Atkinson's Casket

BECAUSE I'M TWENTY-FIVE,

By Miss Horton.

'Twas wondrous strange, how great the change, Since I was in my teens;

Then I had beaux, and billet-doux,

And joined the gayest scenes,

But lovers now have ceased to vow-
No way they now contrive

To poison, hang, or drown themselves-
Because I'm twenty-five

Once, if the night were e'er so bright,
1 ne'er abroad would roam,
Without-"The bliss, the honor Miss,
Of seeing you safe home."

But now I go, through rain or snow-
Pursued, and scarce alive-
Through all the dark without a spark-
Because I'm twenty-five.

They used to call and ask me all
About my health so frail;

And thought a ride would help my side,
And turn my cheek less pale;

But now alas, if I am ill,

None cares that I revive,

And my pale cheek in vain may speak.
Because I'm twenty-five.

Now if a ride improves my side.

I'm forced to take the stage:

For that is deemed quite proper for
A person of my age:

And then no hand is offered me,
To help me out alive-

They think it wont hurt me to fall-
Because I'm twenty-five.

Oh dear-'tis queer that every year
I'm slighted more and more;
For not a beau pretends to show
His head within our door.
Nor ride, nor card, nor soft address,
My spirit now revive;

And one might near as well be dead
As say-I'm TWENTY FIVE,

OLD AND NEW TIMES.
When my good mother was a girl-
Say thirty years ago-
Young ladies then knew how to knit,
As well well as how to sew.

Young ladies then could spin and weave,
Could bake, and brew, and sweep; ̧

Could sing and play, could dance and paint,
And could a secret keep.

Young ladies then were beautiful

As any beauties now

Yet they could rake the new-mown hay,
Or milk the "brindle cow."

Young ladies then wore bonnets, too,
And with them their own hair;
They made them from their own good straw,
And pretty, too, they were.

Young ladies then wore gowns with sleeves
Which would just hold their arms;
And did not have as many yards
As acres in their farms.

Young ladies then oft fell in love,

And married too, the men;

While men, with willing hearts and true,
Loved them all back again.

Young ladies now can knit and sew,
Or read a pretty book-

Can sing and paint, and joke and quiz,
But cannot bear to cook.

Young ladies now can blythely spin
Ofstreet yarn" many a spool;
And weave a web of scandal too,
And dye it in the wool.

Young ladies now can bake their hair
Can brew their own cologne:
In borrowed plumage often shine,
While they neglect their own.

And as to secrets who would think
Fidelity a pearl?

None but a modest little miss,
Perchance a country girl.

Young ladies now wear lovely curls,
What pity they should buy them;
And then their bonnets-heavens! they fright
The beau that ventures nigh them.

E'en love is changed from what it was,
Although true love is known;

"Tis wealth adds lustre to the cheek,
And melts the heart of stone.

Thus time works wonders-young and old
Confess his magic power:

Beauty will fade; but Virtue proves
Pure gold in man's last hour.

[From Blackwood's Magazine for December.] THE AGE OF WONDERS; Or, the New Whig War,

A NEW SONG.

Tune-"Which nobody can deny."

I wonder if wonders are ever to cease,
For at present they seem to be on the increase-
We are going to war in the mere love of peace,
And all to oblige Talleyrand and his niece-
Which nobody can deny, deny,
Which nobody can deny.

Are we not getting on at a wonderful rate,
When those whom it once was a credit to hate,
Can get us to give a kingdom or state,

Just because it would render their boundaries straight?
Which nobody can deny, deny,

Which nobody can deny.

I confess that it strikes me with wonderment too.
That we thus interfere for that runaway crew,
The foremost in flight from thy field, Waterloo,
And who still to this day the same tactics pursue,
Which nobody can deny, deny,
Which nobody can deny.

And I own that it raises my wonder as much
To hear our Whigs cry, "Let us now have a touch
At that pig-headed Protestant people the Dutch"-
So long our best friends and behaving as such,
Which nobody can deny, deny,
Which nobody can deny.

And then just to render our wonder complete,

I beseech you to think of the new "Combined Fleet"-
How different from that which, with full topsail sheet,
We cross'd the Atlantic twice over to meet,
Which nobody can deny, deny,.
Which nobody can deny,

"Tis wondrous to think, how our debt will be paid
By this simple Whig plan, for the stoppage of trade!
How the country will thrive and our fortunes be made!-
Throwing all our old statesmen quite into the shade,
Which nobody can deny, deny,

Which nobody can deny.

Oh! who can reflect upon wonders like these,
And not be in love with this new French disease?

So down with the Dutch, and their butter and cheese--
It's glory against but a firkin of grease.

Which nobody can deny, deny,

Which nobody can deny.