41 



Ah, now through the mist of a hundred years, 

 Its wailings of grief, its rivers of tears, 

 Methinks I can catch the sounds of delight 

 That swept the air on a winter's night, 

 When affection trilled her musical lyre 

 By the cheerful light of that hickory fire. 



Then men didn't call themselves aristocratic 



Because they lived in a prominent attic, 



And they didn't think it exceeding divine 



To say their prayers to a milliner's shrine, 



In hopes that the kingdom of hoops might come 



Before they should hear the judgment drum; 



And they didn't feed on the scandalous capers 



That are brought to light by the gossiping papers, 



How a notable fool behaves with propriety 



In the very up-tendom of free-stone society ; 



How reverend divines are wetting their whistles 



With very grandiloquent sea-shore epistles ; 



How Hobbs, Gobbs and Dobbins are getting quite rich, 



The tariff on turpentine, liquors and pitch, 



This, that and the other — a thousand such things 



As my Tribune or Herald invariably brings, 



Nor did they deem it the best of decorum 



To leave the anvil or counter before 'em, 



And run for every upstartish balloon 



That thought to start on a trip to the moon; 



And little they cared if a crazy committee 



Had wasted the funds of a recreant city, 



Or if over a grand political tub 



A dozen of parties were having a rub : 



Nor did they expect* at the end of a quarter 



To settle the bills of a ravishing daughter, 



To the beautiful tune of hundreds of dollars, 



For jewels and laces, silk dresses and collars, 



For hoods and mantillas, capes, gaiters and shawls, 



Dresses to ride in and dresses for balls, 



Gay ribbons and flauntings — a host of such things 



As give to our pockets the fleetest of wings ; 



Nor plunging their heads into barrels of grease 



To give a remarkable " shine " to their fleece, 



And stuffed and bronzed like a genuine fop, 



A sort of walking perfumery shop, 



Did they hurry away to the grand soiree 



To dance and flirt with Miss Fiddle-de-dee ; 



* It is a pretty sure Bign of a weak head to be looking wistfully into the past, but in some of these 

 common-place thingB a brief review may not be ui.ii.teresting. 



