Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/371

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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.