Pa cried, when he saw my garment.— 'Twas a newly-purchased dress— "Oh! you nasty little warment,

How came you in such a mess ?"

Then he caught me by the collar,
Cruel only to be kind-
And to my exceeding dolour,
Gave me several slaps behind.
Grandmamma, while yet I smarted,
As she saw my evil plight,
Said, 'twas rather stony-hearted—
"Little rascal! sarve him right!"

I remember, I remember,

From that sad and solemn day,
Never more in dark December
Did I venture out to play.
And the moral which they taught, I
Well remember; thus they said,
"Little boys when they are naughty,
Must be whipped and sent to bed."

THE BACHELOR'S LAMENT.

H. G. BELL.

THEY'RE stepping off, the friends I knew,
They're going one by one:

They're taking wives, to tame their lives—
Their jovial days are done:

I can't get one old crony now

To join me in a spree;

They're all grown grave domestic men,
They look askance on me.

I hate to see them sobered down-
The merry boys and true;

I hate to hear them sneering now
At pictures fancy drew;

I care not for their married cheer,
Their puddings and their soups,
And middle-aged relations round
In formidable groups

And though their wife perchance may have
A comely sort of face,

And at the table's upper end

Conduct herself with grace

I hate the prim reserve that reigns,
The caution and the state;

I hate to see my friend

grow vain
Of furniture and plate.

How strange! they go to bed at ten,
And rise at half-past nine;
And seldom do they now exceed
A pint or so of wine:

They play at whist for sixpences,
They very rarely dance,

They never read a word of rhyme,
Nor open a romance.

They talk, indeed, of politics,
Of taxes and of crops,

And very quietly, with their wives,
They go about to shops;

They get quite skilled in groceries,
And learned in butcher-meat,
And know exactly what they pay
For everything they eat.

And then they all have children, too,
To squall through thick and thin,
And seem quite proud to multiply
Small images of sin;

And yet you may depend upon't,
Ere half their days are told,
Their sons are taller than themselves,
And they are counted old.

Alas! alas! for years gone by,

And for the friends I've lost,
When no warm feeling of the heart
Was chilled by early frost.
If these be Hymen's vaunted joys,
I'd have him shun my door,
Unless he'll quench his torch, and live
Henceforth a bachelor.

NOTHING TO WEAR.

W. A. BUTLER.

MISS FLORA M'FLIMSEY, of Madison-square,
Has made three separate journeys to Paris;
And her father assures me, each time she was there,
'That she and her friend, Mrs. Harris

(Not the lady whose name is so famous in history, But plain Mrs. H., without romance or mystery),

Spent six consecutive weeks without stopping
In one continuous round of shopping;
Shopping alone, and shopping together,

At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather,
For all manner of things that a woman can put
On the crown of her head or the sole of her foot,
Or wrap round her shoulders or fit round her waist,
Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced,
Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow,
In front or behind-above or below:

For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars, and shawls;
Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls;
Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in;
Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in ;
Dresses in which to do nothing at all;
Dresses for winter, spring, summer, and fall;
All of them different in colour and pattern—
Silk, muslin, and lace, crape, velvet, and satin:
Brocade, and broadcloth, and other material,
Quite as expensive, and much more ethereal:

In short, for all things that could ever be thought of,
Or milliner, modiste, or tradesman be bought of.
I should mention just here, that out of Miss Flora's
Two hundred and fifty or sixty adorers,

I had just been selected as he who should throw all
The rest in the shade, by the gracious bestowal

On myself, after twenty or thirty rejections,

Of those fossil remains which she called "her affections."

So we were engaged. Our troth had been plighted,

Not by moonbeam, nor starbeam, by fountain or grove,

But in a front parlour, most brilliantly lighted,

Beneath the gas fixtures we whispered our love.
Without any romance, or raptures, or sighs,
Without any tears in Miss Flora's blue eyes;
Or blushes, or transports, or such silly actions,
It was one of the quietest business transactions;
With a very small sprinkling of sentiment, if any,
And a very large diamond, imported by Tiffany.

Well, having thus wooed Miss M'Flimsey and gained her,
With the silks, crinolines, and hoops that contained her,
I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder

At least in the property, and the best right

To appear as its escort by day and by night;

And it being the week of the Stuckups' grand ball-
Their cards had been out a fortnight or so,
And set all the Avenue on the tiptoe-

I considered it only my duty to call

And see if Miss Flora intended to go.

