Grave judges there and jokers,

With actors and stockbrokers,

With every sort of person, of high and low degree; Professor of art fistic,

And preacher ritualistic,

With poet wild and mystic-
At brave London-by-the-Sea.

O'er downs to madly scamper,
Without a care to hamper-

'Tis just the thing to do you good I think you'll quite agree:

All worry you are crushing, Your blood is gaily flushing, As off you're swiftly rushingAt light London-by-the-Sea.

With Amazons fast going,

Such tangled tresses flowing,

Such skirts and dainty ribbons in breezes blowing free:

What joy to canter faster With beauties of the castor, As humble riding master, At smart London-by-the-Sea.

Then frequently there passes

An army of school lasses,

So full of buoyant spirits and of gladsome girlish glee;

That when they softly patter
The pavé o'er and chatter,
I'm as mad as any hatter-
At fair London-by-the-Sea.

Some take a modest tiffin,
On bun or Norfolk biffin,

At Streeter's or at Mainwaring's, but that will

not suit me;

Though folks may call me glutton

I do not care a button,

But love a lunch with Mutton

At this London-by-the-Sea.

The flys are slow and mouldy,

As ev'ry one has told ye,

Its shrimps by far the finest you could ever wish

for tea;

Its shops are rare and splendid,
Where ev'rything is vended
Till money's all expended-
At dear London-by-the-Sea.

If spirits you would lighten
Consult good Doctor Brighton,

And swallow his prescriptions and abide by his

decree :

If nerves be weak or shaken,
Just try a week with Bacon,
His physic soon is taken-

At our London-by-the-Sea.

J. ASHBY STERRY.

FROM THE HON. HENRY

TO LADY

EMMA

Paris, March 30, 1832.

OU bid me explain, my dear angry

Ma'amselle,

How I came thus to bolt, without saying farewell;

And the truth is, as truth you will have, my sweet railer,

There are two worthy persons I always feel loth To take leave of at starting,—my mistress and tailor,-

As somehow one always has scenes with them both:

The Snip in ill-humour, the Siren in tears,

She calling on Heaven, and he on th' attorney,— Till sometimes, in short, 'twixt his duns and his dears,

A young gentleman risks being stopp'd in his

journey.

But to come to the point, tho' you think, I daresay, That 'tis debt or the cholera drives me away, 'Pon honour you're wrong;-such a mere bagatelle

As a pestilence, nobody, now-a-days, fears: And the fact is, my love, I'm thus bolting, pellmell,

To get out of the way of these horrid new Peers; This deluge of coronets, frightful to think of, Which England is now, for her sins, on the brink of, This coinage of nobles,—coin'd, all of them, badly, And sure to bring Counts to a discount most sadly.

Only think, to have Lords overrunning the nation, As plenty as frogs in a Dutch inundation;

No shelter from Barons, from Earls no protection, And tadpole young Lords, too, in every direction,Things created in haste, just to make a Court list of, Two legs and a coronet all they consist of!

The prospect's quite frightful, and what Sir George Rose

(My particular friend) says is perfectly true, That so dire the alternative, nobody knows, 'Twixt the Peers and the Pestilence, what he's to do;

'Twixt coffin and coronet, which he would order.

This being the case, why, I thought, my dear Emma,

'Twere best to fight shy of so curst a dilemma; And tho' I confess myself somewhat a villain To 've left idol mio without an addio,

Console your sweet heart, and, a week hence, from Milan

I'll send you some news of Bellini's last trio.

N.B. Have just pack'd up my travelling set-out,
Things a tourist in Italy can't go without-
Viz., a pair of gants gras, from old Houbigant's

shop,

Good for hands that the air of Mont Cenis might chap.

Small presents for ladies, and nothing so wheedles The creatures abroad as your golden-eyed needles. A neat pocket Horace, by which folks are cozen'd, To think one knows Latin, when-one, perhaps, doesn't.

With some little book about heathen mythology,
Nothing on earth being half such a bore as
Not knowing the difference 'twixt Virgins and
Floras,

Once more, love, farewell, best regards to the girls,
And mind you beware of damp feet and new Earls.
THOMAS Moore.

AN INVITATION TO ROME.

THE REPLY.

EAR Exile, I was proud to get
Your rhyme, I've laid it up in

cotton;

You know that you are all to "Pet,"She fear'd that she was quite forgotten! Mamma, who scolds me when I mope, Insists, and she is wise as gentle, That I am still in love! I hope

That you

feel rather sentimental!

Perhaps you think your Love forlore

Should pine unless her slave be with her ; Of course you're fond of Rome, and more— Of course you'd like to coax me thither! Che quit this dear delightful maze

Of calls and balls, to be intensely Discomfited in fifty ways—

I like your confidence, immensely!

Some girls who love to ride and race,
And live for dancing, like the Bruens,
Confess that Rome's a charming place-
In spite of all the stupid ruins!
I think it might be sweet to pitch

One's tent beside those banks of Tiber,
And all that sort of thing, of which

Dear Hawthorne's "quite" the best describer.

To see stone pines and marble gods
In garden alleys red with roses ;-
The Perch where Pio Nono nods ;-
The Church where Raphael reposes.