Hurrah! the Season's past at last; At length we've “done” our pleasure. Dear “Pater,” if you only knew How much I've longed for home and you,—
Our own green lawn and leisure! And then the pets! One half forgets The dear dumb friends — in Babel. I hope my special fish is fed;—
I long to see poor Nigra's head Pushed at me from the stable! I long to see the cob and “Rob,” — Old Bevis and the Collie;
And wo n't we read in “Traveller's Rest”! Home readings after all are best;— None else seem half so “jolly!” One misses your dear kindly store
Of fancies quaint and funny; One misses, too, your kind bon-mot;— The Mayfair wit I mostly know Has more of gall than honey!
How tired one grows of “calls and balls!” This “toujours perdrix” wearies; I'm longing, quite, for “Notes on Knox”; ( Apropos, I've the loveliest box
For holding Notes and Queries! ) A change of place would suit my case. You'll take me?— on probation? As “Lady-help,” then, let it be;
I feel ( as Lavender shall see ), That Jams are my vocation! How's Lavender? My love to her. Does Briggs still flirt with Flowers?—
Has Hawthorn stubbed the common clear?— You'll let me give some picnics, Dear, And ask the Vanes and Towers? I met Belle Vane. “HE'S” still in Spain!
Sir John wo n't let them marry. Aunt drove the boys to Brompton Rink; And Charley,— changing Charley,— think, Is now au mieux with Carry!
And NO. You know what “No” I mean — There's no one yet at present: The Benedick I have in view Must be a something wholly new,—
One's father's far too pleasant. So hey, I say, for home and you! Good-by to Piccadilly; Balls, beaux, and Bolton-row, adieu!
Expect me, Dear, at half-past two; Till then,— your Own Fond — MILLY.
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