Point Lace and Diamonds | Page 6

crossing,
In a sea of slush.
Job here for your tailor--
Herr Von
Schneiderthals--
Bless me! this is pleasant,
Making New Year's
calls.

Pick yourself up slowly
Heart with anguish torn.

Sunday-go-to-meetings
In a state forlorn.
Kick a gibing boot-black,

Gibing boot-black bawls,
Bless me! this is pleasant,
Making New
Year's calls.
Home, and woo the downy,
But your soul doth quake,
At most
fearful night-mares--
Turkey, oysters, cake.
While each leaden
horror
That your rest appalls,
Cries, "Dear heart! how pleasant;

Making New Year's calls."
JACK AND ME.
Shine!--All right; here y'are, boss!
Do it for jest five cents.
Get 'em
fixed in a minute,--
That is, 'f nothing perwents.
Set your foot right
there, sir.
Mornin's kinder cold,--
Goes right through a feller,

When his coat's a gittin' old.
Well, yes,--call it a coat, sir,
Though 't
aint much more 'n a tear.
Git another!--I can't, boss;
Ain't got the
stamps to spare.
"Make as much as most on 'em!"
Yes; but then, yer
see,
They've only got one to do for,--
There's two on us, Jack and
me.
Him?--Why, that little feller
With a curus lookin' back,
Sittin'
there on the gratin',
Warmin' hisself,--that's Jack.
Used to go round
sellin' papers,
The cars there was his lay;
But he got shoved off of
the platform
Under the wheels one day.
Fact,--the conductor did
it,--
Gin him a reg'lar throw,--
He didn't care if he killed him;

Some on 'em is just so.

He's never been all right since, sir,
Sorter
quiet and queer;
Him and me goes together,
He's what they call
cashier.
Style, that 'ere, for a boot-black,--
Made the fellers laugh;

Jack and me had to take it,
But we don't mind no chaff.

Trouble!--not much, you bet, boss!
Sometimes, when biz is slack,
I
don't know how I'd manage
If 't wa'n't for little Jack.
You jest once
orter hear him:
He says we needn't care
How rough luck is down
here, sir,
If some day we git up there.
All done now,--how's that, sir?

Shines like a pair of lamps.
Mornin'!--Give it to Jack, sir,
He
looks after the stamps.

LES ENFANTS PERDUS.
What has become of the children all?
How have the darlings vanished?

Fashion's pied piper, with magical air,
Has wooed them away, with
their flaxen hair
And laughing eyes, we don't know where,
And no
one can tell where they're banished.
"Where are the children?" cries Madam Haut-ton,
"Allow me, my
sons and daughters,--
Fetch them, Annette!" What, madam, those?

Children! such exquisite belles and beaux:--
True, they're in
somewhat shorter clothes
Than the most of Dame Fashion's
supporters.
Good day, Master Eddy! Young man about town,--
A merchant down
in the swamp's son;
In a neat little book he makes neat little bets:

He doesn't believe in the shop cigarettes,
But does his own
rolling,--and has for his pets
Miss Markham and Lydia Thompson.
He and his comrades can drink champagne
Like so many juvenile
Comuses;
If you want to insult him, just talk of boys' play,--
Why,
even on billiards he's almost _blasé_,
Drops in at Delmonico's three
times a day,
And is known at Jerry Thomas's.
And here comes Miss Agnes. Good morning! "Bon jour!"
Now, isn't
that vision alarming?
Silk with panier, and puffs, and lace
Decking
a figure of corsetted grace;
Her words are minced, and her spoiled
young face
Wears a simper far from charming.
Thirteen only a month ago,--
Notice her conversation:
Fashion--that
bonnet of Nellie Perroy's--
And now, in a low, confidential voice,

Of Helena's treatment of Tommy Joyce,--
Aged twelve,--that's the
last flirtation.
What has become of the children, then?
How can an answer be given?

Folly filling each curly head,
Premature vices, childhood dead,


Blighted blossoms--can it be said
"Of such is the kingdom of
heaven?"
CHINESE LANTERNS.
Through the windows on the park
Float the waltzes, weirdly sweet;

In the light, and in the dark,
Rings the chime of dancing feet.
Mid
the branches, all a-row,
Fiery jewels gleam and glow;
Dreamingly
we walk beneath,--
Ah, so slow!
All the air is full of love;
Misty shadows wrap us round;
Light
below and dark above,
Filled with softly-surging sound.
See the
forehead of the Night
Garlanded with flowers of light,
And her
goblet crowned with wine,
Golden bright.
Ah! those deep, alluring eyes,
Quiet as a haunted lake;
In their
depths the passion lies
Half in slumber, half awake.
Lay thy warm,
white hand in mine
Let the fingers clasp and twine,
While my eager,
panting heart
Beats 'gainst thine.
Bring thy velvet lips a-near,
Mine are hungry for a kiss,
Gladly will
I sate them, dear;
Closer, closer,--this,--and this.
On thy lips love's
seal I lay,
Nevermore to pass away;--
That was all last night, you
know,
But to-day--
Chinese lanterns hung in strings,
Painted paper, penny dips,--
Filled
with roasted moths and things
Greasy with the tallow drips;
Wet
and torn, with rusty wire,
Blackened by the dying fire;
Withered
flowers, trampled deep
In the mire.
Chinese lanterns, Bernstein's band,
Belladonna, lily white,

These
made up the fairy-land
Where I wandered all last night;
Ruled in all
its rosy glow
By a merry Queen, you know
Jolly, dancing, laughing,
witching,
Veuve Cliquot.

THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS.
"Love your neighbor as yourself,"--
So the parson preaches;
That's
one-half the Decalogue.--
So the Prayer-book teaches.
Half my duty
I can do
With but little labor,
For with all my heart and soul
I do
love my neighbor.
Mighty little credit, that,
To my self-denial;
Not to love her, though,
might be
Something of a trial,
Why, the rosy light, that peeps

Through the glass above her,
Lingers round her lips:--you see
E'en
the sunbeams love her.
So to make