All of thy wanderings, far and near, Bring thee at last to shore and me; All of my journeyings end them here, This our tether must be our cheer, I on the shore, and thou on the sea. Lazily rocking on ocean's breast, Something in common, old friend, have we; Thou on the shingle seek'st thy nest, I to the waters look for rest, I on the shore, and thou on the sea. HER LETTER. 'M sitting alone by the fire, I' Dressed just as I came from the dance, In a robe even you would admire, It cost a cool thousand in France; I'm be-diamonded out of all reason, In short, sir, "the belle of the season A dozen engagements I've broken; I left in the midst of a set; Likewise a proposal, half spoken, That waits on the stairs- for me yet. They say he'll be rich, when he grows up, — And then he adores me indeed. And you, sir, are turning your nose up, Three thousand miles off, as you read. "And how do I like my position?" "And what do I think of New York?" "And now, in my higher ambition, With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?" "And isn't it nice to have riches, And diamonds and silks, and all that?" "And aren't it a change to the ditches. And tunnels of Poverty Flat?" Well, yes, - if you saw us out driving Each day in the park, four-in-hand, If you saw poor dear mamma contriving To look supernaturally grand, If you saw papa's picture, as taken By Brady, and tinted at that, You'd never suspect he sold bacon And yet, just this moment, when sitting In the bustle and glitter befitting The "finest soirée of the year," In the mists of a gaze de Chambéry, And the hum of the smallest of talk, Somehow, Joe, I thought of the "Ferry," And the dance that we had on "The Fork;' |