SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

Men and women,—more or less,— Have minds o' the self-same metal, mould, and form!— Doth not the infant love to sport and laugh, And tie a kettle to a puppy's tail?— Doth not the dimpled girl her 'kerchief don (Mocking her elder) mantilla wise—then speed To mass and noontide visits; where are bandied Smooth gossip-words of sugared compliment? But when at budding womanhood arrived, She casts aside all childish games, nor thinks Of aught save some gay paranymph—who, caught In love's stout meshes, flutters round the door, And fondly beckons her away from home,— The whilst, her lady mother fain would cage The foolish bird within its narrow cell!— And then, the grandame idly wastes her breath, In venting saws 'bout maiden modesty— And strict decorum,—from some musty volume: But the clipp'd wings will quickly sprout again; And whilst the doating father thinks his child A paragon of worth and bashfulness,— Her thoughts are hovering round the precious form Of her sweet furnace-breathing Don Diego!— And he, all proof 'gainst dews and nightly blasts, In breathless expectation waits to see His panting Rosa at the postern door;— While she sighs forth "My gentle cavalier!"— And then they straightway fall to kissing hands, And antic-gestures—such as lovers use,— Expressive of their wish quickly to tie The gordian knot of marriage;—Pretty creatures!— But why not earlier to have thought of this?— When he, the innocent youth, was wont to play At coscogilla; and the prattling girl, Amid her nursery companions, toiled In sempstress labours for her wooden dolls.— Ah! wherefore, did I ask?—Because forsooth, Their ways are changed with their increasing years!— For when for gallantry the time be come— And when the stagnant blood begins to boil Within the veins, my master—then the lads Cast longing looks on damosels—for nature Defies restraint—and kin-birds flock together!— And think not, Master, Chance disposes thus; Or were it so, then chance directs us all— Whene'er we have attain'd the important age! I, ———, am a living instance!— Was I not once a lively laughing boy? And, in my stripling age, did I not love The pastimes suited to those madcap days?— Oh! would to heaven those times were present still! But wherefore fret myself with hopes so vain?— The silly thought doth find no shelter here,— That any beauty, with dark roguish eyes, With sparkling blood, and rising warmth of youth, Would e'er affect this wrinkled face of mine:— The very thought doth smack of foolishness!— And, though the truth may be a bitter pill, Yet,— It is most fitting that we know ourselves.

Ye Cits who at White Conduit House, Hampstead or Holloway carouse, Let no vain wish disturb ye; For rural pleasures unexplored, Take those your Sabbath strolls afford, And prize your Rus in urbe. For many who from active trades Have plung'd into sequester'd shades, Will dismally assure ye, That it's a harder task to bear Th' ennui produced by country air, And sigh for Urbs in rure. The cub in prison born and fed, The bird that in a cage was bred, The hutch-engender'd rabbit, Are like the long-imprison'd Cit, For sudden liberty unfit, Degenerate by habit. Sir William Curtis, were he mew'd In some romantic solitude, A bower of rose and myrtle, Would find the loving turtle dove No succedaneum for his love Of London Tavern turtle. Sir Astley Cooper, cloy'd with wealth, Sick of luxurious ease and health, And rural meditation, Sighs for his useful London life, The restless night—the saw and knife Of daily amputation. Habit is second nature—when It supersedes the first, wise men Receive it as a warning, That total change comes then too late, And they must e'en assimilate Life's evening to its morning. Thrice happy he whose mind has sprung From Mammon's yoke while yet unwrung Or spoilt for nobler duty:— Who still can gaze on Nature's face With all a lover's zeal, and trace In every change a beauty. No tedium vitae round him lowers, The charms of contrast wing his hours, And every scene embellish:— From prison, City, care set free, He tastes his present liberty With keener zest and relish.