360
ONCE A WEEK.
[OtTOEER 29, 1859.
Avoid Prospect Terrace, you stupid old gander
(I was free to drop in there eaoh ev’ning to tea),
For one of the Drew girls sits in the verandah, —
The one I hoped some day would breakfast with me.
VI.
Must we pass by the Band? Hark! what melody flowing!
0, brute, what no blind to shut out from my gaze Those false eyes of Clara? She knew I was going,
And still she can smile there with Moon of the Greys.
VII.
Goodbye, Jack and Charley, and all of your party, You’ve plenty of coin, and no clients to mind;
Gay fellows too, all of you, honest and hearty,
But, almost, I hate you for staying behind.
VIII.
Ah, Ellen, thou swiftest in light gallopade,
You’ve plenty of partners, I know, at command.
And so need not strike my name out of your card The moment you see me thus quitting the strand.
IX.
The Station at last. Ha! No time for reflection.
Now, porter — this luggage. See, cabby, your fare. First-class, please, to London. Sir, any objection To smoking? No! Care, then, I’ll blow into air!
A F.
BLACK MONDAY.
r.
Tempus furjit, alas! Our best pleasures are blended With sorrow that pierces the heart like a stab:
Black Monday has come, my vacation is ended,
I’ve paid my hotel -bill and sent for a cab.
II.
It seems but a week, but ’tis three, I remember,
Since first I arrived at this gem of the sea.
0, Cras animarum I Town fogs of November!
0, first day of Term!— must I leave it for thee!
in.
A stranger I came with my hard-reading cousin.
And own that I found it remarkably slow.
But now, when I know pleasant folks by the dozen, Who like me, and seek me — why, off I must go.
IV.
0, drive me not down by the beach, gentle cabby, Lest, coming from bathing, I see Laura Mars,
And think of the pic-nic we had near the abbey, —
Our silent return ’neath the light of the stars.