James Thomas Fields

“ And a lusty Scotch infant next door raises squalls,—
While the frantic young mother shouts madly for milk,
In tones not so soft, quite, as satin or silk,—
Your friend, grown poetic, has snatched up his pen,
To dash off a line to " the best of young men." ”

“ In coats black as night, and cravats pure as snow;
Rich East India governors, heavy as gold,
Hanging round like weak sun-flowers, yellow and old;
Artistical talent, with sketch-book displayed,
Drawing very bad water in very poor shade ”