Her manners I strangely mistrust—
She'll distance us, dear, if we linger!
Ah, haste!—let us haste!—for we must!
She'll eclipse us—that would be a stinger!
She'll rise, and our business is "bust"—
My dear, we must snub her, and bring her
Presumptuous pride to the dust—
Till she sorrowfully sinks in the dust."
VI.
Post replies—"Oh, it's nothing but dreaming,