Go where we may, rest where we will,
Eternal London haunts us still.
The trash of Almack's or Fleet Ditch-
And scarce a pin's head difference which-
Mixes, though even to Greece we run,
With every rill from Helicon !
And, if this rage for travelling lasts,
If Cockneys of all sects and castes,
Old maidens, aldermen, and squires,
Will leave their puddings and coal fires,
To gape at things in foreign lands
No soul among them understands
If Blues desert their coteries,
To show off 'mong the Wahabees-
If neither sex nor age controls,

Nor fear of Mamelukes forbids
Young ladies, with pink parasols,

To glide among the pyramidsWhy, then, farewell all hope to find A spot that's free from London-kind! Who knows, if to the West we roam, But we may find some Blue "at home" Among the Blacks of CarolinaOr, flying to the eastward, see Some Mrs. Hopkins, taking tea

And toast upon the Wall of China!

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. 1797-1859.

SEEING'S NOT BELIEVING.

I SAW her, as I fancied, fair,

Yes, fairest of earth's creatures; I saw the purest red and white

O'erspread her lovely features;
She fainted, and I sprinkled her,
Her malady relieving;

I washed both rose and lily off!
Oh! seeing's not believing!

I looked again, again I longed

To breathe love's fond confession; I saw her eyebrows formed to give Her face its arch expression; But gum is very apt to crack,

And whilst my breast was heaving,
It so fell out that one fell off!
Oh! seeing 's not believing!

I saw the tresses on her brow
So beautifully braided;

I never saw, in all my life,

Locks look so well as they did.

She walked with me one windy day---
Ye zephyrs, why so thieving?
The lady lost her flaxen wig!
Oh! seeing 's not believing!

I saw her form, by Nature's hand
So prodigally finished,
She were less perfect if enlarged,
Less perfect if diminished;
Her toilet I surprised-the worst
Of wonders then achieving:
None knew the bustle I perceived:
Oh! seeing's not believing!

I saw, when costly gems I gave
The smile with which she took them;
And if she said no tender things,
I've often seen her look them;
I saw her my affianced bride,
And then, my mansion leaving,
She ran away with Colonel Jones!
Oh! seeing 's not believing!

I saw another maiden soon,

And struggled to detain her; I saw her plain enough-in fact, Few women could be plainer; "Twas said, that at her father's death A plum she 'd be receiving.

I saw that father's house and grounds.
Oh! seeing's not believing!

I saw her mother-she was decked
With furbelows and feathers;
I saw distinctly that she wore

Silk stockings in all weathers;
I saw, beneath a load of gems,
The matron's bosom heaving;
I saw a thousand signs of wealth.
Oh! seeing's not believing!

I saw her father, and I spoke
Of marriage in his study;
But would he let her marry me?
Alas! alas! how could he?
I saw him smile a glad consent,
My anxious heart relieving,
And then I saw the settlements.
Oh! seeing's not believing!

I saw the daughter, and I named
My moderate finances;

She spurned me not, she gave me one
Of her most tender glances.

I saw her father's bank:-thought I,
There cash is safe from thieving;
I saw my money safely lodged.
Oh! seeing's not believing!

I saw the bank, the shutters up,

I could not think what they meant,— The old infirmity of firms,

The bank had just stopped payment! I saw my future father then

Was ruined past retrieving, Like me, without a single sous. Oh! seeing's not believing!

I saw the banker's wife had got
The fortune settled on her;
What cared he, when the creditors
Talked loudly of dishonour?
I saw his name in the Gazette,

But soon I stared, perceiving
He bought another house and grounds!
Oh! seeing 's not believing!

I saw-yes, plain as plain could be,
I saw the banker's daughter;
She saw me too, and called for sal-
Volatile and water.

She said that she had just espoused
A rich old man, conceiving
That I was dead or gone to jail.
Oh! seeing's not believing!

I saw a friend, and freely spoke

My mind on the transaction; Her brother heard it, and he called, Demanding satisfaction.

We met-I fell-that brother's ball In my left leg receiving;

I have two legs-true-one is cork! Oh! seeing's not believing!

:0:

WINTHORP M. PRAED. 1801-1839.

WATERLOO.

"It was here that the French cavalry charged, and cut to pieces the English squares."-Narrative of a French Tourist.

"Is it true, think you?"-Winter's Tale.

Ay, here such valorous deeds were done
As ne'er were done before;
Ay, here the reddest wreath was won
That ever Gallia wore:
Since Ariosto's wondrous knight
Made all the Pagans dance,
There never dawned so bright a day
As Waterloo's on France.

The trumpet poured its deafening sound— Flags fluttered on the gale;

And cannon roared, and heads flew round
As fast as summer hail:

The sabres flashed; with rage and fear
The steeds began to prance;
The English quaked from front to rear,-
They never quake in France!

The cuirassiers rode in and out,

As fierce as wolves and bears;
'Twas grand to see them slash about
Amongst the English squares!
And then the Polish lancer came,
Careering with his lance;-

No wonder Britons blushed for shame,
And ran away from France.

Tell stories of a little man

Who died at St. Helène:

But bless my heart! they can't be true-
They're surely all romance;
John Bull was beat at Waterloo-
They'll swear to it in France!

-:0:

THOMAS HOOD.

1788-1874.

