OU'RE at an evening party, with
A group of pleasant folks,—
You venture quietly to crack
The least of little jokes,—
A lady doesn't catch the point,
And begs you to explain,—
Alas! for one who drops a jest
And takes it up again!
You drop a pretty jeu-de-mot
Into a neighbour's ears,
Who likes to give you credit for
The clever things he hears;
And so he hawks your jest about,
The old, authentic one,
Just breaking off the point of it,
And leaving out the pun!
John Godfrey Saxe, Poems.
ONTROND'S] death was a very wretched one. Left alone to the tender mercies of a well-known "lorette" of those days, Desirée R——, as he lay upon his bed, between fits of pain and drowsiness, he could see his fair friend picking from his shelves the choicest specimens of his old Sèvres china, or other articles of vertu. Turning to his doctor, he said, with a gleam of his old fun, "Qu'elle est attachante, cette femme-là!"
Gronow, Recollections.
E love thee, Ann Maria Smith,
And in thy condescension
We see a future full of joys
Too numerous to mention.
There's Cupid's arrow in thy glance,
That by thy love's coercion
Has reached our melting heart of hearts,
And asked for one insertion.
There's music in thy honest tone,
And silver in thy laughter;
And truth—but we will give the full
Particulars hereafter.
R. H. Newell, Orpheus C. Kerr Papers.