Like day-light o'er a sea of blue,
While yet the air is dim with dew!
She let her cheek repose on mine,
She let my arms around her twine-
Oh! who can tell the bliss one feels
In thus exchanging rings and seals!

NETS AND CAGES.

COME, listen to my story, while

THOMAS MOORE.

Your needle's task you ply;

At what I sing some maids will smile,

While some, perhaps, may sigh.

Though Love's the theme, and Wisdom blames

Such florid songs as ours,

Yet Truth, sometimes, like eastern dames,

Can speak her thoughts by flowers.

Then listen, maids, come listen, while
Your needle's task you ply;

At what I sing there's some may smile,
While some, perhaps, will sigh.

Young Cloe, bent on catching Loves,
Such nets had learn'd to frame,
That none, in all our vales and groves,
Ere caught so much small game:
While gentle Sue, less given to roam,
When Cloe's nets were taking
These flights of birds, sat still at home,
One small, neat Love-cage making.
Come, listen, maids, etc.

Much Cloe laugh'd at Susan's task;
But mark how things went on:
These light-caught Loves, ere you could ask
Their name and age, were gone!
So weak poor Cloe's nets were wove,
That, though she charm'd into them
New game each hour, the youngest Love
Was able to break through them.

Come, listen, maids, etc.

Meanwhile, young Sue, whose cage was wrought

Of bars too strong to sever,
One Love with golden pinions caught,

And caged him there forever;
Instructing thereby, all coquettes,
Whate'er their looks or ages,

That, though 'tis pleasant weaving Nets,
"Tis wiser to make Cages.
Thus, maidens, thus do I beguile
The task your fingers ply-
May all who hear, like Susan smile,
Ah! not like Cloe sigh!

SALAD.

To make this condiment, your poet begs

SYDNEY SMITH.

The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs;
Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen-sieve,
Smoothness and softness to the salad give;
Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl,
And, half-suspected, animate the whole.
Of mordant mustard add a single spoon,
Distrust the condiment that bites so soon;
But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault,
To add a double quantity of salt.
And, lastly, o'er the flavored compound toss
A magic soup-spoon of anchovy sauce.
Oh, green and glorious! Oh, herbaceous treat!
'T would tempt the dying anchorite to eat;
Back to the world he'd turn his fleeting soul,
And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl!
Serenely full, the epicure would say,
Fate can not harm me, I have dined to-day!

MY LETTERS.

R. HARRIS BARHAM.

"Litera scripta manet."-OLD SAW.

ANOTHER mizzling, drizzling day!

Of clearing up there's no appearance; So I'll sit down without delay,

And here, at least, I'll make a clearance!

Oh ne'er "on such a day as this,"
Would Dido with her woes oppresséd
Have woo'd Æneas back to bliss,
Or Trolius gone to hunt for Cressid!

No, they'd have stay'd at home, like me,
And popp'd their toes upon the fender,
And drank a quiet cup of tea:

On days like this one can't be tender.

So, Molly, draw that basket nigher,
And put my desk upon the table-
Bring that portfolio-stir the fire-

Now off as fast as you are able!

First here's a card from Mrs. Grimes,

"A ball!"-she knows that I'm no dancer

That woman's ask'd me fifty times,

And yet I never send an answer.

"DEAR JACK,—

Just lend me twenty pounds,

Till Monday next, when I'll return it.

Yours truly,

HENRY GIBBS."

Why Z-ds!

I've seen the man but twice-here, burn it.

One from my cousin Sophy Daw—
Full of Aunt Margery's distresses;

"The cat has kitten'd 'in the draw,'

And ruin'd two bran-new silk dresses."

From Sam, "The Chancellor's motto,"-nay Confound his puns, he knows I hate 'em; "Pro Rege, Lege, Grege,”—Ay,

"For King read Mob!" Brougham's old erratum.

From Seraphina Price-" At two"

"Till then I can't, my dearest John, stir;" Two more because I did not go,

Beginning "Wretch" and "Faithless Monster!"

"Dear Sir,—

"This morning Mrs. P—

Who's doing quite as well as may be,

Presented me at half past three

Precisely, with another baby.

“We'll name it John, and know with pleasure

You'll stand"-Five guineas more, confound it!—

I wish they'd call it Nebuchadnezzar,

Or thrown it in the Thames and drown'd it.

What have we next? A civil dun:

"John Brown would take it as a favor"Another, and a surlier one,

"I can't put up with sich behavior."

"Bill so long standing,"-" quite tired out,"
"Must sit down to insist on payment,"
"Called ten times,"—Here's a fuss about
A few coats, waistcoats, and small raiment!

For once I'll send an answer, and in

form Mr. Snip he need n't "call" so; But when his bill 's as "tired of standing" As he is, beg 't will "sit down also."

This from my rich old Uncle Ned,
Thanking me for my annual present;
And saying he last Tuesday wed

His cook-maid, Molly-vastly pleasant!
An ill-spelt note from Tom at school,
Begging I'll let him learn the fiddle;
Another from that precious fool,

Miss Pyefinch, with a stupid riddle.

"D'ye give it up?" Indeed I do!
Confound those antiquated minxes;
I won't play "Billy Black" to a " Blue,"
Or Edipus to such old sphinxes.

A note sent up from Kent to show me,
Left with my bailiff, Peter King;

"I'll burn them precious stacks down, blow me! "Yours most sincerely,

"CAPTAIN SWING."

Four begging letters with petitions,
One from my sister Jane, to pray
I'll execute a few commissions"

In Bond-street, "when I go that way."

"And buy at Pearsall's in the city

Twelve skeins of silk for netting purses: Color no matter, so it's pretty;

Two hundred pens"-two hundred curses!

From Mistress Jones: "My little Billy
Goes up his schooling to begin,

Will you just step to Piccadilly,

And meet him when the coach comes in ?

"And then, perhaps, you will as well, see
The poor dear fellow safe to school
At Dr. Smith's in Little Chelsea !"
Heaven send he flog the little fool!

From Lady Snooks: "Dear Sir, you know
You promised me last week a Rebus;

A something smart and apropos,

For my new Album ?"—Aid me, Phœbus!

"My first is follow'd by my second;
Yet should my first my second see,
A dire mishap it would be reckon'd,
And sadly shock'd my first would be.

"Were I but what my whole implies,
And pass'd by chance across your portal.
You'd cry 'Can I believe my eyes?
I never saw so queer a mortal!'