MOTTOES FOR CRACKER BONBONS.
Everybody knows those kisses, burnt almonds and sugar-plums, in their envelopes of fringed and gaudy paper, with the concealed Waterloo cracker inside, which it is so delightful to explode during supper-time at an evening party; and everybody also knows that the motto which this discharge of enlivening artillery sets free is generally the most stupid, unmeaning thing it is possible to conceive. From a quantity we select the following as a fair specimen of the prevailing style:—
"Beauty always fades away;
Virtue will for ever stay."
Or,—
"The best affections of my heart are thine,
If you to my petition will incline."
Or,—
"What is beauty but a bait,
Oft repented when too late?"
Now, in place of these silly ideas, we suggest the following, which will have the merit of inducing thinking, and, by their matter-of-fact truth, do away with a great deal of the false atmosphere with which society is invested:—
When the master and mistress smile through the night,
Oh, do not believe that their bosoms are light;
Think of the plate they have had to borrow,
And the state that the house will be in to-morrow!
Though, after a Polka with somebody nice,
You get sentimental whilst down stairs for ice,
Before you attempt her affections to win,
First try and find out if she's got any tin.
Oh! had we but a little isle,
On which the sun might always smile;
There to reside alone with thee—
How tired out we soon should be!
Recollect, a bad Polkiste don't get much renown,
If you can't dance it well, you had better sit down.
Love's like a trifle, fleeting soon;
Vows are the froth, and man the spoon.
If the night's not very dry,
Find out those who've got a fly,
Whose way home your own one suits,
Because wet walking ruins boots.
He whose gloves are new and white,
Can clean them for another night;
But he who wears them parties twain,
Can never have them cleaned again.
We wish to see the hints here given followed out generally; and we are sure their good effect on social life will be soon evident.
CAPRICORNUS—A Caper o'-corns.
CORN CAPERS.
THE PAS DES MOISSONNEURS.
We sing the Viennoises so famed,
And those who at their laurels aimed,
And were the danseuses Anglaises named.
Who made the other opera elves
Begin to look about themselves,
Dreading to be put on their shelves.
Who raised a doubt, in costume wild,
When in the final tableau piled,
Which was the sheaf, and which the child.
They heard the loud approving cheers,
From stalls, and pit, and all the tiers;
For little wheatsheaves have long ears.
And knew, whilst they pursued that track,
Nor showed of energy a lack,
Their wheat would never get the sack.
No league about them did declaim;
The only league, linked with their name,
Was that which oft their audience came.
We hope to see them back again,
Fresh flowers and bonbons to obtain,
Those charming little rogues in grain.
And all the world will be there too,
The stage with fresh bouquets to strew,
And their "corn-rigs so bonnie" view.