The book was ta'en—a forged one fill'd its place;-
And MRS. JONES was robb'd—not to her face—
And poor JAMES TAYLOE doom'd to trial and disgrace!
Who shall describe her anguish—her remorse?
James Taylor was at once released, of course;
And Mrs. Jones, repentant, inly swore
Henceforth to carry, what she'd keep, before.
My tale is told—and, what is more, 'tis true:
I read it in the papers—so may you.
And this its moral: Mrs. Joneses all—
Though reticules may drop, and purses fall,
Though thieves may unprotected females hustle,
Never invest your money in a bustle.
STANZAS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL. PUNCH.
I.
ON A TEAR WHICH ANGELINA OBSERVED TRICKLING DOWN MY NOSE AT DINNER TIME.
Nay, fond one I will ne'er reveal
Whence flowed that sudden tear:
The truth 't were kindness to conceal
From thy too anxious ear.
How often when some hidden spring
Of recollected grief
Is rudely touched, a tear will bring
The bursting breast relief!
Yet 't was no anguish of the soul,
No memory of woes,
Bade that one lonely tearlet roll
Adown my chiseled nose:
But, ah! interrogation's note
Still twinkles in thine eye;
Know then that I have burnt my throat
With this confounded pie!