My Wife's Cousin.

Decked with shoes of blackest polish,

And with shirt as white as snow,

After early morning breakfast

To my daily desk I go;

First a fond salute bestowing

On my Mary's ruby lips,

Which, perchance, may be rewarded

With a pair of playful nips.

All day long across the ledger

Still my patient pen I drive,

Thinking what a feast awaits me

In my happy home at five;

In my small one-storeyed Eden,

Where my wife awaits my coming,

And our solitary handmaid

Mutton-chops with care is crumbing.

When the clock proclaims my freedom,

Then my hat I seize and vanish;

Every trouble from my bosom,

Every anxious care I banish.

Swiftly brushing o'er the pavement,

At a furious pace I go,

Till I reach my darling dwelling

In the wilds of Pimlico.

“Mary, wife, where art thou, dearest?”

Thus I cry, while yet afar;

Ah! what scent invades my nostrils?—

‘ Tis the smoke of a cigar!

Instantly into the parlour

Like a maniac, I haste,

And I find a young Life-Guardsman,

With his arm round Mary's waist.

And his other hand is playing

Most familiarly with hers;

And I think my Brussels carpet

Somewhat damaged by his spurs.

“Fire and furies! what the blazes?”

Thus in frenzied wrath I call;

When my spouse her arms upraises,

With a most astounding squall.

“Was there ever such a monster,

Ever such a wretched wife?

Ah! how long must I endure it,

How protract this hateful life?

All day long, quite unprotected,

Does he leave his wife at home;

And she cannot see her cousins,

Even when they kindly come!”

Then the young Life-Guardsman, rising,

Scarce vouchsafes a single word,

But, with look of deadly menace,

Claps his hand upon his sword;

And in fear I faintly falter —

“This your cousin, then he's mine!

Very glad, indeed, to see you,—

Wo n't you stop with us, and dine?”

Wo n't a ferret suck a rabbit?—

As a thing of course he stops;

And with most voracious swallow

Walks into my mutton-chops.

In the twinkling of a bed-post

Is each savoury platter clear,

And he shows uncommon science

In his estimate of beer.

Half-and-half goes down before him,

Gurgling from the pewter pot;

And he moves a counter motion

For a glass of something hot.

Neither chops nor beer I grudge him,

Nor a moderate share of goes;

But I know not why he's always

Treading upon Mary's toes.

Evermore, when, home returning,

From the counting-house I come,

Do I find the young Life-Guardsman

Smoking pipes and drinking rum.

Evermore he stays to dinner,

Evermore devours my meal;

For I have a wholesome horror

Both of powder and of steel.

Yet I know he's Mary's cousin,

For my only son and heir

Much resembles that young Guardsman,

With the self-same curly hair;

But I wish he would not always

Spoil my carpet with his spurs;

And I'd rather see his fingers

In the fire, than touching hers.