HER LETTER.

Auckland Star, Volume II, Issue 524, 14 September 1871, Page 3

HER LETTER.

[BBKT lIARTB.]

I'm Bitttinp alone by the fire, Dressed just as I came from tlie dance,! In a robe even you would admire,— It cost, a cool thousand in France ; I'm be-iliamonded out of all reason, My hair is done up in a queue -. In short, sir, " The belle of thesoason la wasting an hour on you. ,'. A dozen engagements I've broken ; I left in the midst of a set: Likewise a proposal, half spoken. That waits—on tbe stairs—for me yet. They say he'll be rich,-when he grows up, - And then he adores me mdeea. And you, sir, are turning your nose up. Three thousand miles off, as you read. " And how do I like my Po^|.°" ? nrk , \v.d what do I think of New .' And now, in my higher ambition With whom do I waltz, flirt or talk . And isn't it nice to have riches, And diamonds, and silks and all tlmt,And aren't it a change to the ditches And tunnels of Poverty Flat? Well, yes,—if you saw us out driving Each day in the park, four-in-hand,— If you saw poor dear mamma contriving To look supernaturally grand,— If you saw papa's picture, as taken By Brady, and tinted at that,—You'd never suspect he sold bacon And flour in Poverty Plat. And yet, jast this moment, when sitting In the glare of tlie r-*"" -banrtelier,— In the bustle and glitter beUtting The "iincst so'ure of the year, — In tho mists of a ii<i-«' (Its Chambers,, And the hum of the smallest of talk,--Somehow, Joe, I thought of the " Ferry," And tho (lance that we had at " The Fork ; Of Harrison's barn, with its muster Of flags festooned over the wall; Of the candles that shed their soft lustre And tallow on head-dress and siiawl; Of the steps that wo took to one fiddle ; Of the dress of my queer ma-tUoi*;- .- ■ And how I once went down the middle.' . With the man that shot Shandy I.l'Gne; Of the moon that was quietly sleeping On the hill, when the time came to go ; Of tho few baby peaks that were peeping From under their bedclothes of snow ; Of that ride,—that to me was the rarest; Of—the something you said at the gate ; Ah, Joe, then I wasn't an heiress To " the best paying lead in the State." Well, well, it's all past; yet it's funny To think, a<) -I stood in tho glare Of fashion and beauty and money, 1 That I should lie thinking, right there, Of some one who breasted high water, And swam the Xorth Fork, and all that, Just to dance with old Folinsbec's daughter, Tlie Lily of Poverty Plat. But goodness I what no:.Bunse I'm writing ! (.Mamma says my taste still is low) ; . Insto:;d of my' triumphs reciting,— I'm spooning on Joseph- -heigh-ho ! And I'm to bo " finished" by travel, — Whatever's the meaning of that, — 0, why did papa strike pay gravel In drifting on Poverty Flat ? Good night ;—hero's the end of my paper ; Good night,—if the longitude pie.\se,— For maybe, whilst wasting my taper, Your sun's climbing over the trees. But know, if you haven't got riches, And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that, That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches, And you've struck it,— on Poverty Plat. -