Love, ’mid the aforesaid boughs, enshrines
In freehold nests: themselves, their heirs,
Administrators and assigns.
Oh, busiest term of Cupid’s Court,
Where tender plaintiffs actions bring—
Season of frolic and of sport,
Hail, as aforesaid, coming Spring!
Life, we are told, is a trial, but the worst of it is there is no Court of Appeal we can go to in the event of our not being satisfied with the result of it. For myself, I should like uncommonly to move for a new trial.
Briefless Barrister.