Enjoyed that mimic farce—Society,

Entitled by significance of birth,

But what of this! Society's not mirth,

It has its fairer and its darker side,

The one is worth, the other—want of worth,

What are the hollow luxuries of Pride?

Oh gaze not on the gloom its dazzling tinsels hide!

LXXII.

How nice it is to dash about in style

With prancing steeds thro' all the whirling west

Of mighty London, under Fashion's smile,

(Tho' redundant pleasures even can molest)

And feel one's happy self supremely blest,

And bowed to by a “humble flunkey flat,”

With endless formal courtesies oppressed;

To flirt with Baron this or Lady that,

And mix with all the great, the honoured of the state.

LXXIII.

Roll to the theatre, too. Upon the board

Gaze on the actor—paralyzed and dumb,

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