I found her as ladies are apt to be found,

When the time intervening between the first sound

Of the bell and the visitor's entry is shorter
Than usual-I found (I wont say, I caught) her
Intent on the pier-glass, undoubtedly meaning
To see if, perhaps, it didn't need cleaning.

She turned, as I entered-" Why, Harry, you sinner,
I thought that you went to the Flashers' to dinner!"
"So I did," I replied; "but the dinner is swallowed,
And digested, I trust, for 'tis now nine and more;
So being relieved from that duty, I followed

Inclination, which led me, you see, to your door.
And now, will your ladyship so condescend
As just to inform me if you intend

Your beauty, and graces, and presence to lend
(All which, when I own, I hope no one will borrow)

To the Stuckups', whose party, you know, is to-morrow ?"
The fair Flora looked up with a pitiful air,

And answered quite promptly, "Why, Harry, mon cher,
I should like above all things to go with

66

you there; But really and truly—I've nothing to wear!" 'Nothing to wear! Go just as you are: Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far, I engage, the most bright and particular star

On the Stuckup horizon." She turned up her nose (That pure Grecian feature), as much as to say, "How absurd that any sane man should suppose That a lady would go to a ball in the clothes,

No matter how fine, that she wears every day!" So I ventured again-" Wear your crimson brocade." (Second turn up of nose)" That's too dark by a shade." "Your blue silk”- "That's too heavy;" "Your pink”

66

That's too light."

"Wear tulle over satin".

"I can't endure white."

"Your rose-coloured, then, the best of the batch"

'I haven't a thread of point lace to match."

"Your brown moire-antique"- -"Yes, and look like a Quaker:" "The pearl-coloured"—" I would, but that plaguy dressmaker Has had it a week." "Then that exquisite lilac, In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock."

(Here the nose took again the same elevation)—

66

'I wouldn't wear that for the whole of creation."

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"Why not? It's my fancy, there's nothing could strike it As more comme il fautYes, but dear me, that lean Sophronia Stuckup has got one just like it, And I wont appear dressed like a chit of sixteen."

Then that splendid purple, that sweet mazarine;

That superb point d'aiguille, that imperial green,
That zephyr-like tarletane, that rich grenadine".
"Not one of all which is fit to be seen,'
Said the lady, becoming excited and flushed.

"Then wear," I exclaimed in a tone which quite crushed

N

Opposition, "that gorgeous toilette which you sported
In Paris last Spring, at the grand presentation,

When you quite turned the head of the head of the nation.
And by all the grand court were so very much courted.”
The end of the nose was portentously turned up,
And both the bright eyes shot forth indignation,
As she burst upon me with the fierce exclamation,
"I have worn it three times at the least calculation,
And that, and the most of my dresses, are ripped up!"
Here I ripped out something, perhaps rather rash,
Quite innocent, though; but, to use an expression
More striking than classic, it "settled my hash,'

And proved very soon the last act of our session.
"Fiddlesticks, is it, sir? I wonder the ceiling
Doesn't fall down and crush you. Oh! you men have no feeling
You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures!

Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers.
Your silly pretence-why, what a mere guess it is!
Pray, what do you know of a woman's necessities ?
I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear,
And it's perfectly plain you not only don't care,

But you do not believe me" (here the nose went still higher), "I suppose if you dared, you

would call me a liar.

Our engagement is ended, sir-yes, on the spot;

You're a brute and a monster, and-I don't know what."
I mildly suggested the words-Hottentot,

Pickpocket, and cannibal, Tartar and thief,

As gentle expletives which might give relief:
But this only proved as spark to the powder,

And the storm I had raised came faster and louder;
It blew, and it rained, thundered, lightened, and hailed
Interjections, verbs, pronouns, till language quite failed
To express the abusive; and then its arrears
Were brought up all at once by a torrent of tears ;
And my last faint, despairing attempt at an obs-
Ervation was lost in a tempest of sobs.

Well, I felt for the lady, and felt for my hat too.
Improvised on the crown of the latter a tattoo,
In lieu of expressing the feelings which lay

Quite too deep for words, as Wordsworth would say ;
Then, without going through the form of a bow,
Found myself in the entry-I hardly knew how-

On door-step and sidewalk, past lamp-post and square,
At home and upstairs in my own easy chair;

Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze,
And said to myself, as I lit my cigar,

Supposing a man had the wealth of the Czar

Of the Russias to boot, for the rest of his days,

On the whole, do you think he would have much to spare,
If he married a woman with nothing to wear?