SYMPTOMS OF OSSIFICATION.

IME was, I always had a drop For any tale of sigh or sorrow; My handkerchief I used to sop Till often I was forced to borrow; I don’t know how it is, but now My eyelids seldom want a-drying; The doctor, p’rhaps, could tell me how— I fear my heart is ossifying! O’er Goethe how I used to weep, With turnip cheeks and nose of scarlet, When Werter put himself to sleep With pistols kiss’d and clean’d by Charlotte; Self-murder is an awful sin, No joke there is in bullets flying, But now at such a tale I grin— I fear my heart is ossifying! The Drama once could shake and thrill My nerves, and set my tears a-stealing, The Siddons then could turn at will Each plug upon the main of feeling; At Belvidera now I smile, And laugh while Mrs. Haller’s crying; ’Tis odd, so great a change of style— I fear my heart is ossifying! That heart was such—some years ago, To see a beggar quite would shock it, And in his hat I used to throw The quarter’s savings of my pocket: I never wish—as I did then!— The means from my own purse supplying, To turn them all to gentlemen— I fear my heart is ossifying! We’ve had some serious things of late, Our sympathies to beg or borrow,

New melo-drames, of tragic fate, And acts, and songs, and tales of sorrow; Miss Zouch’s case, our eyes to melt, And sundry actors sad good-bye-ing, But Lord!—so little have I felt, I’m sure my heart is ossifying!