In these light moods, I call to mind, To some dread sorrow undefined,— He railed at women's faith as Cant; His lot, he oft would gravely urge, We dreamed it true. We never knew What gentler ears he told it to. We, bound with him in common care, One-minded, celibate, Resolved to Thought and Diet spare We, truly, in no common sense Deserved his closest confidence! But soon, and yet, though soon, too late, We, sorrowing, sighed to find A gradual softness enervate That all superior mind, Until,-in full assembly met, He dared to speak of Etiquette. The verse that we severe had known, A fond effeminate monotone Of eyebrows, lips, and hair; Nay worse. He, once sublime to chaff, Grew whimsically sore If we but named a photograph We found him simpering o'er ; Or told how in his chambers lurked A watch-guard intricately worked. Then worse again. He tried to dress; He trimmed his tragic mane; Announced at length (to our distress) He had not "lived in vain ";— Thenceforth his one prevailing mood Became a base beatitude. And O Jean Paul, and Fate, and Soul ! His very hat had changed its brim ;— Our course was clear,-WE BANISHED HIM! A VIRTUOSO. E seated, pray. "A BE grave appeal "? The sufferers by the war, of course; Ah, what a sight for us who feel, This monstrous mélodrame of Force! We, Sir, we connoisseurs, should know, On whom its heaviest burden falls; Collections shattered at a blow, Museums turned to hospitals! "And worse," you say; "the wide distress!" Alas, 'tis true distress exists, Though, let me add, our worthy Press Have no mean skill as colourists ;— Speaking of colour, next your seat There hangs a sketch from Vernet's hand; Some Moscow fancy, incomplete, Yet not indifferently planned; Note specially the gray old Guard, But, as regards the present war,— Now don't you think our pride of pence You hesitate. For my part, I— That "Charity begins at Home." My so-named "Hunt"? The girl's a gem ; And look how those lean rascals snatch The pile of scraps she brings to them! "But your appeal 's for home,"—you say,— For home, and English poor! Indeed! I thought Philanthropy to-day Was blind to mere domestic need However sore-Yet though one grants That home should have the foremost claims, At least these Continental wants Assume intelligible names; While here with us-Ah! who could hope To verify the varied pleas, Or from his private means to cope With all our shrill necessities ! |