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Wear tulle over satin" "I can't endure white."

"Your rose-colored, then, the best of the batch" "I have n't a thread of point-lace to match."

"Your brown moire antique"

"Yes, and look like a Quaker;" "The pearl-colored ”—“ I would, but that plaguy dress-maker Has had it a week." **Then that exquisite lilac,

In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock;"

(Here the nose took again the same elevation)

"I would n't wear that for the whole of creation."

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"Yes,

"Why not? It's my fancy, there's nothing could strike it As more comme il faut". but dear me, that lean Sophronia Stuckup has got one just like it,

And I won't appear dressed like a chit of sixteen."

"Then that splendid purple, that sweet Mazarine; That superb point d'aiguille, that imperial green,

That zephyr-like tarletan, that rich grenadine".

"Not one of all which is fit to be seen," [flushed. Said the lady, becoming excited and "Then wear," I exclaimed, in a tone which quite crushed Opposition. that gorgeous toilette which you sported

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In Paris last spring, at the grand presentation, When you quite turned the head of the head of the nation, And by all the grand court were so very much courted." The end of the nose was portentously tipped up,

And both the bright eyes shot forth

indignation,

As she burst upon me with the fierce exclamation,

"I have worn it three times, at the least calculation,

And that and most of my dresses are ripped up!"

I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear,

And it's perfectly plain you not only don't care,

But you do not believe me," (here the nose went still higher),

"I suppose, if you dared, you would call me a liar.

Our engagement is ended, sir, —yes, on the spot;

You're a brute, and a monster, and - I don't know what."

I mildly suggested the words Hottentot,

Pickpocket, and cannibal, Tartar, and thief,

As gentle expletives which might give relief;

But this only proved as a spark to the powder,

And the storm I had raised came faster and louder;

It blew and it rained, thundered, lightened, and hailed Interjections, verbs, pronouns, till language quite failed

To express the abusive, and then its

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CARELESS CONTENT.

I AM Content, I do not care,

Wag as it will the world for me; When fuss and fret was all my fare, It got no ground as I could see: So when away my caring went, I counted cost, and was content.

Of ups and downs, of ins and outs, Of they're i' the wrong, and we're i' the right,

I shun the rancors and the routs;
And wishing well to every wight,
Whatever turn the matter takes,
I deem it all but ducks and drakes.

With more of thanks and less of With whom I feast I do not fawn,

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Nor if the folks should flout me, faint:

If wonted welcome be withdrawn,

I cook no kind of a complaint: With none disposed to disagree, But like them best who best like

me.

Not that I rate myself the rule

How all my betters should behave;

But fame shall find me no man's fool,

Nor to a set of men a slave:
I love a friendship free and frank,
And hate to hang upon a hank.

Fond of a true and trusty tie,

I never loose where'er I link; Though if a business budges by,

I talk thereon just as I think; My word, my work, my heart, my hand,

Still on a side together stand.

I love my neighbor as myself,

Myself like him too, by his leave; Nor to his pleasure, power, or pelf,

Came I to crouch, as I conceive:

Dame Nature doubtless has designed A man the monarch of his mind.

Now taste and try this temper, sirs, Mood it and brood it in your breast;

Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs,

That man does right to mar his

rest,

Let me be deft and debonair, I am content, I do not care.

SPECTACLES, OR HELPS TO READ.

A CERTAIN artist - I've forgot his name

Had got, for making spectacles, a fame,

..

Or helps to read,' as, when they first were sold,
Was writ upon his glaring sign in gold;

And, for all uses to be had from glass,
His were allowed by readers to surpass.

There came a man into his shop one day-
"Are you the spectacle contriver, pray
"Yes, sir," said he; "I can in that affair
Contrive to please you, if you want a pair."

"Can you? pray do then." So, at first, he chose

To place a youngish pair upon his nose;

And book produced to see how they would fit:

Asked how he liked 'em? Like 'em ? not a bit."

“Then, sir, I fancy, if you please to try,

These in my hand will better suit your eye."

"No, but they don't." "Well, come, sir, if you please,
Here is another sort, we'll e'en try these;

Still somewhat more they magnify the letter;

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Now, sir?" Why, now I'm not a bit the better."
"No? here, take these, that magnify still more;
How do they fit?" "Like all the rest before."

In short they tried a whole assortment through.
But all in vain, for none of 'em would do.
The operator, much surprised to find

So odd a case, thought, sure the man is blind!
"What sort of eyes can you have got ?" said he.
"Why, very good ones, friend, as you may see."
"Yes, I perceive the clearness of the ball
Pray, let me ask you, can you read at all ?”
"No, you great blockhead; if I could, what need
Of paying you for any helps to read ?'"
And so he left the maker in a heat,

Resolved to post him for an arrant cheat.

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Though nymphs forsake, and critics

may deride,

A man must serve his time to every trade

The lover's solace and the author's Save censure— - critics all are ready

pride. What wits, what poets, dost thou

daily raise!

How frequent is thy use, how small
thy praise!
Condemned at length to be forgotten
quite,

With all the pages which 'twas thine
to write.

Laugh when I laugh, I seek no other fame;

The cry is up, and scribblers are my game.

Speed, Pegasus!-ye strains of great
and small,

Ode, epic, elegy, have at you all!
I, too, can scrawl, and once upon a
a time

I poured along the town a flood of
rhyme,

A schoolboy freak, unworthy praise or blame;

I printed older children do the

same.

'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print;

A book's a book, although there's nothing in't.

made.

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THOMAS CAMPBELL.

SONG.

To Love in my heart, I exclaimed, t'other morning,
Thou hast dwelt here too long, little lodger, take warning;
Thou shalt tempt me no more from my life's sober duty,
To go gadding, bewitched by the young eyes of beauty.
For weary's the wooing, ah! weary,

When an old man will have a young dearie.

The god left my heart, at its surly reflections,
But came back on pretext of some sweet recollections,
And he made me forget what I ought to remember,
That the rosebud of June cannot bloom in November.
Ah! Tom, 'tis all o'er with thy gay days-
Write psalms, and not songs for the ladies.

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