Volume 99 — THE CRY OF THE CITY CLERK.

I knew, I knew it would not last— 'Twas hard, 'twas hopeful, but 'tis past. Ah! ever thus, from boyhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes decay. I never trusted Jack Frost's power, But Jack Frost did my trust betray. I never bought a pair of skates On Friday—I am in the law— But, ere I started with my mates On Saturday, 'twas sure to thaw! Now, too—the prospect seemed divine— They skated yesterday, I knew, And now, just as I'm going to dine, The sun comes out, the skies grow blue, Ere we at Wimbledon can meet, Those horrid gaps!—that treacherous sludge! I shall not get one skimmer fleet. After my long and sloppy trudge. No go! One more lost Saturday! To skating's joys I'm still a stranger. I sit and curse the melting ray, In which my hopes all melt away— It means soft ice, chill slop, and—"Danger!!!"