For a month to come Poor dear Janet's thumb Was in that sort of state vulgar people call "Rum." At the end of that time, A youth, still in his prime, The Doctor's fat Errand-boy,--just such a dolt as is Kept to mix draughts, and spread plaisters and poultices,-- Who a bread-cataplasm each morning had carried her, Sigh'd,--ogled,--proposed,--was accepted,--and married her! Much did Aunt Fan Disapprove of the plan;-- She turn'd up her dear little snub at "the Man." She "could not believe it"-- "Could scarcely conceive it Was possible--What! _such_ a place!--and then leave it!-- And all for a 'Shrimp' not as high as my hat-- A little contemptible 'Shaver' like that!! With a broad pancake face, and eyes buried in fat!" --For her part, "She was sure She could never endure A lad with a lisp, and a leg like a skewer.-- Such a name too!--('twas Potts!)--and so nasty a trade-- No, no,--she would much rather die an old maid!-- He a husband, indeed!--Well--mine, come what may come, Shan't look like a blister, or smell of Guaiacum!"-- But there! She'd "declare, It was Janet's affair-- --_Chacun à son goût_-- As she baked she might brew-- She could not prevent her--'twas no use in trying it-- Oh, no--she had made her own bed, and might lie in it.-- They 'repent at leisure who marry at random.' No matter--_De gustibus non disputandum!_" Consoling herself with this choice bit of Latin, Aunt Fanny resignedly bought some white satin, And, as the Soubrette Was a very great pet After all,--she resolved to forgive and forget, And sat down to make her a bridal rosette, With magnificent bits of some white-looking metal Stuck in, here and there, each forming a petal.-- --On such an occasion one couldn't feel hurt, Of course, that she ceased to remember--my Shirt! Ten years,--or nigh,-- Had again gone by, When Fan, accidentally casting her eye On a dirty old work-basket, hung up on high In the store-closet where herbs were put by to dry, Took it down to explore it--she didn't know why.--