Till then, but what she knew not, of completeness: Insipid things like sandwiches of veal. He took her hand, and soon she felt him wring About her waist that had been clasped by none; Since cold description would but be outrun; OVER THE WAY. "I sat over against a window where there stood a pot with very pretty flowers; and had my eyes fixed on it, when on a sudden the window opened, and a young lady appeared whose beauty struck me."-ARABIAN NIGHTS. ALAS! the flames of an unhappy lover O! why are eyes of hazel? noses Grecian? I've gazed too often, till my heart's as lost I cannot read or write, or thoughts relax – Over the way! Even on Sunday my devotions vary, O! if my godmother were but a fairy, I envy everything that's near Miss Lindo, Blest blue-bottles! that buzz about the window Even at even, for there be no shutters, I see her reading on, from grave to gay, And then ·O! then while the clear waxen taper Emits, two stories high, a starlike ray, But how breathe unto her my deep regards, Cold as the pole she is to my adoring; Over the way! Each dirty little Savoyard that dances She looks on-Punch-or chimney-sweeps in May; Zounds! wherefore cannot I attract her glances Over the way? Half out she leans to watch a tumbling brat, But I'm in love-she never pities that! Haunt all her walks, and dodge her at the play; She does not seem to know she has a neighbor Over the way! At private theatres she never acts; No Crown-and-Anchor balls her fancy sway; Over the way! To billets-doux by post she shows no favor I play the flute she heeds not my chromatics No friend an introduction can purvey; I wish a fire would break out in the attics Over the way! My wasted form ought of itself to touch her; At beef I turn; at lamb or veal I pout; I'm weary of my life; without regret butcher I've fitted bullets to my pistol-bore; I've vowed at times to rush where trumpets bray, Sometimes my fancy builds up castles airy, a cow six fowls a pig-and Mary, Over the way! Sometimes I dream of her in bridal white, I've cooed with her in dreams, like any turtle; Thrice I have rowed her in a fairy shallop, And thrice I've started up from dreams appalling There is a young man very fond of calling O! happy man-above all kings in glory, Nabob of Arcot-Despot of Japan Over the way! With such a lot my heart would be in clover But what-0, horror!-what do I survey! O, Postilions and white favors!-- all is over Over the way! EPICUREAN REMINISCENCES OF A SENTIMENTALIST. My Tables! Meat it is, I set it down!"-HAMLET. I THINK it was Spring - but not certain I am When my passion began first to work; But I know we were certainly looking for lamb, "T was at Christmas, I think, when I met with Miss Chase, Yes, for Morris had asked me to dine, And I thought I had never beheld such a face, Or so noble a turkey and chine. Placed close by her side, it made others quite wild With sheer envy to witness my luck; How she blushed as I gave her some turtle, and smiled I looked and I languished, alas! to my cost, Through three courses of dishes and meats; Getting deeper in love but my heart was quite lost, With a rent-roll that told of my houses and land, To her parents I told my designs And then to herself I presented my hand, I asked her to have me for weal or for woe, I can't tell the date- but we married, I know, |