LINES TO MARY.

O MARY, I believed you true,
And I was blest in so believing;
But till this hour I never knew-
That you were taken up for thieving!

Oh! when I snatched a tender kiss,
Or some such trifle when I courted,
You said, indeed, that love was bliss,
But never owned you were transported!

But then to gaze on that fair face-
It would have been an unfair feeling
To dream that you had pilfered lace-
And Flints had suffered from your stealing.

Or when my suit I first preferred,
To bring your coldness to repentance,
Before I hammered out a word,

How could I dream you'd heard a sentence?

Or when with all the warmth of youth
I strove to prove my love no fiction,
How could I guess I urged a truth
On one already past conviction?

How could I dream that ivory part,
Your hand-where I have looked and
lingered;

Altho' it stole away my heart,

Had been held up as one light-fingered?

In melting verse your charms I drew,
The charms in which my Muse delighted;
Alas! the lay, I thought was new,
Spoke only what had been indicted!

Oh! when that form, a lovely one,
Hung on the neck its arms had flown to,
I little thought that you had run
A chance of hanging on your own too!

You said you picked me from the worldMy vanity it now must shock it,

And down at once my pride is hurled, You've picked me-and you've picked a pocket!

Oh! when our love had got so far,
The banns were read by Doctor Daly,
Who asked if there was any bar-
Why did not some one shout "Old Bailey"?

But when you robed your flesh and bones
In that pure white that angel garb is,
Who could have thought you, Mary Jones,
Among the Joans that link with Darbies!

And when the parson came to say
My goods were yours, if I had got any,
And you should honour and obey,
Who could have thought-"Ó Bay of
Botany!"

But, oh!--the worst of all your slips
I did not till this day discover-
That down in Deptford's prison ships,
O Mary! you 've a hulking lover!

DOMESTIC ASIDES;

OR, TRUTH IN PARENTHESIS.

I REALLY take it very kind--

This visit, Mrs. Skinner--

I have not seen you such an age(The wretch has come to dinner!) Your daughters, too-what loves of girls! What heads for painters' easels! Come here, and kiss the infant, dears(And give it, p'rhaps, the measles !)

Your charming boys I see are home From Reverend Mr. Russell's'Twas very kind to bring them both(What boots for my new Brussels !) What! little Clara left at home? Well, now, I call that shabby! I should have loved to kiss her so(A flabby, dabby babby!)

And Mr. S., I hope he's well?

But, though he lives so handy, He never once drops in to sup(The better for our brandy!) Come, take a seat-I long to hear About Matilda's marriage; You've come, of course, to spend the day (Thank Heaven! I hear the carriage !)

What! must you go?-next time I hope
You'll give me longer measure.
Nay, I shall see you down the stairs---
(With most uncommon pleasure!)
Good bye! good bye! Remember, all,
Next time you'll take your dinners—
(Now, David-mind, I'm not home,
In future, to the Skinners.)

FAITHLESS NELLIE GRAY. A Pathetic Ballad.

BEN BATTLE was a soldier bold,
And used to war's alarms;
But a cannon-ball took off his legs,
So he laid down his arms!

Now, as they bore him off the field,
Said he, "Let others shoot,
For here I leave my second leg,

And the Forty-second Foot!"

The army surgeons made him limbs :
Said he, "They're only pegs :
But there's as wooden members quite
As represent my legs!"

Now Ben he loved a pretty maid,
Her name was Nellie Gray;
So he went to pay her his devours,
When he'd devoured his pay!

But when he called on Nellie Gray,
She made him quite a scoff;
And when she saw his wooden legs,
Began to take them off!

"O Nellie Gray! O Nellie Gray!
Is this your love so warm?
The love that loves a scarlet coat

Should be more uniform!"

Said she, "I loved a soldier once,

For he was blithe and brave; But I will never have a man

With both legs in the grave!

"Before you had those timber toes, Your love I did allow;

But then, you know, you stand upon
Another footing now!"

"O Nellie Gray! O Nellie Gray!
For all your jeering speeches,
At duty's call, I left my legs
In Bajados's breaches !"

"Why, then," said she, "you've lost the feet

Of legs in war's alarms,

And now you cannot wear your shoes
Upon your feats of arms!"

"Oh, false and fickle Nellie Gray,
I know why you refuse :—
Though I've no feet-some other man
Is standing in my shoes!

"I wish I ne'er had seen your face;
But, now, a long farewell!
For you will be my death;-alas!
You will not be my Nell!"

Now, when he went from Nellie Gray,
His heart so heavy got,

And life was such a burden grown,
It made him take a knot!

So round his melancholy neck
A rope he did entwine,
And, for the second time in life,
Enlisted in the Line!

One end he tied around a beam,
And then removed his pegs,
And, as his legs were off, of course,
He soon was off his legs.

And there he hung, till he was dead As any nail in town,

For though distress had cut him up, It could not cut him down!

A dozen men sat on his corpse,

To find out why he died,

And they buried Ben in four cross-roads, With a stake in his inside!

A NOCTURNAL SKETCH.

EVEN is come, and from the dark Park, hark,

The signal of the setting sun-one gun! And six is sounding from the chime, prime time

To go and see the Drury Lane Dane slain,

Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout

out,

Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade,

Denying to his frantic clutch much touch;