A MY LANDLADY. 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 !” "M 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 ! |