A BIRD IN THE HAND THERE were three young maids of Lee; And they had lovers three times three, And they had lovers three times three There are three old maids of Lee, And one is deaf, and one cannot see, And they are all as cross as a gallows-tree, Now, if any one chanced-'tis a chance remote- He need not a poet nor handsome be, For one is deaf and one cannot see; He need not woo on his bended knee, For they all are willing as willing can be. He may take the one, or the two, or the three, If he'll only take them away from Lee. There are three old maids at Lee; They are cross as cross can be; And there they are, and there they'll be Frederic E. Weatherly. The Belle of the Ball THE BELLE OF THE BALL YEARS-years ago,-ere yet my dreams I saw her at the county ball; There, when the sounds of flute and fiddle Gave signal sweet in that old hall Of hands across and down the middle, Hers was the subtlest spell by far Of all that set young hearts romancing: She was our queen, our rose, our star; And when she danced-O Heaven, her dancing! Dark was her hair, her hand was white; Her eyes were full of liquid light; Her every look, her every smile, Shot right and left a score of arrows; I thought 'twas Venus from her isle, And wonder'd where she'd left her sparrows. She talk'd,-of politics or prayers; Of Southey's prose, or Wordsworth's sonnets; Of daggers or of dancing bears, Of battles, or the last new bonnets; By candle-light, at twelve o'clock, If those bright lips had quoted Locke, I might have thought they murmur'd Little. 171 Through sunny May, through sultry June, I wrote them for the Sunday Journal. She was the daughter of a Dean, And lord lieutenant of the county. But titles and the three per cents, And mortgages, and great relations, And India bonds, and tithes and rents, Oh! what are they to love's sensations? Black eyes, fair forehead, clustering locks, Such wealth, such honors, Cupid chooses; He cares as little for the stocks, As Baron Rothschild for the Muses. She sketch'd; the vale, the wood, the beach, Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading; She botanized; I envied each Young blossom in her boudoir fading; She warbled Handel; it was grand She made the Catalani jealous; She touch'd the organ; I could stand For hours and hours to blow the bellows. She kept an album, too, at home, Well fill'd with all an album's glories; Paintings of butterflies, and Rome, Patterns for trimming, Persian stories; The Belle of the Ball Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo, Fierce odes to Famine and to Slaughter; And autographs of Prince Leboo, And recipes for elder water. And she was flatter'd, worshipp'd, bored; Her steps were watch'd, her dress was noted; Her sayings were extremely quoted. She smil'd on many just for fun- Her heart had thought of for a minute; In phrase which was divinely moulded; She wrote a charming hand, and oh! How sweetly all her notes were folded! Our love was like most other loves- A rosebud and a pair of gloves, And "Fly Not Yet," upon the river; Some jealousy of some one's heir, Some hopes of dying broken-hearted, A miniature, a lock of hair, The usual vows-and then we parted. We parted; months and years roll'd by; Our parting was all sob and sigh Our meeting was all mirth and laughter; 173 Winthrop Mackworth Praed. THE RETORT OLD Nick, who taught the village school, She was as playful as a rabbit. Poor Jane had scarce become a wife, Before her husband sought to make her One day the tutor went abroad, And simple Jenny sadly missed him; The husband's anger rose!-and red "Less freedom, ma'am!" Jane sighed and said, George Pope Morris. BEHAVE YOURSEL' BEFORE FOLK BEHAVE yoursel' before folk, Behave yoursel' before folk, And dinna be sae rude to me, As kiss me sae before folk. It wadna gi'e me meikle pain, Gin we were seen and heard by nane, To tak' a kiss, or grant you ane; |