You may fancy, I say, At once made him drop chin, And turn up his eyes, as his rappee he took, On perceiving that " Swing," And "all that sort of thing," Was at work,-that he'd just lose the game without knowing itThat the Kremlin was blazing-the Russians "a-going it," Every plug in the place frozen hard as the ground, And the deuce of a turn-cock at all to be found! You may Fancy King Charles at some Court Fancy-Ball, (The date we may fix In the room built by Inigo Jones at Whitehall, You may fancy King Charles, I say, stopping the brawl,* You can't fancy Aunt Fan as she look'd on MY SHIRT!!! Was't Apelles? or Zeuxis? I think 'twas Apelles, Exact patronymic--I write and pronounce ill These Classical names--whom some Grecian Town-Council, Employ'd,--I believe, by command of the Oracle, To produce them a splendid piece, purely historical, For adorning the wall Of some fane, or Guildhall, And who for his subject determined to try a Large painting in oils of Miss Iphigenia At the moment her Sire, By especial desire Of "that spalpeen O'Dysseus" (see Barney Maguire) * Not a "row," but a dance "The grave Lord Keeper led the brawls, The seals and maces danced before him."-GRAY. -And truly Sir Christopher danced to some tune. Has resolved to devote To old Chalcas's knife, and her limbs to the fire; Still, although for economy we should condemn none, In an αναξ ανδρων like the great Agamemnon, To give up to slaughter An elegant daughter, After all the French, Music, and Dancing they'd taught her, And singing, at Heaven knows how much a quarter, In lieu of a Calf! It was too bad by half! At a "nigger"* so pitiful who would not laugh, No decenter method of "Raising the Wind ?" No doubt but he might, Without any great Flight, Have obtain'd it by what we call " flying a kite." Must have succeeded "by way of annuity." But there-it appears, His crocodile tears, His "Ohs!" and his "Ahs!" his "Oh Las!" and "Oh dears!" Were all taken for Gospel,-in painting his Victim The Artist was splendid but could not depict Him. His features and phiz awry Show'd so much misery, That the foil'd Painter buried-despairing to gain a -Such a veil is best thrown o'er one's face when one's hurt Such a veil I shall throw o'er Aunt Fan-and My Shirt! MORAL. And now for some practical hints from the story Of Aunt Fan's mishap, which I've thus laid before ye; For, if rather too gay, I can venture to say A fine vein of morality is, in each lay Of my primitive muse, the distinguishing trait ! First of all-Don't put off till to-morrow what may Without inconvenience be managed to-day! Rarely 's neglected by man with impunity! And the "Future," how brightly soe'er by Hope's dupe colour'd * Hibernicé "nigger," quasi " niggard" Vide B. Maguire passim. Ne'er may afford You a lost chance restored, Till both you and your shirt are grown old and pea-soup-colour'd! I would also desire You to guard your attire, Young Ladies, and never go too near the fire ! Depend on't there 's many a dear little Soul And " in her best petticoat burnt a great hole !" Last of all, Gentle Reader, don't be too secure! Let no seeming success ever make you "cock-sure !" But beware, and take care, When all things look fair, "There's many a slip How you hang your shirt over the back of your chair ! 'Twixt the cup and the lip !" Be this excellent proverb, then, well understood, And DON'T HALLO O BEFORE YOU'RE QUITE OUT OF THE WOOD!!! A SONG FOR THE END OF TERM. HURRAH! for the Vacation, Lætum Hilaremque diem.-Juv. In honour of his name, Who will not do the same! Air-The Keel row. Your gloomy moralisers He'll floor them great and small! In loco" beats them all! His bow would oft unstring; Or else they lose their spring! What time can be more fitting Now that the Term is o'er ? When past are our "Collections," Are homeward turn'd once more? Now home in flocks, like starlings, We live but in their smile! By absence for the while ! To sigh when we can sing! We'll make the welkin ring! For we're all right good fellows, A. R. W. STANLEY THORN. BY THE AUTHOR OF "VALENTINE VOX." CHAPTER X. The first night out. As Amelia had been led to expect Stanley at eleven, when the clock struck one she began to experience that species of painful anx. iety, of which it is to be hoped men in general are ignorant, inasmuch as their ignorance of it alone can rescue them from the heavy charge of absolute cruelty. Stanley had never before forfeited his word. Whenever he had said distinctly that he would be at home at such an hour, at that hour he had invariably returned. Still, could she have seen him then, she would have been quite content; for she chided her impatience, and conceived for him numerous excuses, and contended with herself that she ought not to expect him to run away at a moment's notice, as if indeed he were her slave; which, of course, was very amiable, and for the time being had a good effect. Two o'clock came. She rose and went to the piano, with the view of learning a new song; but this was a task she was utterly unable to accomplish. Although her eyes followed the notes and the words with due precision, her thoughts were of Stanley, and him alone. The clock struck three. This is not quite kind, thought Amelia. But that thought was instantly