The world's as ugly, ay, as Sin,—

Lightly I sped when hope was high And youth beguiled the chase,— I follow, follow still: But I Shall never see her face.

And this was your Cradle? Why, surely, my Jenny, Such cozy dimensions go clearly to show You were an exceedingly small pickaninny, Some nineteen or twenty short summers ago.

"Vanitas vanitatum" has rung in the ears Of gentle and simple for thousands of years; The wail still is heard, yet its notes never scare Either simple or gentle from Vanity Fair.

What an arm—what a waist For an arm!

In this country … men seem to live for action as long as they can and sink into apathy when they retire.

The spider-men came first, and presented her Majesty with a table full of mathematical points, lines and figures of all sorts of squares, circles, triangles, and the like; which the Empress, notwithstanding that she had a very ready wit, …