VISITINGS.
N.B.—A lady having presented the Author, on a visit, with her thumb to shake hands with, the Muse opened her mouth and spake as follows:—
Some women at parting scarce give you
So much as a simple good-bye,
And from others as long as you live, you
Will never be bless'd with a sigh;
Some will press you so warmly, you'd linger
Beside them for ever, and some
Will give you an icy forefinger,
But Fanny presents you a thumb.
Some will give you a look of indifference,
Others will give you a smile;
While some of the colder and stiffer ones,
Bow in their own chilly style.
There are some who look merry at parting,
And some who look wofully glum;
Some give you a blessing at starting,
But Fanny just gives you a thumb.
There are some who will go to the door with you,
Some ring for the man or the maid;
Some who do less, and some more, with you,
And a few would be glad if you stay'd.
A good many wish you'd be slack again,
Their way on a visit to come;
Two or three give you leave to go back again,
But Fanny gives only her thumb.
With a number, ten minutes are longer
Than you find yourself welcome to stay;
While some, whose affections are stronger,
Would like to detain you all day.
Some offer you sherry and biscuit,
Others give not a drop nor a crumb;
Some a sandwich, from sirloin or brisket,
But Fanny gives simply her thumb.
Some look with a sort of a squint to you,
Some whisper they've visits to make;
Some glance at their watches—a hint to you,
Which, if you are wise, you will take.
Some faintly invite you to dinner,
(So faint, you may see it's all hum,
Unless you're a silly beginner,)
But Fanny presents you a thumb.
Some chatter—thirteen to the dozen—
Some don't speak a word all the time;
Some open the albums they've chosen,
And beg you to scribble in rhyme;
Some bellow so loud, they admonish
Your ear to take care of its drum;
Some give you an ogle quite tonish,
But Fanny gives nought, save her thumb.
Some wonder how long you've been absent,
Despair of your coming again;
While some have a coach or a cab sent,
To take you away if it rain.
Some shut up their windows in summer,
Some won't stir the fire, though you're numb;
Some give you hot punch in a rummer,
But Fanny gives only her thumb.
Some talk about scandal, or lovers,
Some talk about Byron or Scott;
Some offer you eggs laid by plovers,
Some offer the luck of the pot;
A great many offer you nothing,
They sit, like automata, dumb,
The silly ones give you a loathing,
But Fanny gives merely her thumb.
Some bore you with six-year-old gabies,
In the shape of a master or miss;
Others hold up their slobbering babies,
Which you must be a brute not to kiss:
Some tell you their household disasters,
While others their instruments strum;
Some give you receipts for corn plasters,
But Fanny presents you her thumb.
Some talk of the play they've been last at,
And some of the steam-driven coach;
While those who are prudes look aghast at
Each piece of new scandal you broach:
Some talk of converting the Hindoos,
To relish, like Christians, their rum;
Some give you a view from their windows,
But Fanny gives only her thumb.
Some ask what you think of the tussel, man,
Between the all-lies and the Porte;
And Cod-rington's thrashing the muscle-man
(Puns being such people's forte).
The men speak of change in the Cabinet;
The women—how can they sit mum?
Give their thoughts upon laces and tabinet,
But Fanny gives merely her thumb.
Some speak of the Marquis of Lansdowne,
Who, to prove the old proverb, has set
About thief-catching—laying wise plans down
In the Hue and Cry weekly gazette.
Some think that the Whigs are but noodles
(But such are, of course, the mere scum);
Some give you long tales of their poodles,
But Fanny presents you her thumb.
Good luck to them all!—where I visit,
I meet with warm hearts and warm hands;
But that's not a common thing, is it?
For I neither have houses nor lands:
Not a look but the soul has a part in it,
(How different the looks are of some!)
Oh! give me a hand with a heart in it,
And the devil take finger and thumb.
TO MR. ——, WHO PUTS OVER HIS DOOR