checked; she would not cherish the idea of his unkindness for a moment; she conceived it to be unjust; and hence, in order to banish it effectually, she opened a new and popular novel, which, however, failed to interest her. Still she kept her eyes fixed upon its pages, and tried to enter into its spirit, until the clock struck four, when she burst into tears. For the first time she felt that she was neglected, and that feeling was fraught with a terrible pang. And clearly, had she been able to ward it off much longer, she must have been either more or less than mortal. No creature ever loved with more warmth and devotion, none could ever have been more gentle, more patient, more confiding; but let those who may be inclined to deem her suspicions of neglect either wholly unjustifiable or premature, compare her former position with that which she now occupied. But a few weeks before she was the centre of a circle of affectionate relatives and friends, the beloved of all by whom she was surrounded. All strove to anticipate her wishes, to contribute in every possible way to her happiness; and enjoying, as she did, to the full extent their sweet society, she was happy, and buoyant, and gay. These friends, this society, this happiness, she had sacrificed for one in whom her heart of hearts had taught her to confide, but who neglected her, not indeed, from any base desire to do so, but for want of resolution to avoid those temptations which he ought before their union to have taught himself to resist. She had now no society, no friends around her; she had given up all for him, and he was almost continually absent. Who, then, can marvel that she experienced painful feelings ? Oh! how much misery and vice would be averted if they who possess every blessing which parental affection can impart, with every comfort which affluence can collaterally yield, were deliberately to weigh present happiness against the prospect of realising that which is based upon hope! "Surely," exclaimed Amelia, " something dreadful must have happened. He must have met with some very sad accident; he must have been maimed or robbed by heartless ruffians-perhaps murdered!" Something of a serious nature she felt sure had occurred, or he certainly would not have remained out so late. Yet what could she do? Should she send to the hotel? He surely could not, under the circumstances, be angry if she were to do so? She rang the bell at once, and, on being informed that Bob was in bed, desired William to get into the first cab he met, and to hasten to the Tavistock. "Do not," she added, " on any account send in. Simply inquire if your master is there, and come back to me as quickly as possible." The servant started, and Amelia paced the room in a state of anxiety the most intense; for since she had conceived the probability of his having been injured, that belief was each succeeding moment more and more confirmed. She opened the window, and went out on the balcony, and listened to every footstep and every vehicle that approached; but as this was a source of continual disappointment, she paced the room again, resolved to wait until the servant returned with all the patience she could summon. At length a cab stopped at the door, when she rang the bell violently, and flew to the stairs. It was a single knock, and her heart sank within her. The door was opened, and William entered to convey the intelligence that the hotel was closed; that not a light was to be seen; and that he had rung the bell again and again without obtaining an answer. What was to be done? A thousand new fears were conceived in an instant. She rang the bell for her maid; she could no longer bear to be alone; her mind was on the rack, and every fresh apprehension teemed with others of a character more and more appalling. "Good Heavens! Smith, what am I to do?" she exclaimed, as her maid entered. "What is to be done!" And again she burst into tears, which for a time overwhelmed her. "My dear, dear lady, cheer up. Don't distress yourself, pray don't. He can't be long now; he is sure to return soon." "Oh! Smith, I fear not. I fear that some frightful accident has happened. Sit down and stay with me. If he don't soon return I shall go mad!" Smith did as she was desired; but she had not been seated long before she began to nod and breathe very hard. Amelia started up to pace the room again, but Smith was unable to keep her eyes open even for an instant; and as in a very short time her hard breathing amounted to a most unpleasing snore, her mistress dismissed her to bed. The clock struck five, and Amelia was again quite alone. Her state of mind was now frightful. Every horrible accident that could be conceived she imagined by turns had befallen Stanley. She again went to the window, and after looking out upon the darkness for some time, so excited and so nervous that the motion of a mouse would have alarmed her, she was about to return to the fire, when she was startled by the sound of a harsh cracked voice upon the stairs. Her blood chilled, and she became motionless; she listened, and trembled violently as she listened; it was some man singing! The tune changed, and the tones became nearer and more harsh, and she distinctly heard the words, |