Locker, Frederick, 13, 14, 19, 22, 75, 87, 140, 156, 200.
Lowell, J. Russell, 127.

Lyttelton, George, Lord, II.

Lytton, Robert, Lord, 47.

Macaulay, Thomas, Lord, 27.

Montagu, Lady Mary W., 9.
Moore, Thomas, 89, 197.
Morris, Charles, 2.

Peterborough, Charles, Earl of, 29.

Pope, Alexander, 5, 28.

Praed, Winthrop Mackworth, 37, 80, 86, 94, 100, 104,

107, 110, 135, 150, 172, 189.

Prior, Matthew, 7, 25, 73.

Rankine, W. Macquorn, 82, 84.
Rhys, C. C., 187.

Savile-Clarke, H., 124, 146.
Sawyer, William, 126, 129.
Sheridan, Dr., 171.

Smith, James, 44, 179, 192.
Story, W. W., 56.

Swift, Jonathan, 171.

Tickell, Thomas, 42.

Trevelyan, George Otto, 1.

Williams, Sir Charles H., 26.

Yates, Edmund, 121, 184, 204.

INDEX TO FIRST LINES.

IS an Angel of blushing eighteen.
A lovely young lady I mourn in my
rhymes

A mansion, large but not too grand
Ah, Dora, my darling, can your recol-
lection.

As I sat in the Café I said to myself
As some fond Virgin, whom her mother's care
Asses' milk, half-a-pint, take at seven, or before
At last! O, sensation delicious.

At Cheltenham, where one drinks one's fill

PAGE

I 20

47

187

22

210

5

35
126

104

177

9

I

Come, Laura, patience-Time and spring
Come, Mr. Rose, you'll rouse my ire

Dear Alice! you'll laugh when you know it.
Dear Exile, I was proud to get.

Don't talk of September! A lady

Fair cousin mine! the golden days.
Frank Aylmer's hand! I know it well
From India's burning clime I'm brought.

"Gents, take yer picters!" With a will
Good-night to thee, Lady! though many
Good-night to the Season! 'Tis over!.

Hail, day of music, day of love.

Half Lucrece, half Messalina

PAGE

27

Here on my desk it lies
"Horatius Flaccus, B. C. 8"
Hurrah! the Season's past at last

I hope I'm fond of much that's good
I know her, the thing of laces and silks
I know the thing that's most uncommon
I must come out next Spring, Mamma
I play a spade.-Such strange new faces

I remember the time ere his temples were grey
I said to my heart, between sleeping and waking
I've always been told that I'm pretty

If any man loves comfort, and has little cash to buy

it, he.

If I were you, when ladies at the play, sir
If life were never bitter

In London I never know what I'd be at

189

68

29

84

137

117

181

2

In sorrow and joy she has seen the beginning
"In tea-cup times!" the style of dress

In the days of my great grandmamma, I've been

Invitations I will write

It's tea-time, nurse; I'll take your place
It was the season of the Saint

216

64

68

165

Lords, knights, and squires, the numerous band

No Times! no book!-and I must wait

121

Not at home! not at home! close my curtain again
Now cease the exulting strain

65

96

Now don't look so glum and so sanctified, please.

Now fruitful autumn lifts his sunburnt head

O Brighton in November.

Oft, you have ask'd me, Granville, why
Oh yes! he is in Parliament. .

Old coat, for some three or four seasons
One night unhappy Celadon.

Perhaps you'll call me an old fool
Phyllida, that loved to dream

Piccadilly! shops, palaces, bustle, and breeze
Poor Rose! I lift you from the street

Say, Lucy, what enamour'd spark.

See Richmond is clad in a mantle of snow

She pass'd up the aisle on the arm of her sire
Shock's fate I mourn! poor Shock is now no more

Sir Toby was a portly party

So Pygwyggyne is going to marry

St. James's Street, of classic fame

Sweet Nea! for your lovely sake

The archery meeting is fixed for the Third

The folds of her wine-dark violet dress

The glow and the glory are plighted

The men are all clubbing together

22

164

78

82

14

34

72

47

87

93

8

42

20

147

70

207

156

The sun was now withdrawn.

Then, behind, all my hair is done up in a plat

There's a tempting bit of greenery—of rus in urbe

They have not come ! and ten is past

This is my eldest daughter, sir,—her mother's only

care

This old velvet coat has grown queer, I admit

This relative of mine

This was dear Willie's brief despatch

140

Though the voice of modern schools

49

'Twas all over between us, you thought, when we

parted

62