Besides, unblushing reference to a Conversation-Book

Imparts to social intercourse an artificial look.

So I let the beggars have their way. 'Twas everywhere the same;

I led the proper openings—they wouldn't play the game.

Now I've pitched the Manual away that got me in this mess,

And in ingenious pantomime my wishes I express.

They take me for an idiot mute, an error I deplore:

But still—I'm better understood than e'er I was before!


A PRODUCT OF THE SILLY SEASON.