An early slacker? Antique tintype photograph of an extremely casual young Victorian man. Scanned and retouched from my original.

“I Once Had A Lover, Hi, Ho!”

By F. H. Stauffer, Peterson’s Magazine, 1860

I once had a lover, hi, ho!
That’s not very strange, I admit;
I was lovely and young, you know,
A Venus just in her transit!

He came with the Summer, hi, ho!
And knelt at my feet to adore;
He called me a “bird,” and a “star,”
And other sweet things by the score.

Before long I took sick, hi ho!
And the small-pox pitted my face,
My cheeks lost their glow, you know,
And my beauty went off in disgrace.

Soon lost I my lover, hi, ho!
That’s not very strange, I admit;
For beauty is fragile, you know,
And so is the sparkle of wit.

He went with the Summer, hi, ho!
But another came in his stead;
‘Tis my soul that he loves, I know,
And soon you will hear we are wed!

Antique Photograph of a Young Man Holding a Bowler Hat

I’m Not a Single Man

Thomas Hood

Well, I confess, I did not guess,
A simple marriage vow
Would make me find all women-kind
Such unkind women now!
They need not, sure, as distant be
As Java or Japan,–
Yet every Miss reminds me this–
I’m not a single man!

Once they made choice of my bass voice
To share in each duet;
So well I danced, I somehow chanced
To stand in every set:
They now declare I cannot sing,
And dance on Bruin’s plan;
Me draw!—me paint!—me anything!–
I’m not a single man!

Once I was asked advice, and tasked
What works to buy or not,
And ‘would I read that passage out
I so admired in Scott?’
They then could bear to hear one read;
But now if I began,
How they would snub, ‘My pretty page,’–
I’m not a single man!

One used to stitch a collar then,
Another hemmed a frill;
I had more purses netted then
Than I could hope to fill.
I once could get a button on,
But now I never can–
My buttons then were Bachelor’s–
I’m not a single man!

Oh, how they hated politics
Thrust on me by papa:
But now my chat—they all leave that
To entertain mamma.
Mamma, who praises her own self,
Instead of Jane or Ann,
And lays ‘her girls’ upon the shelf–
I’m not a single man!

Ah me, how strange it is, the change,
In parlour and in hall,
They treat me so, if I but go
To make a morning call.
If they had hair in papers once,
Bolt up the stairs they ran;
They now sit still in dishabille–
I’m not a single man!

Miss Mary Bond was once so fond
Of Romans and of Greeks,
She daily sought my cabinet,
To study my antiques.
Well, now she doesn’t care a dump
For ancient pot or pan,
Her taste at once is modernized–
I’m not a single man!

My spouse is fond of homely life,
And all that sort of thing;
I go to balls without my wife,
And never wear a ring:
And yet each Miss to whom I come,
As strange as Genghis Khan,
Knows by some sign I can’t divine–
I’m not a single man!

Go where I will, I but intrude;
I’m left in crowded rooms,
Like Zimmerman on Solitude,
Or Hervey at his Tombs.
From head to heel, they make me feel,
Of quite another clan;
Compelled to own, though left alone,
I’m not a single man!

Miss Towne the toast, though she can boast
A nose of Roman line,
Will turn up even that in scorn
At compliments of mine:
She should have seen that I have been
Her sex’s partisan,
And really married all I could–
I’m not a single man!

‘Tis hard to see how others fare,
Whilst I rejected stand,–
Will no one take my arm because
They cannot have my hand?
Miss Parry, that for some would go
A trip to Hindostan,
With me don’t care to mount a stair–
I’m not a single man!

Some change, of course, should be in force,
But surely, not so much–
There may be hands I may not squeeze,
But must I never touch?
Must I forbear to hand a chair,
And not pick up a fan?
But I have been myself picked up–
I’m not a single man!

Others may hint a lady’s tint
Is purest red and white–
May say her eyes are like the skies,
So very blue and bright–
I must not say that she has eyes,
Or if I so began,
I have my fears about my ears–
I’m not a single man!

I must confess I did not guess
A simple marriage vow
would make me find all women-kind
Such unkind women now;
I might be hashed to death, or smashed
By Mr. Pickford’s van,
Without, I fear, a single tear–
I’m not a single man!

Antique Wedding Photograph

The Victorian bride in this photograph is wearing a beautiful white dress, made popular by Queen Victoria at her wedding to Prince Albert in 1840.  The resulting tradition, along with the ceremony and rituals associated with traditional European-style weddings has become known as a “White Wedding”, as described further in this entry on Wikipedia.

The bride in the following antique photograph looks either frightened or sad. Is it a future of darning socks and raising little shavers that saddens her so? Or is she just in awe of the solemn occasion? We may never know.

Antique Wedding Photograph of a Sad Victorian Bride

These pictures are from my own cache, I will post more old wedding photographs and romantic images of couples so be sure to check this website often!