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CHRISTMAS PIECES.
A SOLILOQUIAL CARE-ALL.
Here come December and the brats again! what pain! rushing like untamed
kittens o'er a cataract. Tables turn'd, bottles broke, cups crack'd—All
conspire to add to my distractions, to shew their skill in Christmas
pieces, and in fractions.
How little dream'd I of the toil and trouble
Which wait on those who dare to carry double!
Why did I leave my life of singularity,
In my excess of Christian love and charity?
Too surely did I feel my courage falter
At that sad step which led up to the altar.
Since first I tied the matrimonial knot
Each year has added to my luckless lot;
I should not mind _one_ little babe, no more.
But, _poínt du_ TWO, I don't want half a score;
Yet still, in quick succession, lo! they rise,
A pretty string of pains and penal-ties.
[Illustration:
_Family Ties._
]
From schoolmasters abroad the yearly bills
Run high among life's unsurmounted _hills_,
And pretty hillocks are those things call'd extras,
At doubling which they're all so ambidextrous;
Forgetting still, which greatly grieves my bowels,
To send back silver forks, or spoons, or towels.
Last, but not least, are those uncivil wars,
Poetic license calls domestic jars,
And which I find, though far from nice or fickle,
Without exception, yield the worst of pickle.
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[Illustration]