I have something sweet to tell you, but the secret you must keep, And remember, if it isn’t right, “I’m talking in my sleep;” For I know I am but dreaming, When I think your love is mine; And I know they are but seeming, All the hopes that round me shine. I have something sweet to tell you, but the secret you must keep, And remember, if it isn’t right, “I’m talking in my sleep.” So remember when I tell you what I can not longer keep We are none of us responsible for what we say in sleep. My pretty secret’s coming! Oh! listen with your heart, And you shall hear it humming; Be close! ’twill make you start. I have something sweet to tell you, but the secret you must keep, And remember if it isn’t right, “I’m talking in my sleep.” Oh! shut your eyes so earnest, or mine will wildly weep, I love you! I adore you! but, “I’m talking in my sleep.” For I know I am but dreaming, When I think your love is mine; And I know they are but seeming, All the hopes that round me shine. I have something sweet to tell you, but the secret you must keep, And remember, if it isn’t right, “I’m talking in my sleep.” What Will Mrs. Grundy Say? 15 Oh, fashion now is all the rage in houses, hoops, and dress; And each must do what others do--they dare not think of less. Mrs. Grundy is the queen of all mankind to-day; And each one thinks before she acts of--What will Grundy say? Mr. Tompkins fail’d last fall, and is not worth a red, But still he lives upon the “Fifth,” and still holds up his head. They keep their carriage all the same, though not a dime they pay; They can’t retrench a cent, for shame of--What would Grundy say? There’s Mary Jane, she’s tall and slim, a sack of bonesshe’s grown, And brown as any Gipsy girl, and awkward as a clown; Yet she must wear her dresses low, and her thin neck display, For ’tis the fashion; and you know, What would Dame Grundy say? There’s Mrs. Jones, she’s fifty-four, and still she curls her hair, Although all know it is a wig the vain old dame doth wear, She gives of balls, each season two, and wastes her wealth away? For she must do as others do, else, what would Grundy say? There’s fat and stumpy Martha Ann, that weighs two hundred pounds, She’s a bait to catch a man, but not a bite has found. And though she is so short and stout, she promenades Broadway; Her skirts are thirty feet about, Oh, what will Grundy say? There’s shanghai coats and bad cigars, and Musard’s new cravats; There’s paper collars and wristbands, and bell-crown’d, small-brimm’d hats; For comfort, ease, and common-sense, must yield to fashion’s sway; For now the sole prevailing thought is, what will Grundy say? Old Dog Tray. 16 No. 2.