Last night, at the Beaujon, a place where--I doubt
If its charms I can paint--there are cars, that set out
From a lighted pavilion, high up in the air,
And rattle you down, DOLL--you hardly know where.
These vehicles, mind me, in which you go thro'
This delightfully dangerous journey, hold _two_,
Some cavalier asks, with humility, whether
You'll venture down _with_ him--you smile--'tis a match;
In an instant you're seated, and down both together
Go thundering, as if you went post to old scratch![6]
Well, it was but last night, as I stood and remarkt
On the looks and odd ways of the girls who embarkt,
The impatience of some for the perilous flight,
The forced giggle of others, 'twixt pleasure and fright,--
That, there came up--imagine, dear DOLL, if you can--
A fine sallow, sublime, sort of Werterfaced man,
With mustachios that gave (what we read of so oft)
The dear Corsair expression, half savage, half soft,
As Hyenas in love may be fancied to look, or
A something between ABELARD and old BLUCHER!
Up he came, DOLL, to me, and uncovering his head,
(Rather bald, but so warlike!) in bad English said,
"Ah! my dear--if Ma'mselle vil be so very good--
Just for von littel course"--tho' I scarce understood
What he wisht me to do, I said, thank him, I would.
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