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I would not, for the world, cast anchor

In such a horrid dangerous port; Such dust and rubbish, lath and plaster,

(Contractors play the meanest tricks)The roof's as crazy as its master,

And he was born in fifty-six ;
Stairs creaking-cracks in every landing, --

The colonnade is sure to fall;
We shan't find post or pillar standing,

Unless we make great haste to call.

“ 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),

Poor Arthur,—'twas a sad affair ;
Love at first sight !-she's quite a Venus,
But then she's poorer far than fair ;
father and


mother Agreed it would not do at all; And so, I'm



brother !--
It's settled that we're not to call.

And so my

“And there's an author, full of knowledge;

And there's a captain on half-pay; And there's a baronet from college,

Who keeps a boy and rides a bay; And sweet Sir Marcus from the Shannon,

Fine specimen of brogue and bone ; And Doctor Calipee, the canon,

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,
The swallow in my

humble thatch ; Your son may find a better patron,

Your niece may meet a richer match: I can't afford to give a dinner,

I never was on Almack's list; And, since I seldom rise a winner,

I never like to play at whist:
Unknown to me the stocks are falling,

Unwatched by me the glass may fall;
Let all the world pursue its calling,
I'm not at home if people call.


OW fruitful autumn lifts his sunburnt

The slighted Park few cambric mus-

lins whiten, The dry machines revisit Ocean’s bed,

And Horace quits awhile the town for Brighton.

The cit foregoes his box at Turnham Green,

To pick up health and shells with Amphitrite, Pleasure's frail daughters trip along the Steyne,

Led by the dame the Greeks call Aphrodite.

Phæbus, the tanner, plies his fiery trade,

The graceful nymphs ascend Judea's ponies, Scale the west cliff, or visit the parade, While

poor papa in town a patient drone is. Loose trousers snatch the wreath from pantaloons ;

Nankeen of late were worn the sultry weather in; But now, (so will the Prince's light dragoons,) White jean have triumph'd o'er their Indian


Here with choice food earth smiles and ocean

yawns, İntent alike to please the London glutton ; This, for our breakfast proffers shrimps and

prawns, That, for our dinner, Southdown lamb and


Yet here, as elsewhere, death impartial reigns,

Visits alike the cot and the Pavilion, And for a bribe with equal scorn disdains

My half-a-crown, and Baring's half-a-million.

Alas ! how short the span of human pride !
Time flies, and hope's romantic schemes are

undone ;
Cosweller's coach, that carries four inside,

Waits to take back the unwilling bard to London.

Ye circulating novelists, adieu!
Long envious cords


black portmanteau tighten; Billiards begone! avaunt, illegal loo!

Farewell old Ocean's bauble, glittering Brighton.

Long shalt thou laugh thine enemies to scorn,

Proud as Phænicia, queen of watering-places ! Boys yet unbreech'd, and virgins yet unborn, On thy bleak downs shall tan their blooming faces.



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ŽILL there be snowfall on lofty Soracte,
After a summer so tranquil and

Whoso detests the east wind, as a facthe

Thinks 'twill be horrid. But there are zephyrs more mild by the ocean,

Every keen touch of the snowdrifts to lighten: If to be cosy and snug you've a notion

Winter in Brighton!

Politics nobody cares about. Spurn a

Topic whereby all our happiness suffers. Dolts in the back streets of Brighton return a

Couple of duffers. Fawcett and White in the Westminster Hades

Strive the reporters' misfortunes to heighten. What does it matter ? Delicious young ladies

Winter in Brighton!

Good is the turtle for luncheon at Mutton's,
Good is the hock that they give you at

Mainwaring's fruit in the bosoms of gluttons

Yearning awakens : Buckstone comes hither, delighting the million,

'Mong the theatrical minnows a Triton; Dickens and Lemon pervade the Pavilion ;

Winter in Brighton! If you've a thousand a year, or a minute

If you're a D'Orsay, whom every one followsIf you've a head (it don't matter what's in it)

Fair as Apollo's

If you approve of firtations, good dinners,
Seascapes divine, which the merry winds

Nice little saints and still nicer


sinnersWinter in Brighton !



BRIGHTON in November

Is what one should remember, When from town so dull and foggy,

we all of us would fee; Where air is pure and bracing, The breezes we are facing,

Away the blues there chasingAt our London-by-the-Sea.

The morning's plunge at Brill's there,

It scares away all ills there,
How dull, or sad, or sober, you may ever chance

to be;
The sunshine bright is flashing,
While in the water splashing,

Away dull care you're dashing-
At bright London-by-the-Sea.

You're sure to find collected

On pier a crowd protected
From weather as they listen to a symphony in B:

’Neath crystal screen's flirtation,
Scarce screened from observation,

You'll find with consternation-
At gay London-by-the-Sea,

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