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- To poison, hang, or drown themselves- Once, if the night were e'er so bright, But now I go, through rain or snow- They used to call and ask me all And thought a ride would help my side, But now alas, if I am ill, None cares that I revive, And my pale cheek in vain may speak. Now if a ride improves my side. I'm forced to take the stage: For that is deemed quite proper for And then no hand is offered me, They think it wont hurt me to fall- Oh dear-'tis queer that every year And one might near as well be dead OLD AND NEW TIMES. Young ladies then could spin and weave, Could sing and play, could dance and paint, Young ladies then were beautiful As any beauties now Yet they could rake the new-mown hay, Young ladies then wore bonnets, too, Young ladies then wore gowns with sleeves Young ladies then oft fell in love, And married too, the men; While men, with willing hearts and true, Young ladies now can knit and sew, Can sing and paint, and joke and quiz, Young ladies now can blythely spin Young ladies now can bake their hair And as to secrets who would think None but a modest little miss, Young ladies now wear lovely curls, E'en love is changed from what it was, "Tis wealth adds lustre to the cheek, Thus time works wonders-young and old Beauty will fade; but Virtue proves [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, Are we not getting on at a wonderful rate, Just because it would render their boundaries straight? Which nobody can deny. I confess that it strikes me with wonderment too. And I own that it raises my wonder as much And then just to render our wonder complete, I beseech you to think of the new "Combined Fleet"- "Tis wondrous to think, how our debt will be paid Which nobody can deny. Oh! who can reflect upon wonders like these, So down with the Dutch, and their butter and cheese-- Which nobody can deny, deny, Which nobody can deny. We have hail'd thee time's tell-tale, When the deep bell has sounded, For the happy to rejoice. We have thought thy pace too lagging, In truth thou art a despot, |