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If your finger aches, fretting,
Or fuming and fussing enough for a dozen if you romp witii your cousin;
Continually stopping, when out a-shopping, and bank notes dropping,
Not seeking to win money, calling it tin" money, and
promising pin money; Like pic-nics at Twickenham, off lovely cold chicken, ham,
and champagne to quicken 'em; Detesting one's walking without John too goes stalking, to
prevent the men talking: Think you still in your teens, wont let you eat "greens,"and
hate crinolines; Oi heaping caresses, if you curl your black tresses, or wear
low-neck'd dresses; Or when up the river, almost sure to di&kiver that beats all
to shiver, the sweet Guadalquiver; Or seeing death-fetches if the tooth-ache one catches, making picturesque sketches of the houses of wretches; Or with loud double knocks brings from Eber's a box to see
"Box and Cox," or pilfer one's locks to mark their new
Or whilst you are singing a love song so stinging, they vow they'll be swinging, or in Serpentine springing, unless to them clinging, you'll go wedding-ringing, and for life mend their linen.
Now the gentlemen sure I've no wish to disparage.
But this is the way they go on before marriage.
HOW THE GENTLEMEN DO AFTER MARRlAGE.
Oh! then nothing pleases 'em,
But everything teases 'em,
Then they're grumbling and snarling—
You're a fool," not a darling;"
Though they're as rieh as the Irigiet,
They're the stingiest of stingies;
And what is so funny,
They've never got money;
Only ask 'em for any
And they haven't a penny;
But what passes all bounds,
On themselves they'll spend pound*—
Give guineas for lunch
Off real turtle and punch;
Each week a noise brings about, when they pitch all th« things about;
Now bowing in mockery, now smashing the crockery;
And allow ten pounds a quarter for yourself and your daughter;
Though you strive all your might you can do nothing right; While the maids—the old song—can do nothing wrong. "Every shirt wants a button!" Every day they've cold mutton;
They're always a flurrying one; or else they're a hurrying one, or else they're a worrying one;
Threatening to smother your dear sainted mother, or kick your big brother;
After all your fine doings, your stnigglings and stewings— why the house is in ruins!"
Then the wine goes like winking, and they cannot help thinking you've taken to drinking;
They're perpetually rows keeping, 'cause out of the housekeepmg they're in bonnets their spouse keeping;
So when they've been meated, if with pies they're not treated, they vow that they're cheated!
Then against Ascot Races, and all such sweet places, they set their old faces;
And they'll never leave town, nor to Broadstairs go down, though with bile you're quite brown;
For their wife they unwilling are, after cooing and billing
her, to stand a cap from the milliner—e'en a paltry
twelve shillinger; And it gives them the vapors to witness the capers of those
bowers and scrapers, the young linen drapers; Then to add to your woes, they say nobody knows how the
money all goes, but they pay through the nose for the
dear children's clothes; Though you strive and endeavor, they're so mightily clever,
that please them you'll never, till you leave them for
ever—yes! the hundredth time sever—"/or ever—And
Now the gentlemen sure I've no wish to disparage,
THE BOYS.—Ethel Lynn.
"The boys are coming home to-morrow!"
Thus our rural hostess said:
Full of vague, unspoken dread.
Had we hither come for quiet,
Hither fled the city's noise,
Of those horrid country-boys?
Waking one with wild hallooing
Early every summer day;
Frightening the wrens away:
Stumbling over trailing flounces,
Clamoring for sugared dainties,
These and other kindred trials
Fancied we with woful sigh:
Sadly whispered Lou and I.
To-day I smile to read them o'er,
We watched all day the niiening door.
They came—" the boys!" Six feet in stature,
Graceful, easy, polished men j
To trust no mother's words again.
For boyhood is a thing immortal
And sons are boys to her forever,
To her, no line comes sharply marking
Nor when the eyeglass upward turning,
Now by the window, still and sunny,
The dear old lady waits and watches,
For Lou and I are now her daughters—
About their awkward ways and noise.
Lou springs up to meet a footfall;
I list no more for coming feet:
For steps on Beulah's golden street.
But when she blesses Lou's beloved,
I know that loving words go upward,
Alway she speaks in gentle fashion
Though one is gray, and one has vanished
* Brave Captain! canst thou speak? What is it thou dost seel
A wondrous glory lingers on thy face,
AFTER THE BATTLE.
* The place t" Tis Fair Oaks, comrade. Is the battle over?
The victory—the victory—is it won?
"I never thought it would come to this! Does it rain?
The musketry! Give me a drink; ah, that is glorious I Now if it were not for this pain—this pain— Didst thou say victorious?
"It would not be strange, would it, if I do wander?
A man can't remember with a bullet in his brain. I wish when at home I had been a little fonder— Shall I ever be well again?
H It can make no difference whether I go from here or there'
Thou'lt write to father and tell him when I am dead ?— The eye that sees Ihe sparrow fall numbers every hair Even of this poor head.
"Tarry awhile, comrade, the battle can wait for thee;
I will try to keep thee but a few brief moments longer; Thou'lt say good-by to the friends at home for me?— If only I were a little stronger I
"I must not think of it. Thou art sorry for me?
The glory—is it the glory?—makes me blind; Btrange, for the light, comrade, the light I cannot see— Thou hast been very kind!
"I do not think I have done so very much evil—
I did not mean it. 'I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul '—just a little rude and uncivil— Comrade, why dost thou weep?
"Oh! if human pity is so gentle and tender —
Good-night, good friends!' I lay me down to sleep'— Who from a Heavenly Father's love needs a defender? 'My soul to keep!'
"'ITI should die before I wake'—comrade, tell mother,
Remember—' I pray the Lord my soul to take!' My musket thou'lt carry back to my little brother For my dear sake.
"Attention, company! Reverse arms! Very well, men ; my thanks.
Where am I? Do I wander, comrade—wander again?— Parade is over. Company E, break ranks! break ranks!— I know it is the pain.