THE HIGH-ROAD TO GENTILITY;
OR
MRS. WOULD-BE’S ADVICE TO HER DAUGHTER.
Now, Charlotte, dear, attend to me,
You know you’re coming out,
And in the best society
Will shine, beyond a doubt.
Things were not always so with us,—
But let oblivion’s seal
For ever shut out former days—
They were so ungenteel.
And as for country neighbours, child,
You must forget them all;
And never visit any place
That is not Park or Hall.
But if you know a titled name,
That knowledge ne’er conceal;
And mention nothing in the world,
Except it be genteel.
But think no more of Henry, child;
His love is pure, I know;
He writes delightful verses too;
But cannot be your beau.
He never as at Almack’s, sure,—
From that there’s no appeal;
For neither gifts nor graces now
Can make a man genteel.
You know Lord Worthless,—Charlotte, would
Not that be quite a match,
If not so very often in
The keeping of the watch?
He paid some damages last year,
Though slippery as an eel;
But then such vices in a peer
Are perfectly genteel.
And you must cut the Worthies—they’re
No company for you;
Though all of them are lovely girls,
And very clever too.
’Tis true, we found them kind, when all
The world were cold as steel;
’Tis true, they were your early friends;
But, then, they’re not genteel.
There’s Lady Waxwork, who, when dressed,
Has nothing she can say;
Miss Triffle of her lap-dog’s tail
Will chatter half the day.
The Honourable Mr. Trick
At cards can cheat or steal:—
These are the friends that suit us now,
For oh! they’re so genteel!
But, Charlotte, dear, avoid the Blues,
No matter when, or how;
For literature is quite beneath
The higher classes now.
Though Raphael paint, or Homer sing,
Oh! never seem to feel;
Young ladies should not have a soul,—
It’s really ungenteel.
A NEW WINE.
SIR PETER LAURIE sent an order to a wine-merchant at the West End on Tuesday last for “six dozen of the best Ottoman Porte.”