_THE LADIES' ADDRESS TO THE INCONSTANTS._ _Written by G. W. Wicksteed._ We saw the _Hastings_ hasting off, And never made a fuss. The _Malabar's_ departure waked No malady in us. We were not piqued to lose the _Pique_; Each lady's heart at ease is, Altho' the _Dees_ are on the seas, And gone the _Hercules_--es. Our parting with the _Andromache_ Like Hector's not at all is; Nor are we Washingtons to seek To capture a _Cornwallis_. And no _Charybdis_ ever caught Our hearts in passion's whirls; There's not a girl among us all Has ever fished for _Pearls_. The _Vestals_ with their sacred flame Were not the sparks we wanted; We've looked _Medeas_ in the face, And yet were not enchanted. But when our dear _Inconstants_ go, Our grief shall know no bounds, The dance shall have no joy for us, The song no merry sounds. All dismal then shall be the waltz, The dull quadrille as bad, And wearily we'll hurry through The joyless galopade. We'll gaze upon each changeful cloud As through the air it skims, We'll think of fickle fortune's wheel, And fashion's turns and whims-- Sweet emblems of _Inconstancy_ In each of these we'll find, And our _Inconstants_ constantly We'll fondly bear in mind. And spite of Durham's fetes and balls, We'll pine and mourn and mope Our long, long winter season through, As girls without a _Hope_. And when the spring shall come again, Our hearts, to pleasure dead, Shall sigh for spring without an S, And wish for _Pring_ instead. Unless, indeed, sweet spring with _Hope_ Those hearts again should bless, And bring our dear _Inconstants_ back, And spring without an S. Quebec, 6th July, 1838. (From _Waifs in Verse_, by G. W. Wicksteed, Q.C., Law Clerk, House of Commons of Canada, 1878.) To which melting address the "Inconstants," on their way to Britain, feelingly replied. Our space allows us to insert but a few stanzas of this poetical lament. All language fails to tell how much We value your address, Or say how deeply we partake The feelings you express. Those _Hastings_ are a hasty set, And left you in a hurry; Those _Malabars_ are malapert, And hot as Indian curry. Be true, and then the breath of May Shall fill our sails and bring Our willing steps and eager hearts, And _Spring_--and _Pring_--and _Ring_. And each of you for one of ours Shall change her maiden name, And as we are all _Inconstants_, you Of course will be the same. Kamouraska, August, 1838.