Well! every one has their tastes, but, for my part, my own self,
I’d rather have the figures on my poor dear grandmother’s old shelf
A nice pea-green poll-parrot, and two reapers with brown ears of corns,
And a shepherd with a crook after a lamb with two gilt horns,
And such a Jemmy Jessamy in top-boots and sky-blue vest,
And a frill and flower’d waistcoat, with a fine bow-pot at the breast. 
God help her, poor old soul!  I shall come into ’em at her death;
Though she’s a hearty woman for her years, except her shortness of breath. 
Well! you may think the things will mend—­if they won’t, Lord mend us all! 
My lady will go in fits, and Mr. Lambert won’t need to call;
I’ll be bound in any money, if I had a guinea to give,
He won’t sit down again on Chiney the longest day he has to live. 
Poor soul!  I only hope it won’t forbid his banns of marriage;
Or he’d better have sat behind on the spikes of my Lady’s carriage. 
But you’ll join ’em all of course, and stand poor Mr. Lambert’s friend,
I’ll look in twice a day, just to see, like, how they mend. 
To be sure it is a sight that might draw tears from dogs and cats,
Here’s this pretty little pagoda, now, has lost four of its cocked hats. 
Be particular with the pagoda:  and then here’s this pretty bowl—­
The Chinese Prince is making love to nothing because of this hole;
And here’s another Chinese man, with a face just like a doll,
Do stick his pigtail on again, and just mend his parasol. 
But I needn’t tell you what to do, only do it out of hand,
And charge whatever you like to charge—­my Lady won’t make a stand. 
Well! good-morning, Mr. What-d’ye-call, for it’s time our gossip ended: 
And you know the proverb, the less as is said, the sooner the Chiney’s
     mended.

DOMESTIC DIDACTICS.

BY AN OLD SERVANT.

I.

THE BROKEN DISH.

What’s life but full of care and doubt
  With all its fine humanities,
With parasols we walk about,
  Long pigtails, and such vanities.

We plant pomegranate trees and things,
  And go in gardens sporting,
With toys and fans of peacocks’ wings,
  To painted ladies courting.

We gather flowers of every hue,
  And fish in boats for fishes,
Build summer-houses painted blue,—­
  But life’s as frail as dishes!

Walking about their groves of trees,
  Blue bridges and blue rivers,
How little thought them two Chinese,
  They’d both be smashed to shivers!

II.

ODE TO PEACE.

WRITTEN ON THE NIGHT OF MY MISTRESS’S GRAND ROUT.