With a cork for a dolphin, a Cockney Arion; Whether roaming earth, ocean, or even the air, Like Dan O'Rourke's eagle-good luck to you there.

For myself, as you'll see by the date of my letter,
I'm in town, but of that fact the least said the better;
For 'tis vain to deny (though the city o'erflows

With well-dressed men and women, whom nobody knows)

That one rarely sees persons whose nod is an honor,
A lady with fashion's own impress upon her;
Or a gentleman blessed with the courage to say,
Like Morris (the Prince Regent's friend, in his day),
"Let others in sweet shady solitudes dwell,

Oh! give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall.” ́、

Apropos-our friend A. chanced this morning to meet The accomplished Miss B. as he passed Contoit's Garden,"

Both in town in July!-he crossed over the street,

13

And she entered the rouge-shop of Mrs. St. Martin." Resolved not to look at another known face, Through Leonard and Church Streets she walked to

Park Place,

And he turned from Broadway into Catharine Lane, And coursed, to avoid her, through alley and by-street,

Till they met, as the devil would have it, again,

Face to face, near the pump at the corner of Dey Street.

Yet, as most of "The Fashion" are journeying now,
With the brown hues of summer on check and on brow,
The few "gens comme il faut" who are lingering here,
Are, like fruits out of season, more welcome and dear,
Like "the last rose of summer, left blooming alone,"
Or the last snows of winter, pure ice of haut ton,
Unmelted, undimmed by the sun's brightest ray,
And, like diamonds, making night's darkness seem day.
One meets them in groups, that Canova might fancy,
At our new lounge at evening, the Opera Français,"
In nines like the Muses, in threes like the Graces,
Green spots in a desert of commonplace faces.
The Queen, Mrs. Adams, goes there sweetly dressed
In a beautiful bonnet, all golden and flowery;
While the King, Mr. Bonaparte, smiles on Celeste,
Heloise, and Hutin, from his box at the Bowery.

For news, Parry still the North Sea is exploring,
And the Grand Turk has taken, they say, the Acrop-
olis,

And we, in Swamp Place," have discovered, in boring,
A mineral spring to refine the metropolis.
The day we discovered it was, by-the-way,
In the life of the Cockneys, a glorious day.

For we all had been taught, by tradition and reading,
That to gain what admits us to levees of kings,
The gentleness, courtesy, grace of high breeding,
The only sure way was to "visit the Springs.'
So the whole city visited Swamp Spring en masse,

"

From attorney to sweep, from physician to pavior, To drink of cold water at sixpence a glass,

And learn true politeness and genteel behavior. Though the crowd was immense till the hour of de

parture,

No gentleman's feelings were hurt in the rush,

Save a grocer's, who lost his proof-glass and bung-starter, And a chimney-sweep's, robbed of his scraper and

brush.

They lingered till sunset and twilight had come,

When, wearied in limb, but much polished in man

ners,

The sovereign people moved gracefully home,

In the beauty and pride of "an army with banners." As to politics-Adams and Clinton yet live,

And reign, we presume, as we never have missed 'em, And woollens and Webster continue to thrive

Under something they call the American System, If you're anxious to know what the country is doing, Whether ruined already or going to ruin,

And who her next President will be, please Heaven, Read the letters of Jackson, the speeches of Clay, All the party newspapers, three columns a day, And Blunt's Annual Register," year 'twenty-seven.

FANNY.

"A fairy vision

Of some gay creatures of the element,

That in the colors of the rainbow live, And play in the plighted clouds."

MILTON.