THE BANKER'S DINNER. Taste the brown sherry which he does not pass,· But not forgetful of his feasting friends, With the dry sticks all bonfires are begun; Thence down to Youri; - stop him if we can, We can't fare worse, wake up the Congress-man! - The Congress-man, once on his talking legs, Extinguished; lassoed by a treacherous pun. A laugh is priming to the loaded soul; The scattering shots become a steady roll, Broke by sharp cracks that run along the line, 71 The light artillery of the talker's wine. The kindling goblets flame with golden dews, Is drawn from heroes' bones and lovers' hearts. But lulls will come; the flashing soul transmits Its gleams of light in alternating fits. The shower of talk that rattled down amain 'Tis but a story, - quite a simple thing, - (This from a grizzled, square-jawed man of fact.) The sparkling story leaves him to his fate, Crushed by a witness, smothered with a date, THE BANKER'S DINNER. As a swift river, sown with many a star, So, with the merry tale and jovial song, And the white neckcloths vanish through the door. One savage word! - The menials know its tone, And slink away; the master stands alone. 73 "Well played, by-"; breathe not what were best unheard; His goblet shivers while he speaks the word, "If wine tells truth, — and so have said the wise, — It makes me laugh to think how brandy lies! Bright with such treasures as a search might bring From the deep pockets of a truant king. Two diamonds, eyeballs of a God of bronze, Brught from his faithful priest, a pious Bonze; Gone! As a pirate flies before the wind, The bride of shame, the wife without the ring: -the wail of frenzied woe, Heaven and peace below! He kept his secret; but the seed of crime Bursts of itself in God's appointed time. The lives he wrecked were scattered far and wide; One never blamed nor wept, — she only died. None knew his lot, though idle tongues would say He sought a lonely refuge far away, And there, with borrowed name and altered mien, He died unheeded, as he lived unseen. The moral market had the usual chills THE MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS. Of Virtue suffering from protested bills: The White Cravats, to friendship's memory true, THE MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS. 75 WHAT ailed young Lucius? Art had vainly tried Useless; the fair young Roman languished still. They rubbed his wasted limbs with sulphurous oil, They led him tottering down the steamy path Where bubbling fountains filled the thermal bath; They washed him, shivering, in her icy wave. They sought all curious herbs and costly stones, They scraped the moss that grew on dead men's bones, They tried all cures the votive tablets taught, Scoured every place whence healing drugs were brought, |