All dismal then shall be the waltz,
The dull quadrille as bad,
And wearily we'll hurry through
The joyless galopade.
We'll gaze upon each changeful cloud
As through the air it skims,
We'll think of fickle fortune's wheel,
And fashion's turns and whims—
Sweet emblems of Inconstancy
In each of these we'll find,
And our Inconstants constantly
We'll fondly bear in mind.
And spite of Durham's fetes and balls,
We'll pine and mourn and mope
Our long, long winter season through,
As girls without a Hope.
And when the spring shall come again,
Our hearts, to pleasure dead,
Shall sigh for spring without an S,
And wish for Pring instead.
Unless, indeed, sweet spring with Hope
Those hearts again should bless,
And bring our dear Inconstants back,
And spring without an S.
Quebec, 6th July, 1838.
(From Waifs in Verse, by G. W. Wicksteed, Q.C., Law Clerk, House of
Commons of Canada, 1878.)
To which melting address the "Inconstants," on their way to Britain, feelingly replied. Our space allows us to insert but a few stanzas of this poetical lament.
All language fails to tell how much
We value your address,
Or say how deeply we partake
The feelings you express.
Those Hastings are a hasty set,
And left you in a hurry;
Those Malabars are malapert,
And hot as Indian curry.