he wants a business would as readily make his fortune by selling them,
as the Yorkshireman who went to the West Indies with a cargo of great
coats.

* * * * *


LINES

ON MY FORTY-NINTH BIRTHDAY.

(_For the Mirror_.)


On the slope of Life's decline,
The landmark reached of _forty-nine_,
Thoughtful on this heart of mine
Strikes the sound of forty-nine.
Greyish hairs with brown combine
To note Time's hand--and forty-nine.
Sunny hours that used to shine,
Shadow o'er at forty-nine.
Of youthful sports the joys decline,
Symptoms strong of forty-nine.
The dance I willingly resign,
To lighter heels than forty-nine.

* * * * *

Yet, why anxiously repine?