How tired one grows of " calls and balls"! This "toujours perdrix" wearies;

I'm longing, quite, for "Notes on Knox"; (Apropos, I've the loveliest box

For holding Notes and Queries !)

A change of place would suit my case.
You'll take me?-on probation?

As "Lady-help," then, let it be;
I feel (as Lavender shall see),

That Jams are my vocation!

How's Lavender? My love to her.

Does Briggs still flirt with Flowers ?— Has Hawthorn stubbed the common clear ?You'll let me give some picnics, Dear,

And ask the Vanes and Towers ?

I met Belle Vane.

"HE'S" still in Spain !

Sir John won't let them marry.

Aunt drove the boys to Brompton Rink; And Charley,-changing Charley,-think, Is now au mieux with Carry!

And No.

You know what "No" I mean

There's no one yet at present:

The Benedick I have in view

Must be a something wholly new,

One's father's far too pleasant.

So hey, I say, for home and you!
Good-bye to Piccadilly;

Balls, beaux, and Bolton-row, adieu!
Expect me, Dear, at half-past two;
Till then,-your Own Fond-MILLY.

WHEN I called at the "Hollies " to-day,

In the room with the cedar-wood presses,

Aunt Deb. was just folding away

What she calls her "memorial dresses."

She'd the frock that she wore at fifteen,—
Short-waisted, of course-my abhorrence;
She'd "the loveliest "-something in "een
That she wears in her portrait by Lawrence;

She'd the "jelick" she used-" as a Greek," (!) She'd the habit she got her bad fall in;

She had e'en the blue moiré antique

That she opened Squire Grasshopper's ball in :

New and old they were all of them there :—
Sleek velvet and bombazine stately,-

She had hung them each over a chair
To the "paniers" she's taken to lately

(Which she showed me, I think, by mistake). And I conned o'er the forms and the fashions, Till the faded old shapes seemed to wake

All the ghosts of my passed-away "passions";

From the days of love's youthfullest dream,
When the height of my shooting idea
Was to burn, like a young Polypheme,
For a somewhat mature Galatea.

There was Lucy, who "tiffed" with her first,
And who threw me as soon as her third came;
There was Norah, whose cut was the worst,
For she told me to wait till my "berd" came;

Pale Blanche, who subsisted on salts;
Blonde Bertha, who doted on Schiller;

Poor Amy, who taught me to waltz;

Plain Ann, that I wooed for the “siller ”;—

All danced round my head in a ring,

Like "The Zephyrs" that somebody painted, All shapes of the feminine thing

Shy, scornful, seductive, and sainted,

To my Wife, in the days she was young
"How, Sir," says that lady, disgusted,
"Do you dare to include ME among
Your loves that have faded and rusted?”

"Not at all!"-I benignly retort.
(I was just the least bit in a temper!)
"Those, alas! were the fugitive sort,
But you are my—eadem semper !"

Full stop, and a Sermon. Yet think,

There was surely good ground for a quarrel,--She had checked me when just on the brink Of-I feel-a remarkable MORAL.