You loved her for her hair of gold. Unwitting that she dyed it; She vowed her love could ne'er grow cold, Though Time had never tried it. Your worship came to such a pass, That, when you calmly view it, You feel you were an utter ass, Though then you never knew it.
What happened? Why, the usual thing: While round her you would linger, Her love was fragile as the ring You bought to grace her finger. She went off with another man, And so you had to sever: Thus women since the world began Have done, and will do ever.
I revelled at the Albert Hall, which last week was given up to a festival called "_The Coming Race_." I was there at the opening on Thursday, the 5th, when Princess BEATRICE, attended by her husband, Prince HENRY of Battenberg, declared the Bazaar open. A gay and festive scene. Here, there, and everywhere, Egyptian houses made of cardboard, containing stalls full of the most useful articles imaginable. On the daïs, a number of sweet-faced ladies presenting purses (containing £3 3s. and upwards) to the Princess, who received them with an affability which won the hearts of all beholders. On the floor of the building was a gaily-dressed throng, which included many a distinguished person. The revelry continued for three days, and was, I trust, the means of obtaining funds for a charity which, no doubt, is most deserving of support. And here, I may say, I revelled so much at the Albert Hall, that I had no desire to revel anywhere else.
Lights and bouquets--flush and flare-- Motley medley--splash affair-- Deft disguises--flute and fife-- Half the world without his wife-- Dominos, and masks, and faces-- Graces three--and three Disgraces. Jacks-in-boxes--tambour-majors-- Janes in office--ancient stagers-- REYNOLDS' Duchess--Shepherdesses; (Burlington) Arcadian tresses-- Primrose damsels,--clowns and follies,-- Organ-grinders--Flemish dollies-- Macaronis, rather muddy, Of the central stud a study-- England's mashers, Afric's dark sons-- NATHAN's stock-in-trade and CLARKSON's-- All costumes not apt the back to, Some of them inclined to crack too-- Martyred revellers in upper Rooms, and singing for their supper. Bright confusion--many a mad hunt-- Five o'clock--_and wish I hadn't._