You're looking very dismal, when
My lady bounces in,

And wonders what you're thinking of
And why you don't begin!

You're telling to a knot of friends
A fancy-tale of woes

That cloud matrimonial sky,

your

And banish all repose

A solemn lady overhears

The story of your strife,

And tells the town the pleasant news:
You quarrel with your wife!

My dear young friend, whose shining wit
Sets all the room a-blaze,
Don't think yourself "a happy dog,"

For all your merry ways;
But learn to wear a sober phiz,

Be stupid, if you can,

It's such a very serious thing
To be a funny man!

IDÉES NAPOLÉONIENNES.

WILLIAM AYTOUN.

The impossibility of translating this now well-known expression (imperfectly rendered in a companion-work, "Ideas of Napoleonism"), will exeuse the title and burden of the present ballad being left in the original French.-TRANS

LATOR

COME, listen all who wish to learn

How nations should be ruled,

From one who from his youth has been

In such-like matters school'd;

From one who knows the art to please,

Improve and govern men

Eh bien! Ecoutez, aux Idées,
Napoléoniennes !

To keep the mind intently fixed

On number One alone

To look to no one's interest,
But push along your own,
Without the slightest reference

To how, or what, or when-
Eh bien! c'est la première Idée
Napoléonienne.

To make a friend, and use him well,
By which, of course, I mean
To use him up-until he's drain'd
Completely dry and clean

Of all that makes him useful, and
To kick him over then
Without remorse-c'est une Idée

Napoléonienne.

To sneak into a good man's house
With sham credentials penn'd—
To sneak into his heart and trust,

And seem his children's friend-
To learn his secrets, find out where
He keeps his keys-and then
To bone his spoons-c'est une Idée
Napoléonienne.

To gain your point in view-to wade Through dirt, and slime, and blood To stoop to pick up what you want Through any depth of mud.

But always in the fire to thrust

Some helpless cat's-paw, when

Your chestnuts burn-c'est une Idée Napoléonienne.

To clutch and keep the lion's share

To kill or drive away

The wolves, that you upon the lambs
May, unmolested, prey—

To keep a gang of jackals fierce
To guard and stock your den,
While you lie down-c'est une Idée
Napoléonienne.

To bribe the base, to crush the good,
And bring them to their knees
To stick at nothing, or to stick

At what or whom you please—
To stoop, to lie, to brag, to swear,
Forswear, and swear again—
To rise-Ah! voià des Idées
Napoléoniennes.

THE LAY OF THE LOVER'S FRIEND

WILLIAM AYTOUN

A "The days we went a-gipsying."

I WOULD all womankind were dead,
Or banished o'er the sea;

For they have been a bitter plague
These last six weeks to me:
It is not that I'm touched myself,
For that I do not fear;

No female face hath shown me grace

For many a bygone year.

But 'tis the most infernal bore,

Of all the bores I know,

To have a friend who's lost his heart
A short time ago.

Whene'er we steam it to Blackwall,
Or down to Greenwich run,

To quaff the pleasant cider cup,
And feed on fish and fun;

Or climb the slopes of Richmond Hill,
Tc catch a breath of air:

Then, for my sins, he straight begins

To rave about his fair.

Oh, 'tis the most tremendous bore,

Of all the bores I know,

To have a friend who's lost his heart
A short time ago

In vain you pour into his ear
Your own confiding grief;
In vain you claim his sympathy,
In vain you ask relief;

In vain you try to rouse him by
Joke, repartee, or quiz;
His sole reply's a burning sigh,

And "What a mind it is!"

O Lord! it is the greatest bore,

Of all the bores I know,

To have a friend who's lost his heart
A short time ago.

I've heard her thoroughly described
A hundred times, I'm sure;
And all the while I've tried to smile,
And patiently endure;

He waxes strong upon his pangs,
And potters o'er his grog;
And still I say, in a playful way—
"Why you 're a lucky dog!"
But oh! it is the heaviest bore,
Of all the bores I know,

To have a friend who's lost his heart
A short time ago.

I really wish he'd do like me
When I was young and strong;

I formed a passion every week,
But never kept it long.

But he has not the sportive mood
That always rescued me,

And so I would all women could

Be banished o'er the sea.

For 'tis the most egregious bore,

Of all the bores I know.

To have a friend who's lost his heart
A short time ago.

PARODIES AND BURLESQUES.