Volume 100 / Act 2 — TO A DÉBUTANTE.

Fair Maiden of unclouded brow Who, gaily, 'mid the gay the gayest, To England, Home, and Duty now Oblation payest. Gay seeming,—if the milliner's Can cheer, the florist's homage sightly; And yet, unless my fancy errs, Thou shudderest slightly. Is it a sigh for childhood's bliss, A dread of what is coming, come what May matrimonially—or is It draughty somewhat? St. James's corridors are long As Art, as Life thy raiment brief is (Except the train, of course)—and strong Mamma's relief is. In vulgar phrase, "Your mother knows You're out," at length. Such triumphs too dear Are sometimes purchased. I suppose She fidgets you, dear. "The Countess!—bow, child, to the Earl!— Those terrible HYDE PARKES! Their posies Look quite too vulgar; cut them, girl. How red your nose is! "Quick! take the powder-puff, my love— Not on your bouquet or your hair now!— Don't bungle so; you'll drop that glove— Please take more care now. "You stoop like any bourgeoise chit. Who'd think you educated highly? No, not so stiff. Do blush a bit, And simper shyly." Ah! Maiden fair of cloudless air. This kind of thing is hardly pleasant. Indeed, I'm thankful not to wear Thy shoes at present!