTS AND GUARDIANS.

Papa was deep in weekly bills, Mama was doing f.a.n.n.y's frills, Her gentle face full Of woe; said she, "I do declare He can't go back in such a Pair, They're too disgraceful!"

"Confound it," quoth Papa--perhaps The ban was deeper, but the lapse Of time has drowned it: Besides, 'tis badness to suppose A worse, when goodness only knows He meant _Confound it_.

The butcher's book--that unctuous diary-- Had made my Parent's temper fiery, And bubble over: So quite in spite he flung it down, And spilt the ink, and spoilt his own Fine table-cover

Of scarlet cloth! Papa cried "pish!"

Which did not mean he did not wish He'd been more heedful: "Good luck," said he, "this cloth will dip, And make a famous pair--get Snip To do the needful."

'Twas thus that I went back to school In garb no boy could ridicule, And eft becoming A jolly child--I plunged in debt For tarts--and promised fair to get The prize for summing.

But, no! my schoolmates soon began Again to mock my outward man, And make me hate 'em!

Long sitting will broadcloth abrade, The dye wore off--and so displayed A red substratum!

To both my Parents then I flew-- Mama shed tears, Papa cried "Pooh, Come, stop this racket:"

He'd still some cloth, so Snip was bid To st.i.tch me on two tails; he did, And spoilt my jacket!

And then the boys, despite my wails, Would slily come and lift my tails, And smack me soundly.

O, weak Mama! O, wrathful Dad!

Although your exploits drove me mad, Ye loved me fondly.

Good Friends, our little ones (who feel Such bitter wounds, which only heal As wisdom mellows) Need sympathy in deed and word; So never let them look absurd Beside their fellows.

My wife, who likes the Things I've doft Sublimes her sentiments, for oft, She'll take, and ... air them!

--You little Puss, you love this pair, And yet you never seem to care To let me wear them.

BEGGARS.

I am pacing Pall Mall in a wrapt reverie,-- I am thinking if Sophy is thinking of me,-- When up creeps a ragged and shivering wretch, Who seems to be well on his way to Jack Ketch.

He has got a bad face, and a shocking bad hat, A comb in his fist, and he sees I'm a flat; For he says, "Buy a comb, it's a fine un to wear; Just try it, my Lord, through your whiskers and 'air."