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Flutes murmur-chains rattle-robes rustle
In chorus, at Fustian Hall, By the bye, there are two or three matters
We want you to bring us from town; The Inca’s white plumes from the hạtter's,
A nose and a hump for the clown ; We want a few harps for our banquet;
We want a few masks for our ball; And steal from your wise friend Bosanquet
His white wig, for Fustian Hall ! Hunca Munca must have a huge sabre;
Friar Tuck has forgotten his cowl;
For want of a lizard and owl:
Pray get us a love of a pall,-
On feelings, at Fustian Hall?
If you'll do your endeavours to bring From the club, a young person to write us
Our prologue, and that sort of thing; Poor Crotchet, who did them supremely,
Is gone for a Judge to Bengal; fear we shall miss him extremely
This season, at Fustian Hall.
Will make a sensation, I feel;
Performer so like the O'Neill:
Has deeply affected us all ;
There'll be twenty at Fustian Hall!
Dread objects are scatter'd before her
purpose to harrow her soul;
At a knife, or a cross, or a bowl.
That hangs on a peg to the wall;
Lord Fustian, of Fustian Hall.
She stabb’d a bright mirror this morning,
(Poor Kitty was quite out of breath!)— And trampled, in anger and scorning,
A bonnet and feathers to death.
There's the Prompter's detestable call! Come, Clarence—our Romeo and RangerWe want you at Fustian Hall !
WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED.
man loves comfort and has little
cash to buy it, he Should get into a crowded club-a
most select society,While solitude and mutton-cutlets serve infelix
May have his club, like Hercules, and revel there
Yes, clubs knock taverns on the head. E'en
Hatchett's can't demolish 'em. Joy grieves to see their magnitude, and Long's
longs to abolish 'em.
The Inns are out. Hotels for single men scarce
keep alive on it, While none but houses that are in the family way
thrive on it.
There's first the Athenæum Club; so wise, there's
not a man of it That has not sense enough for six-in fact, that
is the plan of it. The
very waiters answer you with eloquence
Socratical, And always place the knives and forks in order
Then opposite the mental club you'll find the
regimental A meeting made of men of war, and yet a very
gentle one. If uniform good living please your palate, here's
excess of it, Especially at private dinners, when they make a
mess of it.
E’en Isis has a house in town and Cam abandons
ber city; The Master now hangs out at the United Uni
versity. In common room she gave a rout (a novel freak
to hit upon), Where Masters gave the Mistresses of Arts no
chairs to sit upon.
The Union Club is quite superb; its best apart
ment daily is The lounge of lawyers, doctors, merchants, beaux, At half-past six the joint concern for eighteen
cum multis aliis.
pence is given you, Half-pints of port are sent in ketchup-bottles to enliven
you. The Travellers are in Pall Mall, and smoke cigars
so cosily, And dream they climb the highest Alps or rove the
plains of Moselai. The world for them has nothing new, they have
explored all parts of it, And now they are club-footed, and they sit and
look at charts of it.
The Orientals, homeward-bound, now seek their
club much sallower, And while they eat green fat they find their own
fat growing yellower. Their soup is made more savoury, till bile to
shadows dwindles 'em, And neither Moore nor Savory with seidlitz draughts
Then there are clubs where persons parliamentary
preponderate, And clubs for men upon the turf (I wonder they
ar'n't under it); Clubs where the winning ways of sharper folks
pervert the use of clubs, Where knaves will make subscribers cry,“ Egad!
this is the deuce of clubs !”
For country squires the only club in London now
is Boodle's, sirs, The Crockford Club for playful men, the Alfred
Club for noodles, sirs :
These are the stages which all men propose to
play their parts upon, For Clubs are what the Londoners have clearly set their hearts upon.
HIS was dear Willie's brief despatch,
A curt and yet a cordial summons ;
Through miles and miles of brick and garden; Mamma was drest in mauve and maize,
Of course I wore my Dolly Varden. A charming scene, and lively too,
The paddock's full, the band is playing Boulotte's song
in Barbe Bleue, And what are all these people saying? They flirt ! they bet! There's Linda Reeves,
Too lovely! I'd give worlds to borrow Her yellow rose with russet leaves !
I'll wear a yellow rose to-morrow! And there are May and Algy Meade;
How proud she looks on her promotion! The ring must be amused indeed,
And edified by such devotion! I wonder if she ever guess'd !
I wonder if he'll call on Friday! I often wonder which is best !
I only hope my hair is tidy!