What? there is no deuce!  Deuce take it!  What?  People will go on talking about their neighbours, and won’t have their mouths stopped by cards, or ever so much microscopes and aquariums?  Ah, my poor dear Mrs. Candour, I agree with you.  By the way, did you ever see anything like Lady Godiva Trotter’s dress last night?  People will go on chattering, although we hold our tongues; and, after all, my good soul, what will their scandal matter a hundred years hence?

ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.

(1819-1861.)

LXX.  SPECTATOR AB EXTRA.

  As I sat at the Cafe I said to myself,
  They may talk as they please about what they call pelf,
  They may sneer as they like about eating and drinking,
  But help it I cannot, I cannot help thinking
      How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! 
      How pleasant it is to have money.

  I sit at my table en grand seigneur,
  And when I have done, throw a crust to the poor,
  Not only the pleasure itself of good living,
  But also the pleasure of now and then giving: 
      So pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! 
      So pleasant it is to have money.

  They may talk as they please about what they call pelf,
  And how one ought never to think of one’s self,
  How pleasures of thought surpass eating and drinking,
  My pleasure of thought is the pleasure of thinking
      How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! 
      How pleasant it is to have money.

  LE DINER.

  Come along, ’tis the time, ten or more minutes past,
  And he who came first had to wait for the last;
  The oysters ere this had been in and been out;
  While I have been sitting and thinking about
      How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! 
      How pleasant it is to have money.

  A clear soup with eggs; voila tout; of the fish
  The filets de sole are a moderate dish
  A la Orly, but you’re for red mullet, you say: 
  By the gods of good fare, who can question to-day
      How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! 
      How pleasant it is to have money.

  After oysters, Sauterne; then Sherry; Champagne,
  Ere one bottle goes, comes another again;
  Fly up, thou bold cork, to the ceiling above,
  And tell to our ears in the sound that we love
      How pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! 
      How pleasant it is to have money.

  I’ve the simplest of palates; absurd it may be,
  But I almost could dine on a poulet-au-riz,
  Fish and soup and omelette and that—­but the deuce—­
  There were to be woodcocks, and not Charlotte Russe! 
      So pleasant it is to have money, heigh-ho! 
      So pleasant it is to have money.