Thirty-seven, thought myself slighted in company.
Thirty-eight, liked talking of my acquaintances who are married unfortunately, and found endless consolation in their misfortunes.
Thirty-nine, ill-nature increased.
Forty, became a confirmed scold.
And so on up to fifty, when the lady seized upon lap-dogs, and talked largely of philanthropy. After that age, gray hairs start out upon the temple, and "old lady" becomes the tune—no longer old maid.
GRAVE, GAY, AND EPIGRAMMATIC.
COMPENSATION.
"Too late!" he shrieked—with bulging eyes
He watched the train pull out—
And, overcome, gave vent to rage
In one tremendous shout.