TWELVE O'CLOCK M.
Oh, what a bore! He's worse than Grimes by half;
So slow!--That turkey will be done to rags!--
I'm famished! I could eat the fatted calf.
There! Thank the Lord! He's winding up; he fags.
ONE P.M.
Give me the knife. Be quick, my love, be quick!
I never was so hungry in my life!
Well, thank the Lord, that tedious old stick
_Did_ let us off.--Oh, hang this carving-knife!
TWO P.M.
I wish I had not eaten quite so much;
But, really, the mince-pie was _so_ prime!
You gave it just the real, old, fancy touch.
There! (Thank the Lord, I got the meat in time.)
THREE P.M.
My eyes! how sleepy I have grown since noon!
Some wine or music, now, would make me gay;
Come, ANNA, let us have a little tune--
There! thank the Lord, there's no more work to-day.
FOUR P.M.
What was it, ANNA? I was sound asleep;
I rather think I had the nightmare, too.
I feel half sick; cold chills around me creep.
Well, thank the Lord, Thanksgiving is all through!
* * * * *
A Pen and an Inkling.
A certain HERR BISSENGER, of Pforzhelm, has presented BISMARCK with a
golden pen, set with jewels, with which to sign the treaty after the
capture of Paris. Foresight is well enough in its way; but if the treaty
which is to end this war is not a very different one from any BISMARCK
has yet suggested, penning his signature to it will be merely a
preliminary to his repentance for being so short-sighted as not to see
that Sedan, not Paris, was the place at which to make a lasting peace.
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