How tired one grows of "calls and balls!"
This "toujours perdrix" wearies;
I'm longing, quite, for "Notes on Knox";
(Apropos, I've the loveliest box
For holding Notes and Queries!)
A change of place would suit my case.
You'll take me?—on probation?
As "Lady-help," then, let it be;
I feel (as Lavender shall see),
That Jams are my vocation!
How's Lavender? My love to her.
Does Briggs still flirt with Flowers?—
Has Hawthorn stubbed the common clear?—
You'll let me give some picnics, Dear,
And ask the Vanes and Towers?
I met Belle Vane. "He's" still in Spain!
Sir John won't let them marry.
Aunt drove the boys to Brompton Rink;
And Charley,—changing Charley,—think,
Is now au mieux with Carry!
And NO. You know what "No" I mean—
There's no one yet at present:
The Benedick I have in view
Must be a something wholly new,—
One's father's far too pleasant.
So hey, I say, for home and you!
Good-by to Piccadilly;
Balls, beaux, and Bolton-row, adieu!
Expect me, Dear, at half-past two;
Till then,—your Own Fond—Milly.
"PREMIERS AMOURS."
Old Loves and old dreams,—
"Requiescant in pace."
How strange now it seems,—
"Old" Loves and "old" dreams!
Yet we once wrote you reams
Maude, Alice, and Gracie!
Old Loves and old dreams,—
"Requiescant in pace."
When I called at the "Hollies" to-day,
In the room with the cedar-wood presses,
Aunt Deb. was just folding away
What she calls her "memorial dresses."
She'd the frock that she wore at fifteen,—
Short-waisted, of course—my abhorrence;
She'd "the loveliest"—something in "een"
That she wears in her portrait by Lawrence;