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SMALL brisk woman, capped with many a bow;
Who bids me, bustling, "God speed," when I go,
“Ay, sir, 'tis cold,—and freezing hard,—they say ;
A musky haunt of lavender and shells,
Quaint-figured Chinese monsters, toys, and trays—
A glossy screen, where wide-mouth dragons ramp;
A pictured ship, with full-blown canvas set;
A card, with sea-weed twisted to a wreath, Circling a silky curl as black as jet,
With yellow writing faded underneath.
Looking, I sink within the shrouded chair,
Wide-collared, raven-haired. "Yes, 'tis my son !"
"Where is he?" "Ah, sir, he is dead-my boy!
He's always living in my head-my boy!
"There were two souls washed overboard, they said,
"He was a strong, strong swimmer. Do you know,
"'Twas his third voyage. That's the box he brought,—— Or would have brought-my poor deserted boy!
And these the words the agents sent-they thought
That money, perhaps, could make my loss a joy.
'Look, sir, I've something here that I prize more :
That's what they wrote.
"Well, well, 'tis done. My story's shocking you ;— Grief is for them that have both time and wealth: We can't mourn much, who have much work to do;
Your fire is bright. Thank God, I have my health !”
BEFORE THE CURTAIN.
ISS PEACOCK 's called." And who demurs ?
If praise be due, one sure prefers
That some such face as fresh as hers
And yet, most strange to say, I find
The pleased young premier led her on,
Where is "Sir Lumley Leycester, Bart."?
Must poison half-a-dozen !
Where is the cool Detective,-he
Should surely be applauded?
The Lawyer, who refused the fee ?—
The Wedding Guests (in number three)?— Why are they all defrauded?
The men who worked the cataract?
Think what a crowd whom none recall,
Women for whom no bouquets fall,
Ah, Reader, ere you turn the page,
And ne'er a leaf for laurel !