  A SECOND SERIES. BY WILLIAM COLLIER. "There's one of us in every family." To make ourselves useful's a duty we owe To mankind and ourselves in our sojourn below; To return good for evil, and always "to do Unto others as you'd have them do unto you:" So I bear all with patience, resolved, if I can, To act well my part as a Useful Young Man! But, alas! entre nous, 'tis a difficult task, As seldom I'm left in life's sunshine to bask; For I'm hurried, and worried, imposed on by all, Who think I should run at their beck or their call: "So obliging," folks say, "is their favourite Sam, That he well earns the name of the Useful Young Man!" Each morning at breakfast I'm doomed to peruse "The Herald," and "Post," for "the family news," While the toast, eggs, and coffee, which fall to my lot, Get a pretty considerable distance from hot: Yes, such are the Comforts—deny it who can?— That fall to the share of each Useful Young Man! If Jane, or Maria, for work should agree, The dear creatures invariably send down for me To make myself useful, and read while they knit, Paint, draw, or do anything they may think fit. Thus, Sam—poor pill-garlic!—they safely trepan: Alack! what a life leads a Useful Young Man! If the day's rather wet, and they can't gad about, They think nothing whatever, of sending me out:— "Now, Sam, my good fellow, just pop on your hat; Run to Howell's for this thing, and Holmes's for that; You'll make yourself pleasant we know, if you can,— What a comfort to have such a Useful Young Man!" When John, our fat butler, or Bridget, the cook, Have leisure for reading "some novelty book," They ne'er think of asking my leave to peruse, But help themselves freely to just what they choose: Making free with my novels is no novel plan, For They own Master Sam's such a useful Young Man! Once Thomas, the footman, kissed Anne on the stairs, Who loudly squalled out, just to give herself airs; When my father ran down, in great anger, to see What the cause of the squeaking and squalling could be. Tom had bolted; but not till they'd settled a plan To throw all the blame on the Useful Young Man! When the Opera we visit, I'm kept in the rear Of our box, and can scarce get a glimpse, I declare, Of the stage, or the audience;—so only remain, To trot up to Dubourg for punch À la Romaine, To run out for a book, or to pick up a fan:— Alas! what a drudge is a Useful Young Man! But sad is my fate when I go to a rout. If a toothless old maid sits a partner without, The beaux are looked o'er, but they always agree To fix the agreeable task upon me; For to dance with all bores, 'tis the province of Sam, 'Deed the file of each victimised Useful Young Man! If we're late at the dance, and no coach to be had, There's Sam! the dear fellow! the exquisite lad! He'll search all the stands in the town, but he'll gain A coach for his friends—though it's pelting with rain Oh! such are the pleasures—deny it who can— That fall to the lot of a Useful Young Man! To be nice about trifles is not over wise; Where's the churl that finds favour in woman's bright eyes? To be nice about trifles, is trifling with folly, For the right end of life is but left to be jolly; So I'll make up my mind just to stick to this plan, And Pag out my terms as a Useful Young Man. |
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