In the “list” he would look out in vain for his name.
The Lays of the Mocking Sprite, by E. B. (Cambridge).
I saw from my window, when morning was smiling.
A “Girl of the Period” come tripping along,
When, sudden, the wild blast like fury came howling—
The girl was still there—but her “chignon” was gone!
Ah! such is the fate of the wigs we put on us!
So fleeting the false hair of which we’re so proud:
Our darling excrescence the rough wind blows from us,