Point Lace and Diamonds Part 3

Try to come the graceful, Till your wine-gla.s.s falls; Bless me! this is pleasant, Making New Year's calls.

Hostess looks delighted-- Out of doors you rush; Sit down at the 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 _blase_, 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 pa.s.sion 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 pa.s.s 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 gla.s.s above her, Lingers round her lips:--you see E'en the sunbeams love her.

So to make my merit more, I'll go beyond the letter; Love my neighbor as myself?