(_With a Fan._)
[Illustration]
All in your glory you to-night
Will dance, and me they don't invite
Your charms to scan;
And, as a seal might send its skin
To please the girl it may not win,
I send a fan.
Behind this fan some other man
Your hand will hold;
Your fearless eyes, so bright and brown,
Will hide their gladness, glancing down,
No longer cold.
And your pale, perfect cheek will take
That colour for another's sake,
I ne'er controlled,--
Yet, ere you sleep, stray thoughts will creep
To days of old.
Of old! For in a single day,
When love first gilds a maiden's way,
The world grows new;
And from that new world you will send
Sweet pity to the absent friend
Who so loved you.
Loved--for my love will wither then;
I cannot share with other men
The dear delight
That dwells in your austerest tone,
That latent hope of joys unknown--
Though now you will not be my own,
Some day you might.
My trusted little friend of yore,
Of course you'd think my love a bore,
It's not romantic:
I've passed beyond the football stage,
And e'en despair is saved by age
From growing frantic.
No, like a veteran grim and grey,
With sling and crutch,
I am but fit to watch the fray
Where, in the world-old, witching way,
In other hands your fingers stay
With lingering touch,
That may mean nothing, or it may
Mean, oh! so much.
I'll wed some woman, prim of face,
Who'll duly fill the housewife's place,
And with her hard, domestic grace
Illusions scatter;
But sometimes when the stars are full,
While at my season'd pipe I pull,
I'll see my little love once more,
With brilliant lovers by the score,
Whose tributes flatter.
And, thinking of the light gone by,
Murmur with philosophic sigh,
"It doesn't matter."
And then, perchance, this fan you'll find,
When all the new romance is over.
Sweet, may you ne'er with troubled mind
Half wish you never had resigned,
Your truest lover.
* * * * *
Last week, Dr. ADLER gave, as appears by the extracts, an excellent
Lecture on "Jewish Wit and Humour." He himself is well known as the
_The Jew d'Esprit_.
* * * * *
TEMPORARY CHANGE OF NAME.--Will Poplar Hospital be styled, "Un-pop'lar
Hospital?"
* * * * *
"THE VERY LATEST."
["A Cookery Autograph-book is the last idea. Each friend is
supposed to write a practical recipe for a dainty dish above
his or her signature."
_The Graphic._]
[Illustration]
No, MABEL, no;--though your behest
I always heed with rapt attention,
Most fervently I must protest
Against this horrible invention;
Your word has hitherto been law,
But this appears the final straw!
Obedient to imperious looks,
I've had to write, at your suggestion,
The answers in confession-books
To many an idiotic question;
I'll vow my favourite tint is blue
(The colour mostly worn by you);
I'll gladly draw a fancy sketch,
I'll make acrostics with elation,
I'll write you verses at a stretch,
Or give my views on vaccination;
But, even to fulfil your wishes,
I cannot manufacture dishes!
I know, in theory, how to make
The matutinal tea and coffee,
And, when at school, I used to bake
A gruesome mess described as toffee;
But these, which form my whole _cuisine_,
Are scarce the kind of thing you mean.
Of course I'd learn some more by heart,
If this could gain me your affection,
But fear the anguish on your part
Produced by faulty recollection;
On me, my MABEL, please to look
As lover only--not as Cook!
* * * * *