Volume 104 — REFLECTION BY A READER OF "REMINISCENCES."
Reading edition
Yes, life is hard. Our fellows judge us coldly; We mostly dwell in fog, and dance in fetters; But sweeter far to face oblivion boldly, Than front posterity through a Life and Letters. That Memory's the Mother of the Muses, We're told. Alas! it must have been the Furies! Mnemosyne her privilege abuses,— Nothing from her distorting glass secure is. Life is a Sphinx: folk cannot solve her riddles, So they've recourse to spiteful taradiddles, Which they dub "Reminiscences." Kind fate, From, the fool's Memory preserve the Great!
"How London Theatres are Warmed."—By having first-rate pieces. This prevents any chance of a "frost."
Song for the Liberator Society, and Others.—"Oh, where, and oh where, is our J. S. B-lf-r gone?"
When the P. M. Gazette by a Tory was book'd, The Editor "Cust," and its readers were Cooke'd.
"SURGIT AMARI ALIQUID——"
"And whom did you take into Supper, Mike?" "Maud Willoughby."
"You lucky Boy! Why she's a Darling!"
"Yes—but there was another Fellow on her other Side!"