Will it find me grown thinner, or fatter, Or married, or buried ?—no matter,— (AUGUST, 1827.) ARRIVALS AT A WATERING-PLACE. I play a spade:-such strange new faces But one old horse can hardly crawl; Pray, who has seen the odd old fellow Who took the Doctor's house last week?— A pretty chariot,―livery yellow Almost as yellow as his check: He's always in a monstrous hurry, They say his cook makes noble curry ; I think, Louisa, we should call. And so Miss Jones, the Mantua-maker, Last year imported from the till; Will buy a glorious coat-of-arms; That poor young man !-I'm sure and ce: tain He walks all night beneath the curtain glances! Writes verses,-has such splendid eyes;An ugly name, but Laura fancies He's some great person in disguise !— So Lord St. Ives is occupying The whole of Mr. Ford's Hotel; Last Saturday his man was trying A little nag I want to sell. He brought a lady in the carriage; Blue eyes,-eighteen, or thereabouts ;— Of course, you know, we hope it's marriage! But yet the femme de chambre doubts. She looked so pensive when we met her; Poor thing! and such a charming shawl!— Well! till we understand it better, It's quite impossible to call. Old Mr. Fund, the London banker, The roof's as crazy as its master, And he was born in fifty-six: Stairs creaking,-cracks in every landing,- We sha'n't find post or pillar standing, Who was that sweetest of sweet creatures, Last Sunday, in the Rector's seat? The finest shape, the loveliest features,— I never saw such tiny feet. My brother (this is quite between us), But then she's poorer far than fair: Agreed it would not do at all; And so,—I'm sorry for my brother! It's settled that we're not to call. And there's an Author, full of knowledge; Who keeps a boy, and rides a bay ; Who weighs, I fancy, twenty stone; A maiden lady is adorning The faded front of Lily Hall;— Upon my word, the first fine morning We'll make a round, my dear, and call. Alas! disturb not, maid and matron, |